Once upon a time

Eyes glittering, he lunged forward with an angry growl. His sweat-soaked hair whipped across his face as his fist shot out, catching me unprepared. I tried to sidestep, but despite his size, he was fast. His hard knuckles collided with my solar plexus, and the air rushed from my lungs. I cried out as I stumbled backwards, off balance, momentarily numbed by pain. But this was no time for defeat. I launched my counter- attack: a swift kick to his thigh, followed by another to the head. He pushed forward to catch my foot, but my kick connected with the rough skin of his cheek. I drew back to take advantage of my point with a kick right under his guard. But as I jumped, suddenly the world shifted, the ground spun out from under my feet and my body went horizontal, the mark of his heel burning against my collarbone.

I was out of the game for the rest of practice. I have been fighting Marcus for weeks, and I can never seem to beat him, no matter how hard I train. It's humiliating. My rank means I am supposed to have better technique than the new arrivals. Aching, I change my clothes and head out of the gym, avoiding the gazes of the others. I don't want to speak to anyone tonight. I think of the unopened book waiting for me on my nightstand, undoubtedly beginning with the words, "once upon a time." The world is a cruel place. It is not a place for stories. These stories are useful only as an escape from the bleak reality of the city. But no, perhaps this is the wrong place to start. There was a time when the world was full of stories.

My name is Aria. Perhaps my parents were fond of music, or they wished to name me after something hauntingly beautiful that would escape the mundane world of filth in which we live. But I doubt it. Beginning with "A," Aria was probably the first name my mother came across in the baby book.