Sometimes even though you worked your hardest and feel worn out, there is a lingering understanding that it isn’t enough and you should expect more from yourself.
This morning, the room was a clammy cold that was unnatural. She burrowed deeper in the covers, eyes closed and trying to forget the awake feeling that was warming her limbs. Sliding out of bed, she gathered her belongings, and after some preparation she was walking into the outside.
It was time for training. This year it was boxing. She had to ignore the sticky sheen of sweat on her forehead as her glove forced itself into the other girl’s mitt. All the uniforms were a dark grey, smooth against the skin and warm from the workout. Her eyes narrow, focus narrowing until only the white and black mitt was visible. “More.. Harder. Keep going. Don’t stop,” she thinks. A billowing fury fills her with a mindless energy. Her punches became faster, a whirlwind with a pounding strength that only increased with each attack. The mitt flies over her head, grazing the air over her head right after she had dropped, then punched in retaliation.
They never told any of them what the purpose of this training was, but it wasn’t her time to know yet. The keening whistle signals the end. Cloth wraps fall to the ground as people begin freeing their hands, and she sighs. Her body had lost energy, but she hadn’t done enough.
With her normal clothes returned, she dissolves into the crowd like sugar sliding into hot tea.. Invisible, but fundamentally altering the flavor in a subtle, cloying manner.