Anger management(python)

Pearl Millison was a dove in a field full of ravens; she stood out. A lot. Anybody at the training center could stare at her delicate form, scrawny arms, and anxious expression and realize that she did not belong. Pearl was not a fighter like her sister and her infamous victor mother - on the contrary, she was a rose without thorns. Beautiful and familiar, but not the least bit deadly. Sure, she could handle knives and strike targets, but what did that prove? That she could handle child’s play, not that she could actually kill if the situation ever demanded it. Still, her stubborn mother and cruel sister insisted upon dragging her to the training center and leaving her to stand alone near the knife-tossing station whilst they abandoned her to go socialize with their friends. With a sigh, Pearl bundled her golden locks into a ponytail behind her head and adjusted the buttons of her shirt. She knew that if she tried to escape her sister would spot her and inform her mother without hesitation. Then, she would be forced to endure her mother’s wicked scorn, and that was the last thing little she wanted to deal with at the moment.

There was only one other person at the knife-tossing station, and he was an aggressive one. His body language, distorted facial expression, and violent handling of the knives - as if there was a non-violent way to handle combat blades - warned her that he was not the career to cross today. With her head hung and her silvery gaze shifted low she collected a few throwing-knives and approached one of the lonesome dummies. She narrowed her eyes upon her target - the red spot on its chest - and gripped one of the knives tightly in her right hand. She was slightly out of practice because she despised training - especially at home with her chastising mother - so when she casually tossed the blade it missed her target by a few inches. This did not discourage her, however. She never wanted to be as lethal and frightening as her sister. She didn’t even want to train. There was no purpose to it in her mind, because she knew that if she was ever reaped, she would die anyways.

As much as Pearl despised failure and being acknowledged for her failures, she managed to shrug this particular incident off. Her mother wasn’t standing at the sidelines judging her every movement or shouting at her to correct her posture and narrow her focus, and her sister wasn’t there to scoff at her like pathetic child. It didn’t matter whether she missed or struck the target. It didn’t even matter if she actually tried. She was only there because her mother wanted to expose her to the “career environment” with false hopes that Pearl would experience a metamorphosis and suddenly grow into an aggressive, lion-hearted career with the instinct to kill. She wanted her daughter to be nothing but perfection; popularity, beauty, bravery, strength, agility, and determination were all part of the package deal of her idea of “perfection”. But Pearl possessed none of these valuable qualities. She was one of the least popular students in school, she was hardly considered pretty in comparison to her shining star of a sister, she had the puny heart of a coward, her pale arms were as thin as twigs, and she was much too clumsy to be considered anything near to agile. Still, she could at least toss a few knives around to make it seem as if she were trying to improve.

A thunderous voice shouted to her from her right side. She jumped from the sheer volume of it, and when her eyes darted over she noticed that it was the boy she had spotted only minutes ago - the boy she had warned herself not to trifle with. ”You think that is how a career throws a knife?” What was he playing at? Every career started somewhere. Just because she missed the target by a few inches didn’t mean that she couldn’t be labeled a career - not that she really was one, anyhow. ”Put some strength into it! Show that you know what you’re doing!” The blood suddenly rushed to her face. Couldn’t he tell just by looking at her that she possessed no strength? Why was he suddenly criticizing her after she had purposely avoided even glancing at him to prevent a confrontation? She shifted her gaze to the ground, a feeling of shame boiling within her gut. She hated criticism. It was always harsh, because no matter how hard she tried Pearl Millison could never be perfect.