Prompt Fiction


The students bickered amongst themselves for the newest sporting equipment. There were several scouts present today and those with the highest performance scores would definitely be the ones winning the coveted scholarships to Noir Academy.

Seniors and juniors managed to make their way through the best of the equipment, if only because they were older and bigger—therefore able to physically plow their way through the throng of eager hands.

Lita and Bree waited at the back, the two transfer students who were at the bottom of the social pond. Average grades and results in the testings for clubs and scholarships. Their strong friendship was the only notable thing between them, a detail that stood out in the way that Bree, the taller one of the two, now stood in front of her friend, shielding her from the worst of their squabbling classmates.

“Are they still at it?”

“Doesn’t matter if they are or aren’t,” Bree said, darkly. “As soon as it’s clear, just grab something and we’ll break, alright?”

“Yeah. Sure. Anything’s good,” Lita sucked in a breath and began to count silently in her head.

“Clear!” Bree barked.

The two friends darted in to grab some of the worn equipment out from the busy shed. They managed to snag a few decent pieces—at least, ones that weren’t completely spent—but it was a close call.

Lita slumped to the ground outside the shed. She could hear the remaining students starting to fight over the leftovers. She was unceremoniously hauled to her feet and dragged further away from the shed.

“Idiot!” Bree hissed. “You know they’re going to start blasting in there in a second. Don’t linger.” She poked and prodded her a few yards further, before dropping down on the grass to catch her own breath.

Lita flashed a grin, taking the catcher’s mitt in her hand. She closed her eyes, silently drawing her energy together and slowly pushing it out into the mitt.

It took a minute—to outsiders. Five seconds to the girls themselves. The equipment came alive, melding carefully to their arms and shoulders, providing the necessary protection required.

Leftovers indeed.

(c) S. Harricharan

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