Rotting. Decaying. Yielding to Ash.
The jail cell was covered in hay, and drenched in dark, Jack was no where in sight, and it felt like days since I was put in here. I was going insane. I was going crazy. I was going to die.
I had shed tears until I merely ran out of them when the man in the coat, John, came to my cell and unlocked the door at gunpoint of a heavy, black shotgun.
“Now, listen to me close. Get up. Follow me. Try anything funny, you’re dead. Don’t think you can outsmart me, because we have our little tricks spread all throughout this place. So, come on!” He demanded.
I followed him down a dark hall, the smell of squid and oil returning to my nostrils, and then of blood. I could hear a strange roaring that lingered on every single second, as though it was an alarm. I wasn’t sure what it was until the light had eventually blinded me.
Adjusting my eyes, I could then see past the barbed wire gate where a flat, circular arena stood in anticipation of my arrival, but even more so eager were the people above the dusty flatland where thousands and thousands of insects sat in benches, awaiting entertainment.
“What the hell?” I said aloud.
“Your opponent is weak. Show them a good time.”
The next thing I knew, I was in the center before the endless array of fat, greasy insects who waved their chubby hands and bared their yellowed teeth at me in disgusting hope, as though they were men of idols. I was absolutely revolted, but also scared at the same time, as I saw another barbed wire gate across from the center, where a scrawny, pale boy peeped his head out, sulking.
This pitiful and emaciated creature hesitatingly made his way over to where I was and nervously peered into my eyes. He had no fire within those moistened spheres, but rather had an icy cold fear as my own reflection was made distinguishable within my eyes. To where I noticed how lifeless my own eyes were.
“So, you will be the one to kill me, eh?” The boy said with an unbalanced voice.
“I do not seek to kill you.”
“You have no choice.”
“I suppose not.”
“What choice do we have?”
“How we kill each other, I guess? How do you want to die?”
“Quickly. How about you?”
“I’d prefer the same, but whatever can be done.”
“We won’t be given any weapons, so our wish will be a hard one.”
“True, but it can be done. Though, regrettably, I haven’t a technique.”
“Nor do I.”
“Well, I do wish you luck.”
A loud, blaring horn was then sounded, followed by guards with assault rifles approaching the margins of the stands and aiming at us. It filled me with dread.
Death. Murder. Cold.
“It was nice knowing you.”
“You too.” And we then began to fight.