talia kallias | district one | cb

TALLY 

"Who attached these heavy wings on my shoulders?”

— Marina Tsvetaeva, from Bride of Ice: New Selected Poems; On a Red Horse.

Dad thinks I want to take over the sweaty warehouse that he calls The Pit. Ew, that’s the furthest thing from the truth. Yeah, I was raised to be a Career and I’m fucking great with a sword and can use my hands to strangle any guy caught staring at my chest for too long, but I never asked to be surrounded by sweaty dudes beating the shit out of each other every night. I’m already surrounded by sweaty boys beating the shit out of each other every day at the gym. And the smell. Ripred. It’s like these guys never shower, honestly.

Tarren’s no better though. A trainwreck, truly. His head is so high up in the clouds and Dad’s head is shoved so far up his own ass that I’m surprised either of them can walk around without running into things. No, maybe what Dad’s business needs is a feminine touch. Maybe instead of a fighting pit deep in the bowels of District One that caters to everyone from the Peacekeeper to the elite—maybe what this place fucking needs is an oil wrestling night.

For the ladies, obviously. And for my personal enjoyment. Killing two birds with a whole shitload of stones. 

I’ll add it to my list of things to chat with Dad about the next time he summons us for a family meal. Which won’t be anytime soon. He loves his grip on power too much since he can’t really do anything about a dreamer son and a gay daughter. Hey, at least I can hold my own at the gym. You can’t say the same for Tarren. He’s too soft, you know? Like one strong breeze would blow him over.

But me—I’m a hurricane, baby. And there isn’t anything that could wash me away. (Except perhaps myself.)