The Untold

Chapter 19.

The air is heavy as I step through the big old dark room.

My hands tremble, my breath quickens when the so distant yet familiar rotting scent invades my system, making a shiver run down my skin, right under the old dirty shirt I chose to wear in my room. 

I've been trying to avoid the place for months now. 

And scanning around with my eyes, I don't wonder why. 

The ceiling it's so high I cannot see its end, the walls covered in some kind of vermin I recall seeing on the orphanage, but so much uglier I feel disgusted to even look at them. I also recall seeing them on my nightmares and suddenly, I feel my heart beating so fast I feel the urge to cry. 

I won't. It's prohibited.

Especially when I have around a dozen gazes piercing me so scarily I don't know where I'd be able to go if I tried to run. 

The arena is full, something I realize as soon as my old snickers touch the conqry floor of the enlightened ring, filled with other kids, much older than me per usual, sparring and getting warm for the fights. Most of them already wear their straps around their hands but there's still some rolling them, just as he taught me doing. 

Even if I wanted to sneakily enter, the moment I find myself under the terribly uncomfortable white light, all eyes plaster on me and more glares than I can count are in my eyesight. 

They all look so mischievous and bad- 

They want to hurt me again. 

My hands tighten, forming fists beside my shaking body. I shouldn't show myself weak and scared, as he always tells me, but I can't control the natural terrified reaction of my limbs, the ache on my belly yelling me to sprint and hide under my bed.

There's only a corner where I can hide, which I do, almost instantly. It is darker than the other spots, and I take advantage of my short timed opportunity to disappear to analyze the row of trainers standing in the peripheral balcony surrounding the arena, leaning against the railings and watching their pupils with just as much eagerness as the fighters themselves. 

It's so scary I'm about to piss myself. 

But then I see him, looking straight at me, far but still close enough for me to note the subtle smile on his lips. He seems gentler than the other trainers, maybe because he remembers how much I begged him not to make me come today, but still so powerful I almost feel his energy colliding against my chest, giving me just bit more strength to face my destiny. 

He seems confident. He believes in me.

He knows I'll be the best.

The sound of the trumpet echoes around the room so loud I feel my gut tightening to a state I can no longer breathe. The fighters instantly line up, walking up to each other, bumping each other like they're about to play.

I don't want to play. 

I want to go. 

But I see the slight move of his head. It's a small sign, a simple nod, but it's so authoritarian I know I have to follow his order. I have to go. 

Because he's my trainer. And because he's so scary I don't have the courage to challenge him. 

I gulp as I walk up to the other children, all taller than me (even the girls) and wait for the voice to speak, keeping silent and ignoring the snorts hitting me from both sides, to my appearance.