"Harder." My dad ordered. I punched the punching bag as hard as I could, sweat dripping down my face like rain. Doing this multiple times, my muscles ached for a rest and my throat burned for water. I haven't had a break for two hours.

"Faster." Dad ordered again. Tears started dripping down my cheeks as I went faster. A painful tingling sensation flew down my back as I cried.

"Thirty more seconds River." My dad said. I weakly smiled as I kept punching, pushing myself to go harder and faster. The bunker was hot, which didn't help me of course.

"Ten more seconds. You can do it." My dad said, sarcasm laced in his voice. I counted down in my head.

Ten. I punched twice, the punching bag flying away, just to come back right again. My dad was in the army before this. He was fired about a year after he joined.

Nine. I punched three times this time. Dad looked at me, a distant facial expression. I knew why he was distant. He was thinking about the army. He was fired because he believed the apocalypse was coming. That is why he is training me. So I can survive.

Eight. Punching harder than the last, I quickly jumped to the side in order to dodge the bag. My dad nodded in approval, before going back to that distant look.

Seven. One last tear dropped down my cheek as I quickly tried wiping it away.

Six. Almost there. Five more seconds. You can do this River. Never give up, and don't think you can't do this because you can. Dad loves you. That's why he is doing this.

Five. I punched harder than I thought I could. The bag almost touched the ceiling. Does my dad love me? If he did love me, he would have let me take a break. He never let me take a break.

Four. I did this once again. Quickly jumping to the side once again, in order to dodge the bag. My dad turned around and wiped his face, turning back around to stare at me.

Three. I punched harder than the last two punches, throwing all of my strength into the bag.

Two. I punched hard twice. One punch with my left hand and the other with my right.

One. I punched as hard as I could, the bag flying off the chain and onto the floor. My back sloped downward as I painted, seeing double. The tingling in my back grew stronger as I looked at Dad.

"I don't feel good." I mumbled before I fell to the ground. The pain in my back grew. I started screaming as the floor hit my back. Pulling my legs up to my chest, Dad panicked and ran over to me.

"Shit." He cursed. I groaned and screamed again, my seven year old body unable to handle the pain. My dad quickly rolled me onto my stomach. My back felt like something was popping out of it, coming out slow and painful. Looking at my back, I saw a large lump of skin and some feathers running out of two spaces on my back. My dad ran upstairs to get something. Sobbing, I blacked out.

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*-Three Hours Later-*

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The pain stopped. Sitting up and looking around, I felt something weighing down my back. My back was sore, and I had no shirt on. Gasping, I quickly stood up and ran up the basement stairs and into the laundry room to grab a shirt.

Quickly putting on a shirt, I grew curious as I felt the fabric not touching my back. Instead, it touched something else, something lumpy. Running upstairs, I ran into my bathroom and took off my shirt, turning around and craning my neck around in order to see.

I gasped as I saw big black wings folded against my back. The down feathers almost touching my heels, and the top feathers reaching the beginning of my neck. The feathers were big and black, making my dark blonde hair pop. My dark chocolate brown eyes gazed at my wings, taking in my new body part. I ran my hands up and down the wings, feeling the soft feathers. I tried moving one wing. Struggling, I managed to get my left wing to stretch all the way out. It was about half my size! I am 4'8. Which is tall for a seven year old.

Struggling once again, I rose my right wing. Running out of space in the bathroom, I let my wings drop down to the floor. Pinching my arm, I did what anyone my age would do.

I fainted.