Iwashiro Naya
'Fire!'
"FIRE!"
It was human nature. No one would help if there was a chance of pain. She'd picked a target, the 'green building', a super structure which sloped like a Lego ramp, layered with forest, windows, offices and stores between. But in the dark, it was a horror show.
Alternatively, there was a river right next to it.
She looked back.
The horse was white on one side, black on the other and three times bigger. A dinosaur. What was getting to her was what she thought were two were one.
ONE HORSE!
The words just kept reverberating.
One, a unicorn, roaring and flashing fangs like a goaded dog.
The other, an old, disfigured bulldog growling idly at a passing butterfly. It, or they, caught up and stomped its hoof. She barely had time to dive from becoming jelly. It left a ditch.
'So this is it'
A part of her shattered mind thought. It was split in five surreal factions, committees who'd unionized and taken action while her 'sanity' was away. Two committees focused on sprinting, one thought:
'I'm about to die'
Another committee focused on slowly trying to accept.
The last got dodging duty, figuring out where and when to dive.
Was it a fair? No.
Would it change? No.
The 'accepting' committee got stuck on her pathetic ending. Would father be proud? He didn't raise a princess, mother did.
She'd be very proud. Yay…
Be 'frilly', all else was trash.
All groups shut up, the dive button pressed when another hoof crushed the earth where she'd just been, cracking earth, ripping grass and root. It'd been a good press like a quick-time button hit at the right moment, letting her land and kick out at the same moment, rolling her to her feet with no momentum lost.
'Look!' A faction commanded, 'You can't die without putting up a fight!'
She turned on her heel with such force she skid, putting her face to face with a monster… dinosaur… thing…
It was a glorious moment of madness. Who else would do exactly what she was about to?
It just stopped. No skidding, no balancing. It'd been at a trot.
The white half roared right in her face nearly bowling her over. Its mouth a car trunk fitted just for her. Specific? Yes. But only jerks judged.
The commanding faction that had egged her on changed its tone.
'Y-you kn-know plan B d-doesn't s-s-sound so bad'.
She'd run… quietly. That had to count.
The white head bit her the second she'd turned. She screamed as all her momentum hit zero, blood draining from her. It lifted her like a chew toy.
It'd caught her backpack and some jacket but no meat. She flailed but got nothing until spinning and landing two good kicks. It shook her fast and hard before launching her.
As she flew, Drake's beetle form came running. She wasn't high enough for him to qualify as 'ant' but was getting there.
He's going to try help before getting eaten, a sixth faction noted, activating her groan function.
Her rise slowed, its head was down, leaving the horn pointed right at her. No matter how high she rose, it stayed on point.
She was dead.
It would be like a bullet passing through an apple. At terminal velocity, there'd be no skewering, she'd splatter. But it'd be over. The puffed chest, training, smiling, so much smiling! It was exhausting, all of it, parents, friends and even herself for all the justifying.
There'd be a moment of pain, then, nothing.
But Drake?
He was good people, the best in years. She could live without life, but with Drake's blood?
Still rising, the world disappeared, spinning away as though she'd transcended to some equally crappy plane. Finally, she slowed to a stop, still facing a demon's horn, Naya spread and opened her holy jacket (there was a joke in there) all in the hope the wind might catch.
It… worked?
It only moved her a little to the left, far more than expected. She twisted and her left foot caught just as the horn adjusted. Its horn cut straight through her sneaker, slicing through the base, cutting free just short of her toes. The momentum pushed her fast enough to get past and over its snout.
In what had to be the same second, she rammed her bag into the horn. The momentum overpowered it and Naya dropped until her toes touched soil, where she kicked into a spin, twirling like a ballerina... or a pole dancer…
Its head yanked up.
Like a grappling hook, the bag stayed latched, and up she went. Her momentum forced it to overcompensate. It neighed, its head forced her back further, her feet touching its back. She pulled back and down, sprinting across its massive spine. There'd never been a moment where designer thread counts mattered more.
Snap
Its head sunk, the centre of its long neck bulging unnaturally, glazed eyes staring at her upside down. There was a moment of incomprehension just before…
"YES!" she yelled.
She threw her arms up and screamed.
It worked.
She'd won. No one saw a teenage girl save the world, well… herself. The world didn't care. But so what? It wouldn't kill her mood, maybe threaten it online.
Naya pulled her hair over her face, pressing it against her skin like a pillow and let out a sigh so wide her jaw hurt.
It was time to get off. Ever so carefully she spread her legs wiggling on its back, grabbing at its fur using it as a ladder until the slope ran out and the real drop began. There she sat, and just froze. It was a long, long way down. The idea of using the fur as a monkey bar, there by doing the world's longest pullup, putting damper on her victory against…well… nature? She wasn't a part of Ultimate Ninja Warrior. Well, she was no ninja. Warrior? Point proven a minute ago. Ultimate? Could she be anything else?
Unfortunately, cold winds proved the warm glow of victory was overrated, it forced her to rub her arms, blowing into her hands. A small faction working her reactor core elected to admire herself without the jacket.
There was time to stare at the vomit pink sleeveless tank top she 'hated but picked herself.' Singled out in an ocean of fabric, and because of it, as a super heroine, she was tacky. The pink ranger having vomited on her. But alive, she could be proud of that…
That… was what trash would say.
Great art was inanimate. But it invited, attracted, demanded! People declared war over beauty. It was so divine it brought life not only to itself but others. Tacky was unacceptable. Decency was 'the least' a person could do, not breathing. Cockroaches did that too, they didn't pat themselves on the back for it.
She took a last look at the unicorn and fell back screaming and hanging to the fur. The monster blinked.
Up Next:
Yamamoto Jin