Generally, I am not an angry person. I never have been. Practically since birth, I have always found an excuse to smile instead of cry; laugh instead of yell. In my experience, anger doesn't get you very far. It only causes hurt and heartache for everyone involved. Usually, I push down any angry feelings, and focus on something else. Over the years, I have gotten very good at avoiding anger. So when I am told to get angry-to attempt to summon the fire that landed me in this ridiculous mess with rage, it is not hard to imagine how difficult this is for me.

"Elixir! Concentrate please!" Quintus, an older, slightly balding gentleman, groans in exasperation.

I sigh in frustration, dropping my hands to my sides, and rolling my eyes (slightly dramatically mind you). Over the course of the last several days, I have lived, breathed, and tried to create fire so many times, it makes my head hurt just to think about it. I spend my days locked in a large gym with Quintus-my designated trainer called a 'Kindred', and my nights locked in my stuffy room; trying and failing at sleep.

The times I have succeeded to light a fire, I have only succeeded in mass proportions-blowing up nearly all my surroundings.

Needless to say, I haven't been doing so well.

Quintus sighs, retreating to a near bye water tap, and guzzling water from it greedily. Quintus is an older man-with sparse, salt and pepper hair, and a constant scowl on his face. Each contestant in the Trials is assigned a mentor of sorts-a Kindred as they're called. Somebody older, with the same gift, who can help us hone our gifts before the Trials begin. Quintus also has the gift of fire, a pyrokinesist like myself. He has been given the near impossible task of training me, and clearly isn't happy about it.

Not that I actually care.

Quintus returns to the centre of the room where I stand, waiting for him. He rubs his tired eyes once, and then motions at me with his hands.

"Why don't we go back to the beginning?" He sighs, taking my hands in his, and closing his eyes.

I mutinously glare at Quintus for a moment, before following his example closing my own eyes.

"Think of a moment when you have been truly angry," he mutters for what seems like the billionth time. Thinking, I try to recall on of the sparse moments in my life that I have been seriously mad.
          When I found out my dad left....when my mother died.....when they tried to take Killia...The list goes on.

I'm am seriously angry at stupid Quintus for making me practise so hard, and I'm actually considering using my feelings towards him right now to fuel my fire.

Instead I focus on Killia-how it felt to watch her being taken that day on the street. I can feel my heart racing in my chest, I can feel the fury washing through me like a tidal wave.

And then I feel a spark-warm and tingly in my hands, still enclosed in Quintus's.

"Good," he crones, loosening his grip on my hands, "Good.....now control it. Focus on control."

But now that I feel the anger, I can't concentrate on anything else. White hot rage swells in my chest, and even though I try to push it down, I can't.

With a feral scream, legitimate orange flames shoot away from me, scorching a nearby wall. The anger dies inside of me, and I only feel a bitter sense of disappointment.
I failed. Again.

Quintus lets out frustrated breath through his nose, before dropping his hands.

"We're done for today." He says simply, walking away from me and out the door.

Angrily, I throw my hands to my face, briefly covering my eyes in a slightly anguished gesture. I hate this. I hate this so much!!!!!! Why am I doing this? Why am I being made to compete when everybody knows I am going to fail? This is so ridiculous.

Lighting up my hands once again, I breathe deeply, trying to control the anger welling up inside me. I feel warmth as the flames flicker up and down my arms.

Control
Control
Control

The longer I hold the flame steady, the more powerful I feel. More stronger-more capable. The flame curls over my arms, tracing beautiful patterns across my skin.
This is control.

A thrill of excitement races through me as I realize that I'm doing it. I'm doing it! I'm controlling my gift!

Suck on that Quintus!

In a matter of milliseconds, the control leaves me, and I add another scorched trail on the wall of many burn marks. But that's ok. I felt it. I did it. I controlled my gift. And let me tell you-that feels like a million bucks.

Before I have a chance to try again however, a young lady dressed in a brown cotton dress bursts into the room. She is flushed and out of breath, but her eyes sparkle with excitement.

"The other contestants have been chosen! They're all arriving at the palace within the hour!" The young woman says giddily, giggling like schoolgirl after her first kiss.

The other contestants are coming? Now!?

"Oh yes," she responds as I voice my concerns, "most of them are already here! There is going to be a huge banquet tonight to welcome everybody here. I've been sent to fetch you to get ready for the banquet!"

They're here? My opponents-the other teenagers who are ready to rip me into tiny pieces are already here?

The tiny wall of hope that I had built for myself comes crashing down as I realize that what little control I gained over my gift pales in comparison to those currently arriving at the palace. Some of my competitors have been honing their skills practically since birth. They were born ready for the Trials.

If you looked up the word 'dead' in a dictionary, you would find a picture of me as a definition. That is how screwed I am right about now.

The girl in the brown dress looks at me in confusion, the smile slipping from her face.

"Aren't you excited?" She asks me innocently.

"No." I scowl, storming past her, and heading directly for my room.

Maybe there I will get peace and quiet.

Instead, I find an entourage of equally giggly woman, waiting for me with their sewing needles and makeup. They usher me into a chair, and the next hour of my life is a tornado of flying pins, and hot irons. Much of what they do and say is completely new to me-growing up as an Unmentionable. I have never had my eyebrows waxed (and quickly decide I never will again) or my hair straightened, or my nails painted before. The intricate machines that they choose to use look more like torture devices rather then beauty machines.
But in the end, I survive the ordeal. And I do have to say, it was worth the minor annoyance that it took to get the results. Because for the first time in my life, I don't look like a street rag. I don't look like an Unmentionable. I look like a princess.
My scraggily reddish hair has been straightened and polished until it shines like a new copper penny, hanging down my back. My cheeks and lips are a rosy pink colour, and shimmery gold powder encircles my blue eyes. And I am wearing a dress. A beautiful, beautiful dress. A dress the colour of dandelions and sunshine and everything bright in the world. It is a simple dress-strapless and falling to my knees, but it is unbelievable gorgeous in any case.
My mother used to tell me a story that her great grandmother would tell her. In this fairytale, the poor wretch of the streets was transformed into a beautiful princess by a fairy godmother. She went to a ball and married a prince and she lived happily ever after.

Maybe this can be my happily ever after too...at least for tonight. Before the Trials begin.

A gong rings, echoing eerily around the castle. The women who help me prepare go quiet, as we listen to the resounding 'boom!' of the gong. Everything is dead silent for a moment, before my door swings open once again. It is Quintus-his beard trimmed, but still looking distastefully at me. I feel myself shrinking back into my shell. I am an Unmentionable. No matter what.

"Time for dinner. Are you ready Elixir?" He asks, looking at me through tired, bored eyes.

I will not let this man...or anyone for that matter get me down.

"Yes." I respond. And with my chin up, I strut right past him like a proud peacock into the hallway.

Another chapter down...yay! I don't have much to say right now, besides the fact that everybody soaks up the last few weeks of summer! I can't believe there are only a couple of weeks left until school starts (at least for me 🙁)
Anyway, enough of that depressing stuff!
Question of the day is....what is the worst injury you've ever had?

That is actually a super tough question for me to answer because I've had a lot of bad injuries haha! But I'd have to say that 37 dislocated shoulders takes the cake on that one. :)
What about you?

Well, until next time lovely readers!
a_person66