Everyday

A Chapter by KisakiRose

What more can you expect when this is all you've had?

As a child I never was too interested in the wonders of the world around me. None of it, honestly, seemed worthy of wonder. Dried blood was a constant scent. It was to the point I didn’t know if it was from the room around me, or from just me. No one minded- that wasn’t the worst thing around. I sat in the back of the abandoned house, silent next to who I presumed was my mother. I had no clue what to call her. It was rare that anyone here spoke: anyone except for the masters, of course. A tussle started at the other side of the unkempt shelter. The two quickly sorted it out though. Sure food was in short supply, but we all wanted to survive somehow. Keeping each other alive is a mentality we somehow managed to share. The fights are gruesome most of the time. The older boys get into the worst of them. The dark haired, stone eyed form in the corner seems to be the prized winner. Honestly I don’t see any life left in him. After so many killings, I suppose it leaches life out of you.

The first training I had was not set up in my favor. I guess with my size I was considered bait. A tree of a boy came after me with unwavering fists. I didn’t know what to do, the screams and chants from spectators blurred everything that could have- should have been- and what was actually going on.

“I’ve raised you six years, bait, now put some use to yourself!” my master raged when I tried to flee from the chain link arena. I had no choice but to turn back and throw limbs and half fists blindly at the rampaging elite. The cheers seemed to shift slightly, surprised by me. Still I was knocked to the slate ground, the powerful fighter over me pummeling away. I knew I had lost.

“Alright, alright, break it up.” I heard my master applaud. “That bait may be of some use, don’t kill it yet.” The blows never fazed until he was pulled off of me, beaten a few times by a metal rod. Panic and hell-bent in his eyes, ‘I will kill.’ A large, lacerated hand lifted me by my shoulder dragging me back down the corridor we came from. Back to the room I knew at least.

My mother was there, and she didn’t look surprised when she saw me. I could imagine the bruises and blood pooling all over me. Nothing I could do though. Master wasn’t about to do anything, and there’s nothing any of us in here could do.

I remember looking up at her, her blond hair matted like a swamp witch, brown eyes set deep in black circles. Helpless, is the only thing that comes to mind. I knew she cared about me, looked like she pitied me more that she had to bring me into this world. I know no other, so I couldn’t understand why she looked so sad. Surely someone else somewhere had it ten times worse. I mean, our masters take care of us. We fight for him, and he cares for us, Right?

Only god knows what kind of hell he goes through daily to tend us. It’s not like there were only a few. Seven people here just in this room alone. Who knows how many he’s responsible for? He’s always taken care of me.

My mother held me closer to her naked form, coaxing me to sleep by her. Perhaps she truly believed she could protect me then? Something about here seemed off ever since then. Ever since that first fight, here was not so simple anymore. I sort of understood the callousness of the prized winner. I wonder if he was like me once, and I wonder if he fights like that one I met today.

The next day master came for me again, his black hair smeared back with motor oil. I was dragged behind him to the same arena, a smaller kid already there. He lifted the piece of metal that had spared my life just twelve hours ago. It let out a loud echo throughout the brick walls.

“Go, get him.” Master motioned me toward the balled form in the farther corner of the chain link. Red hair messed, wide green eyes red with tears.

“What are you doing?” he whined, crying to whoever would answer. I never had seen him before. I thought maybe he was kept in a different room. It struck me odd that he spoke though. Was he a master’s child? I looked back up to master’s fiery brown eyes. Nothing kind was in them; he just scoffed and wielded the iron across my back. I let out a shriek that could have been heard miles away. Pain impaled my shoulder blades and gripped its bony fingers into my chest.

“I said beat the f**k outta him!” Master scorched again, swinging the rod at me. It just barely missed as I scattered forward. Chain link rattled angrily as it slowly sank into me what was expected. I walked silently to the kid, who was all but silent. The first punch I ever threw was weak; but still enough to knock the boy to the side, a scream echoing in my ears. Master’s chants rang louder to me.

“That’s it, keep going: till the f****r’s dead!”

My first kill was not heroic or grand- nothing like how masters celebrate and bet. The kid lay under my knee, red lines and black abrasions coating his now limp body. It took me a while to grasp what I just did. My muscles were sore from tensing. When I stood shakily I felt my master’s hand on my shoulder, “Get used to it.“ He smirked, “I like your style.”

I almost ran back to the room on my own accord. As I fumbled onto the concrete slate flooring I rammed face first to the tall muscular boy. He was taller than me by far, black hair standing like a mange wolf. Grey lifeless eyes flickered to mine for once. He was still voiceless. Like me; he can’t talk, we just don’t know how.

Day after day I woke up shaking with images of death in my mind. Day after day I was dragged back to the pit of hell. A new kid there every time. Another kill you could chalk up for me. Every time. Months passed and the fights became more and more scarce. I was not about to complain about that. I sat near my mother during daylight hours. During the night she started to shoo me away since I kept waking her up with fits. I recognize the silhouette of the elite coming to me most of the time. His hand placed on my head till my senses came back to me. One day I woke sleeping on his calf. He was awake, just still, waiting for me apparently. I wish I could have thanked him. Footsteps from the hallway motivated him to stand; I sat up at his foot, confused. Master came into the room with a new master. Mine was dressed in nothing more than blue jeans torn at the knees. The man he was hollering back and forth with had brown hair, blue eyes, and a broad leather jacket.

Each grabbed me and the boy master called his prized fighter. The boy’s grey eyes met mine briefly with pity and worry. What was going on? Did he know?

“Yeh’know Trucker.” The new master began. “It’s not often I get a pre-trained dog, and I get to kill a contender in the same day.”

“I could say the damn same thing to you, boy.” Master, who I assumed was Trucker, slurred. “Remember who the elder in the room is now.” They laughed, ribbing at each other as we were lead down the hallway into the cement room.

“So that’s it?” a booming voice echoed, “Pre-trained? More like pre-K!”

“F**k off, Devlin!”

A round of laughter, then a school-girl chatter rose as Master’s elite-my friend- entered the ring. He didn’t waver, not even a twitch of nerves in this sculpted form. He stood like a prize dog, staring unseeingly toward the side his rival would enter. As ‘fair game’ I was placed at the side of Master’s friend, while a boy similar to my size was chained to the side of Trucker.

The other elite was huge. Muscles moving like a liquid under taunt tanned skin. His head shaved pristinely bald, a crude etching of a tattoo shown itself across his scalp. Or, it looked to be a tattoo, the more I stared the more it sank in, he had a scar from ear to ear.

“Let’s go!” a man raged, followed by many others, “Any last bets?” Like a bullet in a firing squad, the scarred boy lunged forward, fists tightened to white knuckles. His fist barely grazed black hair as my friend dodged, a fist cracked up the boy’s jaw. A snap I could hear over all the chanting. When the boy’s knees buckled a knot formed in my stomach. So those are the kind of hits I can look forward to.

Ten.

Thirty.

At least forty minutes passed, even the masters were amazed on the fight. My friend seemed to know something I didn’t, and so did the scarred man. I knew well one of them was not going to be walking out of this ring- but why are the other two of us here? A flash happen, something almost too fast to see. My friend ended up on his knees with a wide eyed panic expression. It seemed like he was vaguely looking at me when I saw the blood running down the length of his torso. His neck was slit across. Hoarse, gurgling breath slowed as the masters were divided on the outcome. The scarred man’s eye went pure feral, twisting a blade down onto the back of my friend’s head. Flesh separated from skull as he was scalped similarly to the scar the monster himself brandished. I assumed his signature. In the end, the new master won, I belonged to him now. Instinctively I pulled forward, fighting against the barbed collar they had against my throat. He seemed like my lifeline of sanity when it came to night. How could they do this to him? How could they make me watch?

I remember sitting in a cage, with my friend sprawled across my lap. His eyes barely reacted, his skin was quickly losing its warmth, and he’s already lost his color. Every so often a labored breath would stutter- only to retain silence. I also remember them just rolling him off the back of the van- a quick kick to the side ditch, then closing the metal doors before speeding away.

Somehow I managed to black out after that, I didn’t actually take notice till I was locked away in a wooden closet. A heavy rust chain looped my neck; I couldn’t make out much else since it was pitch black where I stayed. I could only figure it was night. A long time passed. Something I could only think as too long. My stomach ached with the pain of hunger, my muscles cried with atrophy. Footsteps, screaming, chanting of a fight was going on just on the other side of the doorway. Fear for the first time had its icy fingers in me, deeply entwined with my veins.

But, what could I possibly do?

Right before I broke, right before I was about to break down and scream or cry or anything: the door opened. It was a blinding light with the outline of a large man standing over. I guess that’s how I’d expect heaven to be, till I knew what was happening. His fist took the chain; he dragged me behind him without letting me get my footing; then linked me to a low hanging meat hook. My toes barely grazed the floor, the metal dug into my chin as my fingers tried to pry just to budge my windpipe open. The flecks started to show in my sight- white and black dancing demons. Then the pain came, a piercing flame across my face, across my eye. I kicked wildly, unable to scream. It only gained me another seer across my bare thigh. I pathetically struggled again, my sight gone black; I knew I couldn’t move well.

Thunk.

It took time, a lot of time, but I regained my breath sitting in my closet. The darkness was a lot lighter now. The black meant I was safe. That hell born master didn’t have his sight on me while I was here. So that means I’m safe shy of starving to death. Even that seemed blissful now. That scar across that boy’s head. Master must have done it to him. Now I’ve gotten one. For the first time since I could remember, I just hung my head and mourned.

My mind was not functioning well, I knew that. So did the master. He used me more as bait for his prized dogs, as he called them. There was no way of looking the boy that killed my friend in the face. One day my body gave out. Despite him beating me with the rod, I could not bring myself to my feet. Had he forgotten to feed me? Maybe he just did not have enough food. I had to have been there a week- maybe a touch more- and hunger had been my only companion.

A young master ran in, he looked not much older than the eldest fighter here; but he spoke purely. “Hey, Dad, we’ve got a god-f**k of a problem.”