Vicarious

1

"I'll never understand how they can just kill people like that." I watch as the soldiers drag the man away. What used to be the man, anyway. Now he is more a shell of a man, like the casing of the bullet they used to murder him. Seeing the blood on the stadium floor makes me understand why black was chosen to be the color the soldiers wear on a daily basis: it hides the appearance of blood. But hiding it doesn't mean it's not there.

"They lost their humanity," Aaron says from beside me, and I feel his blue eyes on me even though I can't pull mine away from where the man used to be. It's the obvious answer, but it's still shocking how they can murder and then go about their day like it's nothing.

"Come on, we should get to the mess hall. Supper's waiting." He walks off, and I have to jog to catch up to him. I would never say Aaron is anything like the soldiers, but the deaths don't seem to affect him as much as they do me. He is a few years older and has been seeing them for longer than I have, though. I guess after seeing anything happen over and over again, you would become accustomed to it.

We reach the mess hall, and I look past the tables in their uniformity to the serving tables set up along the side of the mess hall against the wall, where the dinner ladies are standing and serving a supper of chicken, rice and vegeatbles. I walk up to the first serving table with Aaron and grab a plate and set of cutlery. Sylvie, a girl in the same class as me, is standing behind the table and serving people. Her blonde hair is tied back in a low ponytail that swishes as she turns to us, and her brown eyes take me in, finally resting on the new scar on my cheek.

"Where'd you get that?" She asks.

"Battle practice," I say, silently wishing I'd taken up Anna's offer to cover it up for me. I have no doubt she could have, with the amount of makeup products she has in her arsenal. She even offered, but, for some reason that I am regretting now, I turned her down.

I see Sylvie's eyes fill with sympathy, and I look away. Sympathy is the last thing I need. "It's okay," I mumble. "It doesn't hurt much anymore." Which is a lie, considering it hurts a lot, but I'm not about to admit that to her. There's a part of me that also feels like she wouldn't understand. Sylvie has grown up under wealthier parents, and while most of us weren't so lucky and had no choice but to train everyday, she got off light: she had the choice to become a dinner lady instead. I would be lying if I said I didn't feel a little spiteful towards her because of that.

Thankfully, Sylvie seems to sense I am uncomfortable and looks away. She picks up a spoon and scoops up some rice, motioning for me to bring my plate closer. I do, and she puts a spoonful of rice on my plate before doing the same for Aaron. She then puts a chicken leg onto both of our plates, along with a scoop of mixed vegetables each. Aaron and I walk off without another word to her and go find a table to sit at.

We sit at a table next to the window that overlooks the training field where we were this morning. It's a pretty barren field with cut, dried up grass that looks like it's never been watered, and, now that I think about it, I actually don't think it has ever been watered. Someone has put the training supplies that were out there this morning back into the inventory room already, making the field look even emptier.

I pick up my spoon and scoop up some rice, shoving it into my mouth. I haven't eaten since noon, and it's now 7. I look at Aaron instinctively, expecting him to criticize me on the way I'm eating. He's looking at me, and I can tell he's thinking it, but he keeps his mouth closed. It's a good thing because after what I'd seen in the stadium, I'm honestly not in the mood for it. I think Aaron knows this and must be feeling a bit of the things I am. Seeing the man get murdered in the stadium was...disturbing, to say the least. I didn't know the story behind what exactly had happened, but if it was anything like I've seen before, the man had probably just been trying to take food for his family.

In Darrol, stealing is punishable by death if you're caught. I've never agreed with that sentiment, but it's not like it's up to me. I feel like the people stealing don't have much of a choice. The majority of the time, they're homeless, living outside the city limits in what we call The Slums. They often have families, sometimes even young children, and if they don't at least try to steal food, they will starve.

When I was younger, I always thought I would do something to help them when I got older. And now that I am older, I have done nothing but watch as the homeless of my city are caught and murdered for nothing more than wanting to keep their loved ones alive. I guess, inside, I'm still that little girl waiting until I am older.