teen idle {grim}

If I liked anything in this building, it was the elevators.

I preferred them more than the twenty-three others who had crowded the training room, anyway, and so I rode up and down until sickness overtook my stomach and each chime of announcement sent a stab of pain through my temples. Only then did I trudge back toward the steel doors, already despising the sounds of colliding metal and morals.

At least I was ahead there, for my morals did not once falter or question themselves, and as I had listened to this morning’s spiel about not only the importance of combat but of survival, I had cast glances around, holding anyone’s eyes who wouldn’t turn away.

The girl from nine had held my gaze for five seconds longer than the rest.

And maybe it was because of this alone, or the fact that everyone else was grunting too often and loudly to stand around for more than three seconds, but as she catches my eye for the second time that day, I stroll in her direction, pausing to wait as the boy from two drops his sword at my feet, and it’s all I can do to bite my tongue as he says nothing but scratches the linoleum with a point sharper than I’m sure he could make in any other situation.

There’s no throne at the end of the journey I'm taking, no crown to place upon a bowed head.

There’s only a girl with her head turned away to watch the rope that plays the part of a focal point in her background, and though she’s sat nimbly, with feet crossed one over the other and hands folded in lap, I recline, resting my weight into shoulders that have yet to bear it all.

“I saw you tumbling around earlier, after the meeting. Considering I can’t touch my toes, color me impressed. But I’ve gotta ask, does spending so much time upside down make it harder to keep your head on straight?”