HA - The Middle

21 9 14
                                    

I am Sarah Bryant.

I am a fighter, a rebel.

I left home to follow a dream, and maybe I made a complete fool out of myself in the process. Whenever he donned those tight and garish racing outfits, I was his female counterpart in equally outlandish leotards. We traveled as spokespersons, commercial models, small-time celebrities.

When I decided to pack my bags and help Jacky forge his way into the racing world, I knew then I was out for adventure, a chance to savor the world without the burden of our name on my shoulders.

And I believed so much in my brother, in the way he followed his supposed destiny with such unbridled passion.

Maybe I wanted to be like him, back then.

I was fresh out of high school, considering college courses, perusing university brochures the way I did my French fashions mail-order catalogs.

Maybe I just wanted to get out.

From the big white mansion, from my mother's carefully gentle yet ever-so-critical eyes, from my father's pride in my being so delicate and well-bred.

They cared about how I looked like, how I acted and spoke, how I carried myself in the presence of their powerful friends. Sometimes I wonder if they saw me as the most precious gem in their extensive jewelry collection.

They did not care about who I was. Never once did they ask me what I wanted to do, or become.

Maybe I still don't know.

Entangled in the mesh of threads that wove themselves through waking and sleeping, she dreamt

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Entangled in the mesh of threads that wove themselves through waking and sleeping, she dreamt.

And remembered.




She was standing beside her brother, amidst a large gathering of people packed tightly into a room that still smelled of fresh paint. All eyes were either on her, or on the man at the table who gobbled tray after tray of Smile steak.

Her heart was pounding as she watched him, so free, so full of zest. He looked like a famished monkey, with brown hair standing on end, a smile of abandon written across his handsome face as more food was laid out before him.

Akira.

That was his name. She learned that a little while afterwards.

Akira. He was life personified.

"Where's Akira?"

The voice came behind the front seat of the caravan, slightly disoriented yet forceful. A little bit anxious and angry.

"Where's Jacky?" The pigtailed head appeared and dark deep-set eyes bore into her own. "Where are they, Sarah?"

"They went in," she replied quietly. "They're going to fight the Koenkan."

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