Page 1 of Their Chosen

Chapter One: Rhowyn

The light above me flickered ominously before it went out, casting my form in darkness as I slowed my breathing and tensed in preparation to attack. Straining my ears, I heard footsteps on the concrete followed by the laughter of two girls as they made their way toward me. If they had been paying attention, they'd have noticed that the usually bright room was darkened, allowing me to slip into the shadows to hide. The only illumination came from the windows along one entire wall leading down the hall. However, due to the location at the farthest end, the shadows were dark and thick, allowing me to slip inside unseen.

If it were up to me, they wouldn't make it back to the locker room. The trick here would be getting them both or separating one from the other in order to carry out my plans. I only needed one. Silence and darkness were my companions as I waited patiently for my unsuspecting prey despite the many warnings to always be on alert.

The girls continued to near my spot in the shadows, oblivious to the fate that would befall them. I had chosen this location because of the secrecy it afforded me. Pressing my back against the wall, which separated me and the girls, I listened intently for their steps, picturing their current location. The darkness granted me the opportunity to move stealthily while I waited for the right time to attack without alerting anyone.

“Ugh! I forgot my phone!” one of the two girls exclaimed. “I'm gonna go grab it from the gym. Go on, and I'll be there in just a minute.” I listened as one set of steps faded away, leaving the other to continue toward me. Perfect. This would make it even easier. Any second now, and I would get what I came for.

I held my breath as my muscles bunched in anticipation of the attack, ready for when the girl passed by me. The clicks and dings from her phone told me she was answering the messages she received while training, her head down instead of on her surroundings as she conversed with her friends online. Her desire to be accepted by her friends pushed her to respond quickly, but in reality, it was just a distraction from the terrible world she lived in. But ignoring reality didn’t make it go away. It only made it seem so much uglier when you finally looked up to see it still existed there. Waiting like I was to pounce on her.

Just as she ambled past the doorway of the room I was hiding in, I leaped out behind her, wrapping one arm around her waist and placing a hand over her mouth, all before she even realized what was happening. Within seconds, I pulled her back into the room, shutting the door behind me, further cutting off any chance of escape. Her phone clattered to the carpeted floor with barely a sound. There was no indication whatsoever that anything was amiss.

Once in the room, I steered her toward the wall to minimize the view from any passersby. She fought me, dragging her feet along the floor, her movements jerky in her panic. So, I picked up her slight frame to leave her feet dangling, removing all her chances to gain leverage on me. She stopped flailing about, calming herself briefly before pulling her knees to her chest and then kicking them out and down, wrenching her chest forward. At the same time, she grabbed the arm that I had wrapped around her chest, holding it in place, and proceeded to toss me over her shoulder and onto the ground.

As I flew through the air, I thanked God that the room had mats, or I would have regretted this lesson completely. I was too old to get thrown down to the concrete and bounce back like when I was younger. A wide smile of pride graced my face as I landed on my back, the wind knocked from my lungs temporarily from the impact.

The girl, a scrawny slip of a thing, was only twelve years old but already fully aware of the harsh realities of life. Too young to be so jaded. Having been exposed to too much in her short time on Earth, her eyes reflected the truth she had seen. She settled into a fighting stance as she scanned her surroundings, fear evident on her face, her instincts finally kicking in. Finally, those haunted eyes landed on mine as I continued to lay on the ground, no longer a threat to her. “Fuck, Rhowyn!”

“Language, Delia!” I chastised her before sitting up with a groan, rubbing my shoulder from where my weight had landed after she’d tossed me. Her posture slumped as the adrenaline started to fade now that she was no longer under an immediate threat. She pressed her back against the wall as she closed her eyes, breathing in and out. Sliding down to sit on the floor, she pressed a hand to her heart, trying to regain her composure.

Sadly, she was just one of the many girls I trained in self-defense here at the gym. It was my way of giving back to the girls who were subjected to the evils of the world at too young an age. After being victimized by the cruelties of the system myself, I learned to fight back, training myself hard so I never had to be a victim again. When I had reached adulthood, finally free from the foster system, I started this program, working for the owner for the chance to teach the girls self-defense for free.

Just like my coach had done for me about nine years before, finding a scared and angry sixteen-year-old and channeling it all into mixed martial arts. Now, I was a professional fighter who continued to train kids between fights. I had managed to turn my life around and hoped I could make a difference in these girls' lives. Delia was only one of many who had passed through my class, some moving away because of the system and others lost completely. But there were some I actually helped. Some, like Delia.

“Sorry, Rhowyn. You just really scared me,” Delia apologized, having finally calmed herself and her racing heart, scooting to sit next to me on the mats.

“I'll let it pass only because I know how scared you were. However, there’s more to life than just survival, and it’s important you learn that the language you use matters.” I smiled softly at her, not actually mad. Part of my training was in teaching them not only physical self-defense but also how to take control of their mental health. Since the class was free, I only asked that they follow the rules, although there weren't many. Cursing was one of them. I wanted them to remain kids for as long as they possibly could, providing them with a safe and secure place where they could let their guards down some. “That being said,” I continued, “I needed you to truly understand the importance of being aware of your surroundings. Always.”

I paused, letting that sink in. For too many classes, I had been reminding several of the girls of the need to pay attention to details and surroundings. They might have thought they were doing so, but I truly feared for some of their safety based on the snippets of overheard conversations with the others. I knew this was a lesson that was absolutely necessary for them to learn. Hence, the need to provide today's test.

Eyeing her, I asked, “So, what are some of the details that you should have noticed before I pulled you in here?” She blushed, and I knew she didn't know any of them. That was the biggest problem with teens today; they were usually so glued to their phones that they noticed very little of their surroundings. “Come on, Del!” I laughed and swatted her knee across from me. “The light outside this room is out. When have you ever known me to leave lights out?”

Her lips pulled up on one side, a bashful grimace as she said, “Never. To be honest, I didn't even notice it was out.”

“My point exactly. None of you girls pay attention to much outside of your cell phones, and it could be the difference between living and dying. Details matter, Del.” I paused, making sure she comprehended the importance of this. I knew she had the moment her lips pulled tight and the smile in her eyes changed.

“I had to get through to you somehow, and since just telling you wasn't enough, I thought this might do the trick,” I explained my reasons to her. “Now, what could you have done differently?” I asked her, as I always did. Analyzing your mistakes could only make you a better fighter in and out of the ring. It was important to me that these girls learned how to study themselves for areas of improvement.

“I should have...” she paused, obviously hesitant and unsure, but as her mind worked, she found the confidence to speak up. “I shouldn't have hesitated. I waited too long to react, and that hesitation would have given you a chance to either pull a gun or knife or worse.” She finished that thought more strongly and sure of herself.

I beamed, a wide smile on my face, pride shining in my eyes. “Exactly right.” I moved to stand and help her back up as well, slapping a hand on her shoulder and turning us both toward the door. “Now, let's get ourselves to class so we can whip you girls into a bunch of bad asses.”

I barked out a laugh at her rounded eyes and gaping mouth at my use of the curse word. If she only knew that I cursed like a sailor when not at work, able to turn the language on and off depending on my surroundings, her not-so-delicate sensibilities would be offended. I knew my lesson had sunk in, and for that, I was thankful because it could one day save her life. In the end, that was all that mattered to me.

Chapter Two: Rhowyn

After my class with Delia and the other girls, I decided to spend some time on my own training. Now that I had finished work for the day, my mind kept straying to this evening and the reunion with my mother that we had planned. She claimed she was sober now, and I couldn't help but hope that this time it stuck. However, I knew better than to get my hopes up too high.

Hope for the best and prepare for the worst, my life motto.

I put my headphones in my ears and programmed my playlist so I could work out the anger that threatened to consume me like it did every time I thought about how she wasn't able to stay clean when I was a child. I’d been relegated to the foster system at a young age because of her failures and inability to care for me, much less herself. That, and because I didn't have a father. At least, not one that I knew of anyway. Mom would never talk about him, and I could never figure out why. A part of me assumed he was even more of a deadbeat than her, but I had no way of knowing that.

I punched the bag, weaving in and out, as I tried to avoid thinking about the things I experienced in the system because of her. My own moments of life and death and abuse. It was why I felt the need to be there for my girls. I knew from first-hand experience what they were going through. They desperately needed someone on their side and in their corner cheering them on, telling them they were worth something. Unlike me.

I trained them hard and set high expectations, knowing they could reach them if they tried. For many, I was the first person to believe in them, to tell them that it was okay to hope and strive for better for themselves. However, just punching a bag didn't mean you knew the first thing about self-defense. The two were completely different beasts. Like I’d always told my students, a punching bag didn't hit back, and it didn't try to hurt you. Learning how to counteract those attacks could mean the difference between life and death. People didn't care if you made it home again, and you had better be prepared to make sure that you did.

I had lost all my faith in humanity after what I had been subjected to. While some people were still good, society as a whole had turned a blind eye to the evil amongst them. Since my brutal life lessons, I had come to realize that there was a darkness in me, something broken inside that continued to cut and scar me even after all this time. It threatened me, haunted me, and taunted me by saying that no matter what I did, it would always be there. That stain on my soul constantly niggled in the back of my mind, only lessening when I had worn myself out in training. I had done things I could never take back and I wondered if I would ever be free from the tainted memories.

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