Radioactive

                                                                                                                                                                                                   I turn away from the fight between the trembling, tiny girl and the behemoth of a boy with a smile stretching across his face. His sharp, triangular fangs with bloody tips silence the whimpers of the girl. Her purple and silver eyes widen and she tries to run away. A tear slips down my cheek and I cover my ears to silence her screams. Her number is One, so it was no question that she would be killed by her opponent, a Five. The Tattoo always drag in a few little Ones,but it seems like there have been more Ones than Fives lately. Perhaps the Tattoo get more of a thrill out of watching disgusting fights like this, where all the One can do is run and be slaughtered. The One's eyes start to lose life as the Five tears into her with his teeth. A choked sob escapes her before her last breath is sucked out of her by the killing blow.

           Pieces of raw meat are rained into the cold, metal pit. My mouth waters, and a Tattoo man snickers at the look in my neon-yellow eyes. "Fours eat last today," chuckles the man, and he flickers the light. All of us Fours unleash moans and screeches at the too-bright light, and instinctively curl into balls with arms wrapped around our faces. We watch the Fives jump out of their cages and run for the metallic pit.

              I haven't fought yet, and I don't know why. All I know is that when they throw me in, it will be a test. Us Fours are first Trials, you see, and Fives are Perfections.When Fours, Threes, and Twos die, we are stitched back together, with different parts from the other ones, and brought to life with living tissue infused into the dead, specifically "donor"s' hearts from the humans that resist the Tattoo. Just enough living tissue to be able to survive. The joke of the Tattoos is strikes, as if we were playing a game. We get three strikes, then "You're out," they laugh at the dead Ones.There are Fives, Fours, Threes, Twos, and Ones. Ones have already died three times, so I know I will never see that silver and purple-eyed girl again. But, again, it was hardly a surprise. As Ones, our bodies are more broken down, since you can only be put back together so many times before there's trouble.

              "Time to eat, Fours," sneers the man. The door swings open with a loud whine of complaint from the floor, which is scarred by the thousands of times this door has scraped it. I dive through the door first, ignoring the approving noises of the Tattoos. They like fast Fours, since speed plays a far bigger factor in fights than strength. The other Fours try to run past me for the last few pounds of meat, but I scratch them away and snatch the last bit of meat, snarling and hissing my warning. The bigger, stronger Fours with five-inch teeth and bear-like claws still snatch for my meal. I shovel the food into my mouth as even the scrawny, tiny Fours attack me. A Four snatches the meat, and I tackle her, snatching the food from her hands and swallowing the last bit.  She knocks me over, eyes narrowed, ten inch claws fully extended.

               "Back off," I yell. She aims for my throat, and my last bit of restraint crumbles. Out here, our lives are all we have, and she's trying to take that from me. She will pay for that. I duck, and her claws don't even scrape my cheek. Before she can swipe at me again, I clamp my teeth deep into her shoulder, tightening until I hear the bone break. She howls and runs away, into the opposite corner from me. I  lick the pieces of raw meat and blood off my mouth. I feel the slightest bit of guilt that I immediately push away. I was hungry, and I would need this food to survive my fight. I try not to listen to the growling of the other Fours' stomaches. A loud clapping comes from above me. I glance up to see the leader of the Tattoos clapping for me. "I can't wait to see her fight tomorrow," he says.