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Description
dieCarly

Florence, Italy
Summertime. Nighttime. Dinnertime.

Carlotta Cheyenne Shay could almost believe she was watching a spy thriller. Which would have been safer than the truth.

That she was in an actual, real-life, brutal knife fight to the death.

Fortunately, while her brain believed the former, her body knew the latter.

Which was how Carly was watching herself fending off a knife-wielding food delivery woman a head taller. Initial automatic words of surprised apology died on the teen's lips as she realized, She's trying to kill me!

And, I'm trying to kill her!

Then, WHY is she trying to kill me? followed by, How am I defending myself?

Forty-five seconds ago…

"Coming!"

Carly double-checked her count of euros as she walked the tight hallway of her small third-story flat to answer the knocking summons. The Chinese food she ordered was a little late, but should still be piping hot.

She opened the door. A woman maybe ten years older and a good head taller stood there with a bag from which wafted the tempting aroma of General Tso's Chicken.

"Twenty-seven thirty euros? Here's thirty-five, keep the—"

Dropping the bag of food, the woman suddenly lunged forward with her left arm, a double-edged black-chromed knife in hand.

Carly pivoted on her left heel, presenting her back to the extended arm, it a few inches above her shoulders as she continued speaking, "—change… oh, no! I hope the soup didn't spill!"

The girl took a step to the right and back, shoulder pushing the woman's chest hard, forced her a step back. As the attacking arm drew back to try again, Carly's back-leaning body guided that elbow into striking the edge of the open-standing door.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—!"

Protesting funnybone caused suddenly insensate fingers to spasm open, dropping the knife into Carly's own upraised left arm and hand ready to receive it.

The teen girl danced a few steps into her flat as the inexplicable intruder drew forth another, larger blade.

Annoyance flashed in dark eyes as the woman assumed an attacking posture.

She's trying to kill me! Carly dropped into a stance ready for engagement. It was at this point her mind caught up to what her body was doing and somehow she knew, I'm trying to kill her!

Still, the girl was puzzled, feeling a disconnect. As if she was watching someone else's bodycam footage instead of living it.

WHY is she trying to kill me?

Certainly, the affable teenager did not feel in control of her movements. How am I defending myself?

Description
dieCarly

Florence, Italy
Summertime. Nighttime. Dinnertime.

Carlotta Cheyenne Shay could almost believe she was watching a spy thriller. Which would have been safer than the truth.

That she was in an actual, real-life, brutal knife fight to the death.

Fortunately, while her brain believed the former, her body knew the latter.

Which was how Carly was watching herself fending off a knife-wielding food delivery woman a head taller. Initial automatic words of surprised apology died on the teen's lips as she realized, She's trying to kill me!

And, I'm trying to kill her!

Then, WHY is she trying to kill me? followed by, How am I defending myself?

Forty-five seconds ago…

"Coming!"

Carly double-checked her count of euros as she walked the tight hallway of her small third-story flat to answer the knocking summons. The Chinese food she ordered was a little late, but should still be piping hot.

She opened the door. A woman maybe ten years older and a good head taller stood there with a bag from which wafted the tempting aroma of General Tso's Chicken.

"Twenty-seven thirty euros? Here's thirty-five, keep the—"

Dropping the bag of food, the woman suddenly lunged forward with her left arm, a double-edged black-chromed knife in hand.

Carly pivoted on her left heel, presenting her back to the extended arm, it a few inches above her shoulders as she continued speaking, "—change… oh, no! I hope the soup didn't spill!"

The girl took a step to the right and back, shoulder pushing the woman's chest hard, forced her a step back. As the attacking arm drew back to try again, Carly's back-leaning body guided that elbow into striking the edge of the open-standing door.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—!"

Protesting funnybone caused suddenly insensate fingers to spasm open, dropping the knife into Carly's own upraised left arm and hand ready to receive it.

The teen girl danced a few steps into her flat as the inexplicable intruder drew forth another, larger blade.

Annoyance flashed in dark eyes as the woman assumed an attacking posture.

She's trying to kill me! Carly dropped into a stance ready for engagement. It was at this point her mind caught up to what her body was doing and somehow she knew, I'm trying to kill her!

Still, the girl was puzzled, feeling a disconnect. As if she was watching someone else's bodycam footage instead of living it.

WHY is she trying to kill me?

Certainly, the affable teenager did not feel in control of her movements. How am I defending myself?