Bellum

A satire writen for my freshman english class. Enjoy

In times of war there are certain traditions that must be followed. The side of the war that I am stuck on for now is called Metus, the Latin word for fear. Our army is made up of all the kids ages fourteen and younger. The other side is called Vires, Latin for strength. They are kids ages fifteen to twenty. After you turn twenty years old you get to retire from the war to continue to live in poverty.

            Each side has a leader. The leader of Metus an inexperienced thirteen year old boy named Sam, whose main concern is keeping the youngest of us safe. I know his heart is in the right place, but more and more of the kids over ten die every day. It still confounds me as to how he even became the leader in the first place.

            About a year ago, there was a coup, and Vires’ old leader was killed. The new leadership was established without complaint from either side. The new leader’s name is Matthew, a seventeen year old, seemingly designed for leadership. He has only been in power for a year and it seems they already have more soldiers than ever. I know Matthew had some kind of plan. Some strategy that Sam can’t even begin to duplicate. Sam cares nothing for strategy and I know he’s gonna get us all killed one day.

            Years ago, the government made an agreement with the leaders of both sides. They would stay out of our war and let us fight each other, if we agreed to go to school. The only purpose was to make the government look like they’re trying to help us. This illusion was designed for the small portion of the population we call Lucis. They are the higher class that can afford to stay out of the war. Their kids go to the same school that we do, but are seen as a priority over us. Even though there is spite between the two sides, we are together in being seen as less than human. Both leaders agreed to make their soldiers go to school, but for different reasons. The old leader of Vires thought it would be an ideal place to start fights. Metus’ old leader agreed because he wanted his younger soldiers to get an education, and not grow up stupid like the kids my age did. Who had the better reason, I’m still not sure.

            No matter the ideals behind it, now from the age of five to eighteen, we are stuck in school for the majority of the year. When the leadership changed, going to school, and the reasoning behind it, stayed the same. Sam doesn’t want the younger kids to end up like us, and for good reason. I didn’t learn how to read until I was seven because there was nobody who could teach me. Sam is determined that this will not happen to the kids.

            But the most dreaded of our society’s traditions is a thing formally known as Macto. This one has two Latin translations: fighting and punishment. Both are extremely fitting. The custom is exactly what the name implies. As punishment for being born into the lower class, on a weekly basis, the President chooses a child from both Vires and Metus to fight to the death for the entertainment of the higher class. They give the government all its control in the form of a large admission fee, which they are always happy to pay. Every week you see someone you know or at least recognize die. It’s a sick idea, but nobody fights it. Even I don’t really know why there’s a nagging in the back of my mind about the fights, not over the death of my friends but the influence of the government that insists on keeping it weekly. But, the war had already been going for ten years when I was born, so I never knew any better. Sometimes I wonder if we ever will.

            I am at home, cooking dinner for my mother and baby brother Dillon when I hear a hard knock on the door.

            “Will you get that Cam?” my mother calls from the other room. I walk past her, sitting on the floor with Dillon on her lap, and open the door. My heart sinks when I see two men in government uniforms standing in front of me.

            “Can I help you?”  I ask, even though I know exactly why they are here.

            “Are you Camilla Lewis?” one of them asks and I nod. “You are being summoned by the president to compete in Macto,” the other one walks into the house and a pair of handcuffs clicks onto my wrists. I clench my jaw, fighting to keep my composure. My mother is on her feet, crying silently. Dillon senses that something is wrong and starts to wail. It breaks my heart that I can do nothing to help them.

            “I’ll be fine,” I try to reassure them as the man drags me out the door.

            On the short walk to the government issue car, the only car I have ever seen, that is parked in front of my small house, I start to panic. Thoughts of being trapped with a Vires who’s only aim is to kill me suddenly flood my brain. I start screaming and fighting the grip the man has on me. After a short moment, I feel a sharp pain in the back of my neck. I gag for air, and the world goes dark.

            When I wake up, my eyes immediately struggle to adjust to the darkness. The air around me is damp and stale, making it difficult to breath.

            “I knew they would pick you eventually,” I hear a scratchy voice somewhere close to me. “I suppose they got bored of watching the weak ones go.” When my temporary blindness is finally gone, I can see a man I vaguely recognize sitting a few feet away. His dark clothes are dirty and worn out, and there is a collar around his neck with little blinking lights. But the thing that strikes me the most is his smile.  I wonder what he could possibly have to smile about, until I remember him.

            “Matthew?” I ask.

            “I’m surprised you still recognize me. I look a little different after being trapped in here for so long.” I know immediately what he is talking about. Whenever I had seen him before he had an air of confidence. Now the best way to describe how he looks is tired.

            “Why do you know who I am?”

            “I keep track of all the kids who are a year away from becoming Vires. It’s sad that you ended up here. You showed a lot of promise.”

            “I won’t lose to you,” I sound surer than I actually am.

            “That’s what the others said too,” he rests his head against the wall and closes his eyes. My hand goes to my sore neck and I can feel the cold metal of a collar, probably identical to Matthew’s, around my neck.

            “What’s with the collars?” I ask.

            “Built in taser,” he answers simply without opening his eyes.

            “Why?”

            “So we don’t kill each other before we have an audience.”

            “Oh,” I bring my knees to my chest. For a while, we are silent and I have a chance to take in my surroundings. I assume the cell we’re in is underground. The air is cold and stagnant. My guess is that they want us to get angry and argue before we have to kill each other. The thought makes me kind of nauseous and I rest my head on my knees.

            “You’re delusional you know,” Matthew says.

            “What?”

            “Thinking you’ll get out of here with your life. I’ve been here for five weeks and killed five of your kind. I won’t hesitate to make it six.” I can’t quite place his tone. It sounds kind of like anger, which I assume is directed at me.

            “Good to know,” I think of my mom and Dillon. “But I’ve got a family to go home to.”

            “I don’t care,” he sits up and starts scribbling in the dirt on the floor. I don’t know what to say to him, so I stay silent. I close my eyes and wonder if they’ll shock me if I try to sleep. The thought of having to fight Matthew is exhausting.

            “You said you still have a family to go back to,” his voice sounds different.

            “I thought you didn’t care,” I decide to counter him with a seven year old mentality.

            “I don’t care,” he insists, obviously taking the same approach. I look at him and see what looks like genuine sadness in his eyes. I remember hearing about how his family was killed by Vires’ old leader. I had always felt a little bad for him.

            “My dad died a couple years ago, so it’s just my mom and little brother. My mom works a lot, so I do everything else. My brother Dillon is turning one tomorrow. We had a little party planned for him too. Nothing very expensive. Just the three of us,” I can’t help but smile thinking about them. At the same time, my eyes well up with tears, knowing that instead of celebrating with my family, I’ll be fighting for my life. He leans back against the wall and starts muttering to himself. I can’t make out what he’s saying, but he sounds upset so I don’t ask. A few deep breaths later, I succumb to my exhaustion.

            Another pair of cold handcuffs wakes me up what I assume is a few hours later, and I am pulled to my feet.

            “Okay, okay, I’m up,” I insist, but am shoved anyway. I look over at Matthew and see another man trying to make him stand.

            “I won’t fight another one,” he growls and bites the man. I cringe, watching him get hit hard. The man grabs a chunk of his long hair and drags him to his feet.    

            A few minutes later we are standing in front of a big door. They take the handcuffs off and hand us each a small hand gun. I recognize the Colt and register that I have only six shots. What Matthew and I are both known for is close range shooting. The door opens, and the sudden light hurts my eyes. I am shoved forward, and I trip over my feet, trying to stay standing.

            When I can finally see again, I am not surprised that we are surrounded by different flimsy crates. I assume they are for protection so we don’t just shoot each other point blank. I hear a noise next to me, and Matthew is gone. I start to panic again, my gun raised, not knowing which direction to point it. Then I hear the familiar click of a safety being turned off behind me, and I know where he is.

            “I’m sorry, Camilla,” I hear him say, and the sound of his gun going off rings in my ears. I feel a dull ache in my chest and look at the blood seeping through my shirt. The thought crosses my mind that he is sparing me. I drop to my knees as I watch my vision blur. All sound fades into nothing, and the world is going to white around me. Another shot shatters that peacefulness. For a second I wonder if he fired into the crowd, until I see a blurry version of the Matthew I recognize drop to the ground a couple feet away. I immediately know what he did. He has denied them of their winner, consequentially starting a whisper of revolution. And that in and of itself is worth dying for.