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The Female Warrior Ninja This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

“It’s your turn.”

I whip my head around, a spray of black curls crashing into my eyes. A feral smile forms on my lips, my eyes narrow. I enjoy the adrenaline and power I feel at this moment.

I draw my feet together and raise my bamboo sword behind my back in one fluid motion. Just one. It’s all I get. I’m a warrior, a ninja, and I carefully survey my opponents.

Cody stands to my right. He moves with forceful, powerful strength. His height gives him an acknowledged advantage. At least, acknowledged by everyone else; I do not. His six feet make him lumbering and sluggish, aided only by his thirst for glory and the fear he inspires in almost everyone. Except me. I can easily cut into his guard and take him down with one swift stroke to the wrist.

Beyond Cody is James. I narrow my eyes because every previous battle has come down to the two of us, slashing rhythmically, our choreography flawless as well as deadly. While Cody is tall, James is a head shorter than me. His steps are agile and his swipes accurate, always well placed. I worry about him the most. I remember, however, that he becomes overconfident and indiscreet when on a winning streak. His shimmering blue eyes meet my scarab ones. He blinks. I blink.

I look to my left and see my brother, Connor. His beard gives him the confident, rakish appearance of a seasoned warrior. He is, too, and with the added edge of wanting to beat his little sister. He will challenge me with the strength in his well-muscled arms. His advantage: he knows my style. My advantage: I know his too. And I plan to exploit it. I am without the mercy of an older brother.

Beside Connor stands Michael. I tilt my head slightly as I consider him. He has height and strength, and a determination from losing countless times that will aid him in this fight. He stares at me with set features; if it comes down to him and I, I can take him easily. By prancing and with ill-aimed blows, I can so raise his ire that he will make aggravated, sloppy moves. They will be his downfall.

At last I think of myself. Short, weak, underestimated. It was a valued, cherished advantage. Was. But I’ve shown enough skill for my opponents to see I am not as I appear. And I tire. But perhaps I can invent a new strategy: bide my time, not slash with raw strength, and strike to kill efficiently. The blood of ninjas runs through my veins. I feel it trickle into my heart, then beat out again. It is special, precious, and only my brother shares this gift. I think of my Japanese ancestors and of my middle name, Kiyoko, which means “water”. I will flow like water.

These observations absorbed a millisecond. Beside me Cody shifts microscopically, scoping out possible routes to victory. He will not find it through me.
He lunges, aiming for my free hand behind my back. I jump away, raising it into the air. A mistake, my brother thinks, as his black eyes widen. My unprotected hand is in his range. He makes several false jerks, attempting to disorient me. That tactic lost its effect two fights ago; all it does now is give me time to observe. A wise warrior always revises his strategy. Finally he jumps slightly to my front, swinging his branch at my wrist. I simultaneously wrench it away, swinging my sword to deflect his. He almost smacked my ear.

Michael’s turn. I see frustration in his flaring nostrils and darkened eyes. Connor is too far away to attack. He turns to James. Big mistake. He strikes out at James’ hands, but falls and rolls onto the grass. James’ hands were too low to reach effectively. Now Michael will be floor-bound for the entirety of the battle. He growls angrily.

Standing still, James’ eyes rove over us, determining which way to jump. I brace myself, my muscles taught. Michael remains an obstacle in front of him. James leaps over the body, annoyance in his pose. Am I the only one restraining emotion? One must never allow emotion, only passivity, if one wishes to conquer in a fight.

Cody again. He whips his sword at my hand in the air, his height allowing him to reach it. I see an opening. As his turn ends abruptly I smash my hand into his sword one. He is gone now.

Amid the groans and happy grunts I concentrate on Connor. He attacks James with audible force, their weapons smacking together to reverberate against the summer stillness. As he moves his hand to whack James’, the transition into James’ turn has him slapping Connor’s fingers. He took a page out of my book. I frown.

Now the only ones left are Michael, James and I. Michael rolls into a crouch, his feet under him, poised to spring. Now me, it is me. I cannot attack Michael if I wish to remain on my own two feet. I look at James. I smile.

His face is turned to a chicken walking among the lilac bush. I strike, feeling the smack against his hand through my weapon reach into my fingertips. James shouts, angrily. But distraction is a weakness and I won fairly. With acknowledgment he departs.

Michael stares into my face. I see awe in his expression but I quench the pride seeping into my bones. Complacence is a fatal weakness and one I refuse to indulge in.
He springs up, cutting at my sword hand, but it is too high. Another misjudged move. But now he is so close to me I feel the heat radiate off of his body, can see the pores in his face.

I hear my samurai blood whisper to me. I lower my brows. This move is unorthodox. But it could work.

I widen my eyes and bat my thick black lashes, drawing my lips into a mysteriously enticing smile. I tilt my head to the side, allowing a curl to droop prettily onto my eyelid. He stares, not expecting it. But then he too, inevitably, smiles.

I strike at his hand.

I, the female warrior ninja, have won.

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RenaeSadie96 said...
Sept. 12, 2012 at 1:45 pm
O.o   ...your samurai blood? lol great story :D i love the ending lol
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