Just Another Day Off (Family Feud)
Sept 17, 2012 9:09:44 GMT -5
Post by heartwood on Sept 17, 2012 9:09:44 GMT -5
726 w
Days off. Sometimes they were easy to enjoy. A day of rest and relaxation, a few hours spending time taking over the square with the family. Sometimes, it was full of fun and adventure. Hiking had been a family pastime for generations; nothing like a good workout to get the brain juices flowing. Slate would come up with some crazy scheme to pull, Rocky would follow blindly; and it would be up to Tucker to get them all of out trouble. Soon the sun would go down and the day would be over. If they were lucky, they’d avoid any confrontation with the Fitzwalters. Then the next day would come, school would resume, work would start up again, and Tucker Johnson would once again go back to training. But this was not one of those lucky days off. This day was different.
Tucker’s arms were spread out to his sides, angled to near ninety-degrees. His grip on the dip bars was tight. As he pushed up and slowly lifted himself down continuously, he could feel the burn in his triceps. Working out had become routine for Tucker; growing up hoping to be a Career and now hoping to become a Peacekeeper meant that physical fitness was a necessity for the eldest sibling’s lifestyle. The sweat slid down his arms and his breathing was becoming stunted. Since he was a child, Tucker had trouble breathing. It wasn’t that he had asthma or was out of shape; but for some reason, he just couldn’t focus on proper breathing technique when doing something to shape his body. It severely limited his performance, and was on of the main faults that were pointed out during both types of training.
At this point, Tucker lost count of the amount of dips he had done. He knew he had hit his goal and this was the last exercise of the day. He figured that he’ll push himself to the point of exhaustion, and that’s what he did. After lowering himself down for the last time, he attempted one more push upward; but this time he didn’t have it in him. Satisfied with an early morning workout, Tucker stretched his arms out to improve the blood flow to his muscles and made his way towards the bathroom. After his shower he took a long look in the mirror, taking a blade of hair between his forefingers, noting the length. He was due for a cut soon; maybe he’d be able get one in the square today, if his siblings didn’t mind waiting for him at least.
He didn’t know who was going to be there. Gemma was definitely going to meet him at the square; they had planned this day off for a few days now and he had promised Gemma that he was going to participate in the dance lessons he had gotten her for a birthday a while ago. Ballet wasn’t his style: Dancing wasn’t his style, really. But he had always made good on his promises, especially to his favorite little sister.
Tucker dreaded the day he would have to pass on the duties of taking care of the family to his younger brother Slate. Slate was wild and hardly had a penchant for thinking before acting; even though he had managed to avoid any severe trouble, Tucker was a big part of the reason he came out of his mischief unscathed. Slate’s negative influence was so strong that even Tucker was drawn into his charismatic schemes driven by an odd sense of adrenaline. Tucker loved his brother, but he was afraid Slate simply wasn’t aware enough to handle the duties of the eldest son.
Tucker got dressed and left the house, jogging his way to the district square. He didn’t enjoy walking; it was too slow for him. Besides, if there was any way to get a little exercise, he might as well take it. He stopped frequently for breaks; the lack of a damn breathing technique was getting the best of him yet again.
By the time he got to the dance studio, Gemma was already waiting for him with a bottle of water and a bagel. He smiled and made his way toward his sister, looking up at the awning with dread. One thing was certain, there was no way in hell he was wearing a leotard.
Days off. Sometimes they were easy to enjoy. A day of rest and relaxation, a few hours spending time taking over the square with the family. Sometimes, it was full of fun and adventure. Hiking had been a family pastime for generations; nothing like a good workout to get the brain juices flowing. Slate would come up with some crazy scheme to pull, Rocky would follow blindly; and it would be up to Tucker to get them all of out trouble. Soon the sun would go down and the day would be over. If they were lucky, they’d avoid any confrontation with the Fitzwalters. Then the next day would come, school would resume, work would start up again, and Tucker Johnson would once again go back to training. But this was not one of those lucky days off. This day was different.
Tucker’s arms were spread out to his sides, angled to near ninety-degrees. His grip on the dip bars was tight. As he pushed up and slowly lifted himself down continuously, he could feel the burn in his triceps. Working out had become routine for Tucker; growing up hoping to be a Career and now hoping to become a Peacekeeper meant that physical fitness was a necessity for the eldest sibling’s lifestyle. The sweat slid down his arms and his breathing was becoming stunted. Since he was a child, Tucker had trouble breathing. It wasn’t that he had asthma or was out of shape; but for some reason, he just couldn’t focus on proper breathing technique when doing something to shape his body. It severely limited his performance, and was on of the main faults that were pointed out during both types of training.
At this point, Tucker lost count of the amount of dips he had done. He knew he had hit his goal and this was the last exercise of the day. He figured that he’ll push himself to the point of exhaustion, and that’s what he did. After lowering himself down for the last time, he attempted one more push upward; but this time he didn’t have it in him. Satisfied with an early morning workout, Tucker stretched his arms out to improve the blood flow to his muscles and made his way towards the bathroom. After his shower he took a long look in the mirror, taking a blade of hair between his forefingers, noting the length. He was due for a cut soon; maybe he’d be able get one in the square today, if his siblings didn’t mind waiting for him at least.
He didn’t know who was going to be there. Gemma was definitely going to meet him at the square; they had planned this day off for a few days now and he had promised Gemma that he was going to participate in the dance lessons he had gotten her for a birthday a while ago. Ballet wasn’t his style: Dancing wasn’t his style, really. But he had always made good on his promises, especially to his favorite little sister.
Tucker dreaded the day he would have to pass on the duties of taking care of the family to his younger brother Slate. Slate was wild and hardly had a penchant for thinking before acting; even though he had managed to avoid any severe trouble, Tucker was a big part of the reason he came out of his mischief unscathed. Slate’s negative influence was so strong that even Tucker was drawn into his charismatic schemes driven by an odd sense of adrenaline. Tucker loved his brother, but he was afraid Slate simply wasn’t aware enough to handle the duties of the eldest son.
Tucker got dressed and left the house, jogging his way to the district square. He didn’t enjoy walking; it was too slow for him. Besides, if there was any way to get a little exercise, he might as well take it. He stopped frequently for breaks; the lack of a damn breathing technique was getting the best of him yet again.
By the time he got to the dance studio, Gemma was already waiting for him with a bottle of water and a bagel. He smiled and made his way toward his sister, looking up at the awning with dread. One thing was certain, there was no way in hell he was wearing a leotard.
