Two imperfections [Griffin]

a s h a

I always hated the calm in the storm.

I crave turmoil and chaos, listening to screams of the drowned and wails of the damned. I do nothing but stand and stare at the target in complete silence, listening out for something. A thunderclap, a breaking wave, a call for help. Seconds pass like moments and moments are like ages. In the silence, the tension between my and the target is almost at breaking point; it can essentially be cut with a knife. I see right through it, past the painted lines and the red bullseye at its vital points. Throat, heart and head are the ones that draw my attention, my sight practically unwavering.

I scoff because there is still no storm. No matter how hard I focus I know I will hit the target with whatever I try: javelin, knife, arrowhead. Either way, steel will sink into its vital points and pigs blood will drain from the wound like a fountain. Either way, it's no true storm - just a mockery of the real thing. I listen out for the true thunderclap and desire the real thing. I want something real to flow from real veins. I want to hear chokes and gurgles, I want to hear cries for mercy and noises from the damned. I want to hear thunderclaps and see lightning - not the broken calmness and dull drips of pigs blood flowing from the fake veins of the dummy.

Despite everything, I am fixated on the target. So fixated I do not notice other careers have begun to clear out from the gym. One by one, they slowly begun to drip away like red from an open wound. Weapons are left on racks and streaks of blood (real or fake) is left unclean.

My lips curl upwards in a sneer. In truth, I sit above them all. The high class kids with rich parents - they paint the illusion of being a piece of divinity. I see them in the streets, in the training centre and I sneer. Fake crowns sit on their heads, riches in the form of diamonds, rings and chains sit decorate their hollow figures but I see right through the golden clouds of deceit. They give the illusion of holding divinity in their hands but in truth, they are peasants.

Now they're gone for the day; the thought turns my sneer into a wry grin.

Before I can turn my back and look to my target something much sweeter than peasants dressed in robes of divinity catch my eye. Something much more amusing but still disappointing all the same. I can't say I'm surprised to see Lilith Lumiere one of the last to leave, she is my sister after all. As much as we would both hate to admit it, the same blood runs through our veins and we both desire the same storm. However, she is still a fallen royal; lowered to the level of someone who would dress themselves in fake divinity and playing mind games with the masses, she fell to temptation and bit the apple.

She holds a treacherous weapon and I stifle a fit of laughter when I notice that not one arrow has landed in any sort of vital point. In truth, none of her arrows have even tasted the fake flesh of the dummy before her.

And to think, it's me that always has glass pressed against his skin when his parents look at him with disappointed eyes. 'Oh Asha, can't you do anything right?' I was not the one who would dress my parents in gold and coronate them with their crowns of pride. No, it would be the one who gave in to temptation and bit the apple. It would be the one who plays pretend with those who sport their fake crowns, the sane one, the one who fails to hit the target.

I guess we're the same, because I bite the apple and give in to temptation all the same. My movement is automatic, I set down the javelin and move quickly and silently; years of career training having perfected my stealth. I practically glide across the training centre floor until I'm about a few feet behind her.

"I can't exactly say I'm surprised, more amused," I speak ice cold venom, as if it's been sculpted by ice itself. "Lucky for you, our parents don't seem to know that you never could shoot straight." I finish with a smile, adding a hint of amusement. I gave in to the apple of temptation and its juices taste sweet. Perhaps the calm in the storm will end - it's far too boring.