The Gender End by Bella Forrest (the giving tree read aloud TXT) 📕

“They told me I shouldn’t take all the pills, y’know,” she said softly, and I got the feeling she didn’t care who was listening, she just wanted to speak. “Said it would cause problems, but I can’t tell what they are. I can’t even remember. All I feel is this… tightness in my chest when I look at you. It sets my teeth on edge. Makes my head hurt. What is that?”

I exhaled softly and reached into my pocket, pulling out my last and final tranquilizer dart. Her back was to me right now. If I could keep her distracted, maybe I could just… slide it in.

“It’s anger,” I told her, taking a step closer.

“Anger. Huh. So this is what Tabitha felt all the time.” She continued to look up at the moon, her voice serene, as though she had not a care in the world. I reached over, intent on driving the needle into her back—and then Elena blurred out of view, and the next thing I knew my hand was twisted up behind my back, the dart falling from my nerveless fingers.

She managed to catch it with her other hand and held it up in front of me, pressing her cheek to the back of my head.

“Right now it feels like fire under my skin,” she hissed into my ear. “Like there’s something toxic coursing through my veins, and the only cure for it is to see you lying so still, so silent—the stillness only death can bring.”

I struggled to break her hold, but she held me tight, seeming to anticipate my moves. Her hand went up to my throat, catching it in a terrible grip and squeezing so hard my vision went gray. My lungs kept trying to expand for more air, but nothing could get past her rigid hand.

“ELENA!” a voice screamed, and suddenly I was on my already-battered knees, coughing and sucking in precious gulps of air. I managed to scramble around to face the roof access door, and saw a small figure standing there at the edge of the steps—Morgan, lit by the moon, challenging her sister.

Elena moved away from where she had dropped me, toward her younger sibling, and Tim raced over to me.

“Violet?”

“I’m fine,” I wheezed. “Help Morgan.”

He nodded and darted off, while I climbed back to my feet, trying to figure out where the gun had gone.

“Morgana,” Elena seethed, moving over. “I’d hoped those psychotic young men would deal with you.”

Morgan smirked, but the expression looked pained. “Your hopes were in vain.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. You look awful.”

“Then maybe you’ll finally be able to beat me,” Morgan replied. “But I doubt it. Mother always said I was the best fighter in the family.”

“Be sure to tell her that when you see her again.”

A deadly silence followed Elena’s statement, and I whirled to see her blurred form racing right for Morgan. But Morgan took a step to one side at precisely the right moment, and Elena pressed forward too far, now unbalanced by Morgan’s disappearance. The blurred lines of Elena came into focus as she slammed into the handrail, so I could see the surprised look on her face as she crashed to the ground a few paces past it.

Morgan chuckled dryly as she painstakingly turned.

“I could never understand your obsession with strength and speed as the better enhancements,” she announced, her green eyes watching Elena as she picked herself off the ground.

“This is nonsense,” Elena growled, dusting off her pants as she righted herself. “Let’s end this so I can finally get around to killing Violet.”

She moved toward Morgan—not at a run, but at a sedate, almost relaxed pace—and pulled back her fist as she closed the distance. Morgan smirked at her, easily evading the blow, moving back a few feet and coming to a stop. Elena again raced in to hit her, and once again, Morgan sidestepped.

“I don’t think it’s nonsense,” she said, continuing to evade Elena’s blows with graceful skill. “I genuinely want to know. I’m betting you only used those two pills, in fact. You always did value martial prowess over the ability to dodge bullets or evade blows. But really—and maybe I’m a bit biased—but really I always thought enhanced reflexes”—her fist lashed out, hitting Elena square in the face, and Elena moved back a few steps, clearly dazed—“was the better power.”

Elena raised a hand to her stunned face, touching her lips. Even from there I could see the glisten of blood on her fingertips. She stared at it, her face intently focused on it. Then a laugh escaped her, soft and surprised, followed by another, then another, until she was laughing wildly.

I looked over at Morgan and saw her looking at me, alarm on her face, and I renewed my quest for the gun. I spotted it as the tide of laughter began to dwindle, and began moving slowly, trying to angle around Elena to reach it while her attention was focused on Morgan.

Then Elena blurred, moving toward Morgan, and Morgan stepped to the left—but Elena’s trajectory shifted, the blur changing angles just a fraction.

I could hear the impact that followed. Elena stood—foot and fist forward—as Morgan flew backward, landing hard on the gravel. She was still for a moment, and my heart pounded, horrified at the way she lay like a corpse. But then she let out a choked groan, and began to move around.

Elena pulled back her fist, a crooked smile slashed across her face, and then she blurred again, just as Morgan reached her knees. There was a wet crack, and Morgan flew back a few more feet, rolling on her side. She coughed, the sound wet with blood, and Elena moved to her form, bending over and grabbing her younger sister.

That was when Tim appeared from nowhere, halfway in the air, his boot extended. His foot planted square in Elena’s face, followed immediately by his other foot as