Sylvia's Sprint

Running was never an option, at least not for me. It is an act of turning your back on aims and people who depend on you; worst of all, it is an act of betraying yourself. Running was a conscious thought of surrender, the passiveness of ignorance.

I wish I could have said the same for Sylvia. Whether it was just for the thrill of it, or for escape, my sister loved running. With the churning of air beneath the soles of her feet, giggles likened to the sound of merry bells over Christmas, and the cold blast of wind beating against her wild auburn red hair, she was an absolute delight to everyone who knew her around town.

She also, however, loved running when the situation demanded her presence. When breaking a valuable marble vase in our home, she would run, quick as the wind itself, leaving me behind to take the fault for the mess of things. Often, I took the brunt of her accidental mistakes. It wasn't hard to pin it on me either. I was clumsy, stubborn, sharp-tongued, and bitter.

I wasn't always so bitter. I was once as carefree as Sylvia, free as a bird would be. But everything changed when the jewel mine in our town was claimed under the name of the King himself. Suddenly, a lot of families lost their main source of income and instead had to depend on secondary sources like farming or planting crops. Our soil wasn't even the most fertile available in the kingdom. Soon enough, we would all be plunged into poverty and utter misery.

It also didn't help that Rory betrayed me and joined the King's forces instead after dad passed on to the afterlife.

As if that wasn't quite enough. Rory joined the fleet of soldiers that was deployed to eradicate our township once and for all. Men toughened up, women learned quicker through the art of healing, potions, and the essence of magic that lied benign in our blood unless awakened. The air grew heavier, and so did many of our hearts. One day, I trudged out our doorstep to realize that everyone was just like me. Bitter, cold, miserable.

Everyone except for Sylvia.

As the cold winter nights came, so did the day of imminent war draw ever closer. Some cried, some prayed, some trained, and some others simply steeled themselves for what was to come. The last night before the war was to commence, the King's forces already having stationed themselves visibly about a mile from the town's gates, I took a visit to the walls to hear the none too familiar lyrical sound of my sister's laughter.

That night, everyone who had eyes stared at the petite young woman, remarkable in her beautiful smile, and wondrous as to her curious mirth. Those who had ears listened.

Dawn broke, and it was an all-out war. Everywhere I looked, people were dying. Dark red blood splattered across the earth, across clothes, armor, and faces. My face. For a few panicked seconds, I very literally saw red.

I willed my feet to run. Please run. But I was petrified. I couldn't move an inch. Through the clearing red of my vision, I saw a big, burly man equipped with a terrifyingly large axe coming towards me with a war cry.

I urged my energy to manifest itself in the form of magic. I pushed, failed, and tried again. But there was no time. My heart palpitated hard in my chest. Soon, my blood would be shed. Why can't I run?

My vision cleared. In a split second, when all my senses began to fail me and the world started to become a blur, I heard the light, agile footsteps that fall in a pattern so utterly familiar to me that my attention snapped towards it. Red auburn hair, thin limbs, the swipe of a blade.

I couldn't run, but my sister always could. Today, Sylvia ran to save my life.

The man stumbled backwards, having had a cut delivered swiftly across his face. The axe in his hand fell to the thinly blanketed snowy ground with a soft thud. I gazed at her, lost in surprise and relief for a moment.

In the next heartbeat, a sword cut right through her ribs and emerged on the other side of her body. I felt the color fall from my face as surely as my heart fell deep in the recesses of my being. I glanced at the perpetrator.

Rory.

I screamed. Devastated, wild, unforgiving fury.

The earth shook, but people did not stop fighting. Rory stumbled and tripped over Sylvia, who laid shaking on the floor. I felt energy building up inside my core, inside my heart barely held together by pure fury. Coils of strength intermingling and pushing outward, against my skin, begging for release.

I was told always to keep it in. Conceal. Live and let go.

How could I, mom? Sylvia is lost to us now. Laughter was truly gone. Running was not always a bad thing, but I've learned that lesson much too late.

Rory stood his ground and took a determined swipe at me. On his face was a look of apathy unlike any other. I couldn't believe this man once took my heart in his filthy hands, and I willingly let him.

"I had no other choice." Rory explained. Brief, unfeeling, merciless.

My turbulent emotions surged.

"Goodbye Rory." I widened my stance, and with both fists, hammered down on the earth. The snow shook as the earth seemed to cut itself open in lines only where the enemy stood. More screaming - people seemed to particularly enjoy following in my footsteps.

Each and every one of the enemy was caught between the earth, suffocating and begging for air. Some even had too much pride to beg. I noticed the King had only sent a small fleet of soldiers, they had not even backup in case the mission failed.

He underestimated us.

I pulled my fists up into the air and clenched them tighter. All around town, you could hear bones breaking in many sickening tones. With each pained yelling that decorated the air, the worst I felt for taking another life. But then I look at my sister, and suddenly it felt as if there weren't enough soldiers' life to pay for her death here in today's war.

Rory was the last to go. I took intense pleasure at watching his skull burst into a thousand pieces. I wiped off his blood that sprayed across my tunic with the cloth that I yanked from his broken body. I threw it back at his corpse, or what remained of it as my mother ran towards me, enveloping me in a warm embrace that coaxed tears to my eyes. The remaining townspeople only looked at me, transfixed.

Sylvia was gone. I held onto my mother's forearm for balance. My knees were about to give out.

Now mom was all I had left.

Next, I had to get to the King personally.

The question is, in which direction do I run?