She would not be useless

With a sword in her right hand, she let out a breath.

Focused in every move,

she would never again face death,

and she needed that proof —

the proof she would not be useless again,

the proof that she could try

Her breath aligned with her focus.

She felt the sun against her skin.

It was a strange feeling of reality reducing, compressing.

Maybe this time she could win.

In those seconds, she had the chance that was never given.

He advanced with rage and speed;

She escaped with what she’d need;

He came again, his stance was tight,

She turned her way and dodged his strike.

And in that split second, when their eyes met

and their fists clenched

she hit — dangerously —

No regret.

and froze.

Froze in the experience of not failing,

of not being who she used to be,

of not being useless.

With a sword in her right hand, she let out a breath.

She was exhausted.

And, as if everything had frozen there —

her mother, her sister, her father's departure, the war —

everything came to the surface,

carrying her and spinning her inside her with no grace

A refreshing breeze came to meet her while she panted.

It was as if peace inside was granted.

She was no longer weak.

She was no longer useless.

For the first time,

She was something more.

She would not be helpless,

and she was ready for it.