The Runner

In the arena I was a whirlwind of pent-up anger. Slicing and slashing at mannequins left and right, leaving no time for unwanted thoughts.

I'll be the first to admit that I'm not a great fighter with a sword, even worse with a bow but with a throwing knife or a gun I could hit most targets and with a dagger in each hand I was a force to be reckoned with.

The Hermes kids were sparring in pairs on the other side of the arena while I - the outcast - sparred with myself, sending stuffing and various inanimate body parts flying to the dirt floor in a heat of ADHD.

A conch rang through the shouts and grunts.

"Dinner!" Connor Stoll, our councilor called and there was a canon of swords falling back into the rack.

I sheathed my daggers in my belt and followed slowly after the Hermes campers, also grabbing a thigh sheath of throwing knives, a gun and a short sword on my way past, stowing everything but the sword in my pockets and sticking the sword through my belt next to my dagger sheathes. I knew that I'd be fighting for my life out there and I'd need all the weapons I could carry!

I shut the door behind me but not before casting a longing look back at the empty room. I'd had some good times there, shame I wasn't coming back.

I at as many helpings of barbecue as I could stomach before the conch rang out again for the start of the game. In the chaos of people selecting their weapons, I jogged back to the Hermes cabin to grab my pacl before sprinting for the stone archway.

I stood in the soft shadow of the stone and looked back down at Camp Half-Blood with a sore heart as light as a feather. I was going to miss that place, but I was better off being free.

I turned forward into the woods and disappeared into the shadows of the trees.

Notes