Hi.
My name is Meg.
You might have heard of my....lively best friend, Vivia. She gets overexcited about everything and is always happy. You could say that she is my exact opposite.
I like to stay in the background, while she likes to smile and make people happy. I like the wrestling and she likes gymnastics. I have black hair, she has red. I have blue eyes, she has brown. I have no freckles, she’s peppered with them. But, let me tell you one thing. She and I are both gaunt figures who hate boxing and running.
Although I may look like I have no muscles whatsoever, I’m pretty strong. I’m good at sneaking up on people, although that isn’t usually appreciated. I’m also kind o resourceful, like when I’m in a tight spot, I might use my head, or legs, or maybe my back, or arms, or something. I hate to be trapped. I love cats, and so does Vivia, but we both can’t have one. I can tap into my flexibility in my arms and back, but I have very little flaccidity in my legs.
Anyway, that’s me.
Vivia, who can’t keep a secret and talks a lot (whereas I’m shy and hate talking to strangers--or anybody for that matter), has probably told you about where the story takes place--Sparta--and about the Spartan lifestyle.
Yep. Thought so.
So, that’s it. I think that we can get on with the story. We’re set. Now.
Okay, so, right now, I’m doing my favorite thing in the Spartan Women Training Program; wrestling!
And, even better, I’m wrestling Spitfire: a brute of a girl who is a known calumniator to all of the girls in the program. I hate her.
Meg leans downwards and flexes her skimpy muscles, which only become slight protuberances in reply. Although there aren’t many shadows, Meg finds some and travels through them, almost as if she is a shadow herself....
“Bring it on,” she hissed, serpant-like.
Spitfire bellowed and flung herself at the shadows.
But all Spitfire’s hands teared at was air.
All the sudden, out of no where, Meg flung herself out of the shadows and onto Spitfire’s back, which was wet and sticky with perspiration.
Spitfire screamed in fury and bucked like an untamed bronco.
“If I had known you were this difficult to ride,” Meg murmured in that erie whisper of hers. “I would have found another horse.”
This enraged Spitfire more still. She then flopped over onto her back so that Meg was squashed in between the floor and Spitfire.
Spitfire laughed coldly. “Har har har,” she managed between gasps for air. “Look at little Meg, all--”
Meg, as mentioned before, was a resourceful girl. And she hated to lose. So, in desperation, Meg bit Spitfire’s back.
With a tremendous YOW! , Spitfire jumped three feet into the air (Meg used this time to dart swiftly into the shadows), and landed flat on her bum. Before she could recover from this, Meg jumped onto Spitfire’s back and slammed the girl on the ground. Meg’s powerful hands squeezing the bigger girl’s wrists.
“How do you like it?” Meg hissed vengefully. Her mouth still tasted salty and sweaty from biting Spitfire’s back.
After the match, Meg stalked into the shadows, seemingly become one herself. When she finally found Vivia, the two had to leave the boisterous and rowdy crowds as that they could hear each other properly.
“Spitfire tastes fowl,” was the first thing Meg said, tongue hanging out of her mouth and eyebrows lowered.
Vivia laughed. “Well,” she giggled, “at least you won.”
“Yeah,” Meg shrugged. “I still say you had a better match. Believe me, she tastes like a hunk of blubber marinated in sweat.”
“Ew,” Vivia said, still with laughing eyes and a gleeful smile, with a shiver.
“Yeah? You think that that was the worst thing I’ve ever tasted?” Meg inquired, raising her eyebrows.
“You would think,” Vivia shrugged.
Meg laughed. “This is far worse.”
“What is it?” Vivia wondered, big brown eyes wide, eager to find out. “Please tell me, Meg.”
“It is,” Meg pause for effect, “the chief’s cooking!”
The two friends broke into a fit of laughter. They were jubilant from Meg’s victory and from just....being together.
-KittyLover8
© 2012
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