Young Writers Society

It would not be long before I was overtaken, and it seemed the better choice to face my assailant while I still had some strength left, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The odds were far too risky for face to face combat, not because of my unfair weapon disadvantage, but because my emotions were everywhere. In the past hour I had experienced hate, distrust, fear, paranoia, regret, grief, fatigue, anger, sadness, and dread to the fullest. So much was running through my mind, I did not know if I should turn on my assailant and fight with the knowledge that death would take me in my uncontrollable rage or if I should fall to the earth and weep with the knowledge that death would take me all the same. At the moment, all I could do was run with the hope that I might loose my pursuer in the labyrinth of buildings before reaching the heavy guarded walls bordering the city.

I had thought to throw my dagger behind me. That I may have been able to do. My aim was enviable on many levels, but I worried that my pursuer’s ability to dodge weapons was just as good, possibly better. And even if I were able to hit my target it would only maim or injure, not kill, and then I would be left weapon-less. If I had but kept my scimitar I would have at least stood a chance. Disoriented or not, I could wield a scimitar like it were part of my body.

As I ran, I noticed the feathery wisps of snow begin to gather in drifts, making it harder to run. The feel of it was almost dreamlike, except that I was fully aware that death would not mean waking up. This drove me to go faster, and yet the harder I tried to run, the more I felt myself slipping. It was quickly becoming evident that I was not going to be able to shake this person.

Millions of thoughts whirled through my head. Was I to die? Undoubtedly. Could I take one last person down before death encompassed me? Possibly. Would anyone miss me? Not likely. I was completely alone in facing the world. And yet, I knew such thoughts were not mine. They belonged to fear. And up to that moment, I had not experienced such all-encompassing fear. Being chased by an unknown someone was a first, but I should have expected it, especially after what I’d done. It was the act I’d just committed that scared me. And even more frightening was what would become of me if I survived this ordeal.

I am known as Emilyn, but to those of my creed I am simply called Red. I used to belong to an institute that trains people, particularly youth, to kill. That was where I ate, slept, and trained until about an hour ago.

If I had been aware of my indoctrination before I had reached the desensitized state I’m in now I might have tried to break free sooner. Had I done so, my conscience would not have been so heavily immerged in guilt and disparity. Everyone is provided with the knowledge of self defence from a very young age. The institute, or Carr Breemith, as the city was called, was not the only one of its kind. Most people were at one age or another recruited to such a place depending on their skill. For in this world, those without wealth or prestige have to rely on skill alone to survive.