Inky's Collection of Shorts

Ghost -- Part 2

If I had to choose between Inky and Blinky, in any scenario, I would choose Blinky every time without fail.

Inky was ruthless and, above all, relentless. He gave me no time for breaks between sparring sessions, simply dragging me back up onto my feet when I collapsed on the floor and slapping me a couple times so that I could regain my senses.

"No one is going to wait for you in the tourney," he said, whenever I complained. "If you don't like it, go whine to Blinky and tell him that this was a mistake."

That was the fuel that drove me forward for those two months. Sure, I didn't believe in myself, but Inky's clear disapproval at Blinky's choice infuriated me. I was capable, too. I had to prove it to him.

As much as I despised him, though, his methods worked. At the halfway mark, I realized that I could actually somewhat hold my ground against Inky, if not exactly well. Each strike still hit impossibly hard, but I found that I could bear the blow if I focused.

As we neared the end of the two months, I could keep up with the blue-haired boy. I could wager a guess at the direction he'd hit me from and block, and soon after I learned to dodge. It didn't matter how strong my opponent was if they couldn't land a blow.

I found myself sitting on the grassy hill that overlooked the gates to the field as my days dwindled away, staring at the wooden structures. The gates left much room for imagination, which was a curse for my brain as it automatically began to come up with the worst-case scenarios. There was no clue as to what waited beyond them.

"There you are," Blinky said, coming up behind me. "We've been looking for you."

He nodded at the gates and the high wall they connected to, as if, in that one motion, acknowledging just how monstrous the task I was faced with was.

"You'll be fine, Clyde," Pinky said as she stopped next to Blinky. Her hands were in the pockets of the wide brimmed pants she was wearing. She looked like she was going out for nothing more than a quick stroll in the park, not contemplating her possible death in the near future. "You trained a lot."

"Are there any other Pacifists in the Hunt this year?" I asked. I didn't want to think about my training. I was beginning to question whether or not any of it would be of use.

"I don't know," she admitted with a shrug. "Everyone keeps their teams hush-hush. That way, someone stupid might underestimate you and make easy prey."

I doubted "easy prey" was a thing in the Hunt, but I didn't say that. Instead, I stared at the gates for a while longer before asking, "Doesn't that mean we shouldn't be here?"

"We're fine," Blinky responded. "Everyone comes to check out the gates at some point — especially Pacifists, if they're able to. The Hunt is a major thing in this world."

He offered me a hand. I accepted it and let him pull me up onto my feet, casting one last look over at the looming gates before following him back towards the main streets of our Order.

One last day. One day, and then I'd be in the land behind those gates, facing off against killers with far more skill than me. I'd asked Pinky whether or not there were any other Pacifists competing, but I knew. No one was stupid enough to give themselves up as a free kill like that but me.

But I trusted Blinky.

The morning of the tourney, I woke up to see Inky seated on the ground next to my bed.

"Gah!" I shouted, scrambling to grab my blankets and tug them up to hide my dignity, although I was wearing a shirt and shorts already. "What the hell are you doing in here?!"