30 Hours

Pen Pal: part three

We're they trying to be sarcastic with me? Well it's not a good idea to do that when I'm tired, because when I'm tired, you should steer clear of me.

I sent another message;

Listen up, MadHatter, I asked you a question and I expect you to answer it.

Listen, you are my pen pal, and it's a little hard for me to feel at ease when you keep making Alice In Wonderland references. Please tell me who you are. Not just a name, but things about you!

I clicked send and waited for the screen to light up with another email.

I waited...and waited...and waited until I nearly fell asleep. My head was falling back but once my head went to an unusual angle, I woke up with a horrible pain in my neck. I rubbed at it, making me angry.

I gave up, and switched off my computer, returning to heaven- I mean my bed, snuggling between the thick fluffy blankets and the five pillows around me. I fell asleep in no time.

-|the next morning|-

I woke up, and took my phone from my nightstand, noticing the time. It was 10AM, which meant my fencing match was going to start in an hour.

I hopped out of bed, running downstairs to grab a piece of toast with any topping. After a few munches, I ran upstairs and took black tights and a white shirt out of my wardrobe, placing my hair in a braid.

My mum had already prepared my fencing gear, and I ran to the car, trying to guide my thoughts away from TheMadHatter. I was getting annoyed at this anonymous person. They kept me wondering, and I was a person that wanted answers immediately.

We arrived at the sport centre and my mum signed in, while I ran to my fencing teacher, apologising for being late. It was 10:54, which meant my match started in six minutes, and I was supposed to be at training half an hour ago.

'Sorry coach!' I said, slipping my helmet on, making my last few words muffled.

'It's okay Emily, but please, wake up earlier!' My coach was nice but strict at the same time. His almost bald head, eyes that squinted at my competitors and his blue tracksuits screamed coach.

I ran to the sidelines of the match, registering my name to the referee, and waited for my name to be called up.

Unfortunately, I couldn't hear the name of my opponent, because I was too busy focusing on placing my white baggy pants on top of my black tights. I saw my mum a few metres away, sitting in a chair with a fresh coffee in her hand. I could tell because of the steam rising from the cup.

I finally heard my name, and stood, taking my sword with me, noticing my opponent. We had already placed out helmets on, so I couldn't make out who was under the mask. It was probably my friend, Elliot, who was part of another fencing school. Elliot was slightly taller than me and walked like he owned the place, one hand clinging to his pants.

He walked over to me, and we touched swords, as if to day good luck and walked to ur places. The referee screamed out. It was a game of three, and I needed to win to commence to the semi finals.

En Garde!

I lunged forward, out swords making a clink sound, and many more to come. He was mostly attacking and I was defending. He fended off my sword and then lunged forward, aiming for my chest. I tried to hit his sword but he was too strong, and his sword touched me, resulting in a point. He did a little fist bump in the air three times, and then went back to position.

When my opponents score a point, I fight. Harder.

The referee shouted, but I didn't hear anything. Everything went into slow motion. It was like I was controlling time. I lunged forward, sword aimed for the chest. His sword tried to fend off mine, but before his could touch mine, I spun downwards, with my sword still aimed, I did a 360 turn, resulting in me close to him, and my sword touching his chest.

A smile so bugs pressed on my face, and the small crowd cheered, and I stood up, doing my own little victory dance in his personal space.

After ten more minutes, the score was 2-2. Anyone could win at this point.

The referee called out and pulled his hand back, allowing us to touch swords and commence. He lunged forward and I dodged, spinning downwards yet again and returning to a kneeling position, centimetres away from his chest. I stood quickly, his sword retreating backwards. I aimed my sword at his chest, plunging it, but his sword, but mine.

My sword hit the floor with a loud noise, shocking me. His sword touched my chest, the referee screaming out to end the game. I was shocked, I thought I could win. But obviously not.

I stood up, grabbing me sword off the floor with a fiery attitude, shaking my opponents gloved hand with a firm shake. It wasn't his fault, but I was still angry about this. Now I couldn't make it to the semi finals, where Hudson would be, where I could talk to him while he was practicing archery.

When I pulled my hand away from his, I turned and started to walk away.

But I stopped when I heard my opponents booming voice;

'Good game, Alice.'