The New Champion

~Chapter 2~ My secret

Hey guys quick update... I write this on a bus every day so I will be writing about 1 chapter every afternoon... Hope you enjoy my attempt at a fanfiction!

~Back to the story~

           Yeah... Powers. Big deal right? In my village, only me, my dad (who is dead now), and my mom know about my abilities. In all reality, if any person from our village knew.... I wouldn't be alive long enough to even say my pitiful goodbyes to my pitiful family. That, or we would have to move.... again.
       What are my abilities you may ask? Well, its not the ordinary harry potter crap where I can shoot blazing light out of a stupid stick. No, its more like enhanced, natural, talent.

         I remember when I was old enough to crawl around, I picked up my dad's old samurai sword. My mom was hysterical and tried to pry the blade hilt from my slim pale fingers. That's when the "magic" happened.
        I still remember this as clear as day as if it was branded into my brain on purpose. Infact, it probably was. I can remember a blood red light shinning from my sword where I was somehow managing to hold on to the damn thing. 
       I felt a strange burning sensation... Not enough to actually hurt but more like a warm iron, gently pressing on the hairs on my hand. Once the light faded away, the weird feeling still there, I held up the sword and stood up for the first time in my life... Into a perfect fighting position as if I was about to duel.

     My father knew right then that I had a gift. From then on I could out spar any person when I was at age 5. I started doing incredible somersaults and flips to dodge and attack by age 8. Every year I some how got better wielding that same sword (that became brand new during the first time I touched it).
      People got angry that they lost their bets. People also got suspicious... I mean who wouldn't be suspicious of a 5 year old who could beat a heavily trained man. We were forced to move, and I was lonely without friends... but I did have my sword. The old sword felt like a trusting extension of my arm, the thing that kept me and my insanely close to hopeless family.... Alive.

     Now that you know my abilities, I trust that you now understand my situation. Yea... Yea... I know- stealing is bad. But do I honestly care when I am in the middle of stealing? No. I'm so desprate to actually survive that I only care after my crimes.
        Before you automatically assume me a cold, heartless creature, I do feel bad for the people I steal from. After I'm done stealing. Kind of. But after over 10 years of stealing... Well, you kind of get used to it. I remember the first time I went on a mission by myself.... After my father died and we weren't making money anymore from bets on duels.
     I remember almost getting caught carrying out my burlap sack full of fresh vegetables and meats. I was stealing from a small but cozy home about 3 trails away from me, and I was content on not fighting anyone.        
      So, when Kren Sands caught me, I didn't fight and just ran as fast as my 8 year old legs could. Too bad the very first person I chose to rob happened to be known for his speed.
      Yea I was that stupid. Thats when I realized I had to fight or else I would risk revealing my identity. There was nothing else I could do! What would you do if YOU were the 8 year old girl carrying a 10 pound sack and getting tackled by a 190 pound man? Oh yea, and you happend to have a spectacular ability in swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat?
       Lets just say I broke his nose, 3 of his ribs, pulled an arm out of it's socket, and ran home unscathed except for the dread of what I had just done.
       The feeling of your first steal is exhilarating in a victorious, dreadful way, but also there is this terrible dread at the bottom of your stomach. It feels as if all of your senses of morals has disappeared... Leaving you as a being with no purpose.
      A shard breaks off of your heart when you hurt them... Leaving you to experience the feeling of your heart breaking into pieces. The remorse almost killed my spirit, almost made me like my mom, a woman who lost all sense of things around her and now stares into space.... Ever sense my dad passed. Everytime I steal from someone, I feel a tiny piece my heart break away.
        Now, after stealing for so long... I barely feel the regret anymore... I barly even notice the emotional pain in my heart anymore.
      But I do have enough of my heart and soul to make sure I don't kill my victims. To feel a little bit bad for them. To make sure my "family" survives.
        I'm not conpletely gone yet, but if I continue, I will end up as a monster. A monster with no soul, and no heart. A monster that does whatever it takes to survive. A monster that ends lives for its own survival. A monster... That will never feel love, happiness, sadness, or remorse. It would only feel pure and firey hatred.