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The pull of gravity is dizzying
sayaka sways tiredly where she sits like semi circle. Shrimp posture only helping for so long until her head comes falling down behind her. Fortunately it doesn’t land on the harsh concrete, her elbows scraping against the ground to hold her up. Nothing can compare to her knee however.
During the final moments of the fight Sayaka pulled her idiotic trick of becoming overconfident. When she put her guard down. Breathed her first sigh of relief during all of this.Everything had went black. Tar black. Which now looking back -the “back” being 5 seconds ago- was some sort of early apology from fate.
She couldn’t hear nor see anything. Life returned to her slowly, her vision tinted at the edges like frosted windows in Christmas. Ears full of static and cotton. Her brain struggled immediately against the blanket of fog and after 4 irritating minutes of not fully understanding anything did her focus fall onto her leg. Specifically her joint.
Her first thought had been being too far from her soul gem. Temporarily disconnecting her technically dead zombie body from her literal soul. The actual reason stared dead at her.
Sayka stared wide eyed. Rght at the bent of her twig leg was a failed abstract painting of purple and blues, the red dripping from it. It looked horrifying and the sight of it probably worsened the hurt more than it actually was. Her quirk of dramatics pooling through, Sayaka was known to be loud and silly and clumsy. Emphasis on clumsy.
She tried to examine the wound. Not thinking straight -she can blame it on the blood loss and not herself- she tried to pull her leg closer. A new wave of pain immediately latched itself on her wound. She swears she can feel it bubbling. Wet, messy pain. Blood dripped straight from the soaked now red dyed wrinkles of her knee to the underside of her leg. Her fingers gripped the white cape under her for some sort of closure, nails almost breaking from the rough cement texture under it.
“Shit” she laid there trembling like a dry crusty leaf. Each shake making her doubt her ability to keep her stance more. It lasted for who knows how long. At some point it was too much. She had to move. “Ha-“ metallic smell filled her mouth. Each gap of her teeth filled with this stench.
She needs to get up. She has to get up. She’s skipped school for too many days. Her parents may have been coming late for a while now, not at all sometimes, but they’ll ask her and she’ll look insane spewing magical girl nonsense. Some of the magical girls don’t even understand their duty themselves, how will her parents?
A dry cough. Then another. Then more. Each raked itself harshly against her throat. She swallowed air wrong ofcourse Sayaka can breathe wrong. Her mouth is dry. This wrangled position on the ground is beyond uncomfortable. Her elbows are bruised. She has to get up.
She looks around aimlessly. A twinge of pain running up her neck. She’s already busted up from yesterday’s patrol. A sword is laying just barely out of her reach. She goes to stand, use her hands to get up but the silk of her cape catches her and she slips. Right on an uncomfortable position pinning her arm partially under her.
Her eyes are so wet. There’s a stiffness on her face from dried tears she doesn’t remember. She’s so hungry. Her shoulders ache. Her cape is ruined. Her hair is ruined. She can’t breathe from the snot clogging her nose but the mouth breathing equally hurts every inch of her body. Each breath forces a tremble from her until she can’t be sure she isn’t having a seizure.
She’s so tired.
Get up, there’s been worse in this world, stop being pathetic, this is your one and only job.
Mumbled whines escape her. She reaches for the sword once more.
and you’re failing
She grips it on the wrong side. The setting sun reflecting its orange hue on its sharpness. She wasted a whole day. Guilt gripped her more harsher then the hurt could. A whole day lost. A weekend nonetheless. Today was a chance to redeem herself. She could focus fully on her work on her one singular work.
Bloating in her pitiful state would not help. Time has been wasted enough. If she can just get home before dark and patch herself-
what if Kyoko sees her like this.
Sayaka moves her head around far too fast and ignores the following headache. Everything is blurry again.
There is no sight of red anywhere. No crunching noises nor footsteps.
Sayaka releases another painful sigh and returns to her sword. Carefully dragging it close to her without accidentally cutting her arm before grabbing correctly it by the handle.
Not wanting to waste even more of the day, she positions it next to her torso and in one swift motion throws herself upwards
and immediately hears a ripping noise.
the sword she used to balance herself and as a walking stick because shit she can’t even crawl right now had been placed on her cape. So now not only is it painted with her blood and sticky and dry in parts that rub against the back of her leg and slightly cling to it, it’s cut in half. She pictures it as fly wings. It fits.
The sharp weapon wobbles and glides on the road and Sayaka thankfully catches herself every time.
Sayaka ignores the tiny black speck on the ground. The happiness at a win is quickly overlooked. because that’s all that signifies, her hard earned win. Her soul gem stirs. She can fix this. She just needs to go home. She needs to search the heaps of clothes on the floor for something that can cover her properly. She keeps skipping laundry day.