Promise Me One Thing...

Phoenix - The Lonely Soldier

Art by Nelly Mandela

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Training has been HELL.

Period

Nothing more to say. We've been doing muscle development, by doing push ups, sit ups, leg lifts, and running. Gaining endurance by wearing twenty pound weights and then going into the local pond and then rolling in the sand, sugar cookie is what they called it. I am now adverse to sugar cookies. We did a mix of army, navy, and seal training. A bit of black ops was thrown in during night time training. Though it sounds like we did a lot of training within a short amount of time, in reality it really wasn't a lot. We just focused on one or two aspects from each branch and worked on that until we got it right and could keep it up without faltering.

Though my muscles are still sore, I feel not as tired as the first week. My body actually gained definition and the little love handles I had are slowly becoming smooth lines. It was meal time and I was starving. We only eat a bowl of oatmeal, a banana, which I abhor, and a glass of protein shake. It tastes like crap but I was told that we were going to drink this due to help control our instincts and urges. Pfft. Jackasses.

Grabbing a tray I fill it with lots of vegetables, bread, a huge baked potato, and a decent cut of steak. Snatching a bottle of water and a plastic cup of butter, I steal some napkins and Ken gets the utensils. Finding a empty spot on a half filled table I make my way but before I get there a foot comes out last minute and I trip making a huge scene causing silence to descend the canteen. Falling face down on potato and juicy steak is not a good look and neither is it edible. I hear a snigger and see a man too thin to have been in the army long with a scraggly beard showing that he was barely in his manhood. The group of his table were openly laughing at me. Snorting out a breath I gather my dirty trash to toss but before I could pick up the tray a foot kicked it out of my hands. The tray flies a few feet in the air to land some where to the left of me. The foot that kicked it out of my grip was none other than Mister Scrawny.

Smirking he said, "We don't feed animals in the kitchen. Go eat the grass outside since that's what you normally eat. Maybe once hunting season is in full swing I'll go get me some venison!" Thinking that his poorly constructed insult was hilarious he laughed uproariously though you can easily tell that his comrades were uneasy with him.

Feeling Ken tense I hold up my right hand and get up brushing off some food.

Looking him in the eye I feel him tense but he straightens his back in an attempt to intimidate me.

With my hands on my hips I say, "Look if you have problems meet me outside on the sparing field. If you want I'll let you use a soft gun on me."

I hear 'Oooo's' in the background. I ignore them.

"Mistress." Ken whispers. "Is this not wise with Sergeant Fullher away?"

Shaking my head I answer back. "No Ken, I must make a stand or else this harassment will continue longer than I want it too. I have held myself back but I did not tolerate it at school and I will not tolerate it here. If I have to listen to these ridiculous rules till I die, I'll be damned if I let these powerless fools rule my personal time."

"But Mistre--"

"Sword!"

Though begrudging, Ken transformed into his sword and with the addition of a scabbard hold on my pants, that the tailor made, I hooked Ken there and stood up. Looking for my tray I find it not too far from the table where the other supernaturals are at. Isolated. They deal with this with clenched teeth and fists, blowing their frustration on each other. I don't know if this is my animal instinct, or my true subconscious appearing but I became more aware, alert, and attentive. My decisions are not made without thought. Let's say that training for more than two weeks straight with barely a few hours of sleep between each day, breaks you down and builds you up to be survivalistic in mentality.