“I need a weapon.The damsel always finds a weapon to defeat the enemy with.”
Up close, I can read the words scrawled across the front of the ugly cornflower blue bins.
“Christmas?Fucking Christmas?!”I groan, smacking my palm against my forehead.
I yank the first bin off the top of the pile, wondering what the heck I'm supposed to do with holiday decorations.
“What were you expecting,” I scoff, “a bin of swords and daggers?”
I run my fingertips over the plastic, feeling the rough edges and aged grooves.Pressing my fingers under the lid, it pops off easily.An old, dusty smell wafts out, tangling in my nostrils and making me want to sneeze.Tinsel crinkles and crunches as I sift through the bin.
Under the first layer of tree garland, my hand lands on something more solid.It's light with a smooth surface, like glass.Lifting the small bauble from the bin, my eyes widen.The globe sparkles, the yellow ceiling light glinting off its surface.A hand-painted sleigh glides over the ornament, driving through a snowy field.It's pretty, but ultimately useless.
I drop it back into the bin and the tinkle of broken glass floats out behind it.Pushing the box aside, I stuff my hand into the next one.My fingers fumble around, feeling rough fabric and bits of string.As my hand nears the bottom of the decor heap, something hard pokes into my palm.I wrap my fingers around it and yank.
My lips twitch into a smile at the sparkling, metal Christmas tree topper.I squeeze the star in my hand, clenching with all my strength.Rather than bend in my fist, the metal bites into my hand.Its edges are ragged, time and use having sharpened them.
“Perfect.”I chuckle.
A metallic zing sounds as I scrape the edge of the star against the floor.Over and over, I scratch it over the concrete, forcing little bits of metal to flake off.The flecks scatter across the floor like silver glitter.I press my finger to the tip of the sharpest point and gasp.A bead of blood wells on my fingertip, marking the metal with a festive holiday red.
Looking up from my makeshift weapon, the heavy metal door looms before me.Its rust tinged edges haven't changed since I arrived, and yet they look different, more ominous than before.A shiver dances down my spine.If this were a book, perhaps the coppery borders would be foreshadowing, the author is warning me of the blood that's yet to come in my story.I grasp the handle and a chill zips through me.I pull and twist, but the door doesn't budge.
I suck in a breath, hoping the air will quell the anxiety gnawing at my insides.
“Okay,” I whisper, “I just have to wait until they open the door and then, I'll attack.”
My heart sinks into my belly.I don't know how to attack.I've never attacked anyone before in my life.I've always been too quiet, too afraid.For my entire life, I've stood motionless in the face of conflict.Even when my safety was at stake, something deep inside of me demanded that I be still.Even as fists and boots crashed into my body, that little voice would cry out from the depths of my soul, begging me to be immovable.
Today, she isn't calling for my stillness.Today she's louder, more forceful.Fight, she demands inside of me,fight and survive.
I ball my fists at my side, blood trickling over the antique tree topper and dripping beside my feet.
“Okay, Ava, just think about the books.The small, unassuming woman needs to defeat the bad guys.She has no real weapons, just something she grabbed along the way.You've read it somewhere, I know you have.”
I wade through a sea of words, feeling the prose of each manuscript that’s been in my hands flood through my mind.I pull on the threads of each story, searching for answers.Inside of me, the sounds of battle ring out.Swords clash and cannons boom, but those aren’t the stories I need.I push them away, sifting through the tales that live within me.
Somewhere in the expanse of my memory, I see a tiny piece of broken metal sparkle in a woman’s hand.Around her, machines beep and hum in a familiar rhythm.From her fingers, I can feel smooth metal and raised buttons.Her fear quivers through me, tightening my lungs and making it hard to draw breath.The air around her feels thin, like it isn’t enough to live on.Her vision is hazy like she’s looking through fogged glass.No, not just glass, her helmet!It’s her freaking space helmet!
“Olivia,” I whisper as her world comes into full view.“I remember!She was a doctor, kidnapped by alien rogues.She had to fight them to get control of their ship and steer it back to her lover.”
Crouching down next to the door, I let myself fall into her story.“She had a chunk of metal that she broke off from the ship’s command deck.She used it to stab the alien guards, one in the jugular and the other in the femoral artery.She stabbed one guy in the neck right where you would take your pulse and the other in the crease between his abdomen and leg.”My nose scrunches.“Gross, but okay.”
Seconds drag into minutes as I crouch beside the door.My fingers ache and the Christmas tree topper digs into my palm, but I don’t loosen my grip.Sweat drips down my spine, making my skin feel sticky and my shirt cling to my back.My heart pounds a rapid beat in my ears.It thumps like a war drum, calling me to action.
It feels as if hours pass before I hear movement outside the door.I flex my muscles, balancing on my toes and loosening my knees.Tilting my ear, the sound of muffled voices hums through the door.Hearing only two distinct tones between them, I huff out a relieved breath.Two men.I can take on two men, can’t I?Lengthening my spine, I imagine myself as a wolf.I envision sleek, gray fur that will protect my soft flesh, lean legs that will propel me forward, and sharp teeth that will cut through skin and bone.The door beside me begins to slide open, letting out a shriek.
“Merda!”a masculine voice yells.“Where did the bitch go?!”
Pressing my toes into the concrete, I spring forward and slam my shoulder into the partially opened door.It flies backward before crashing into something, presumably one of the men, given the grunt that sounds behind it.Something heavy thumps against the floor before another man bounds into the room.Yanking my arms behind my back, I hold the metal ornament against my lower back in a bruising grip.Slowly, the man steps toward me, his enormous form casting a shadow across the floor.
Be meek, I tell myself.Be unassuming.Be quiet.Let him get closer.
He closes the distance between us and I crane my neck to look at his face.It’s not a face I’ve seen before, though it’s no less chilling than the others.A thick, white scar streaks across his face, stretching from his eyebrow to his mouth.His lips peel up into a frightening smile as his hand reaches out toward me.
“Don’t fucking touch me!”I screech.
I shove my feet against the floor and jump upward, my body crashing into his chest.He struggles, trying to fling me off of him as my arms band around his neck.The metal star scratches against the skin of my palm.I feel the sharp sting of its edges cutting into me, but I don’t let go.I pull my arm back and slam it forward, lodging the star into his thick neck.
