Fire and Ice

Bright White Room

Sharp like a knife. Who knew fingernails could be such a weapon. Blood in fountains came from the holes in my skin. Carpets rushed under me leaving their marks upon my legs. Doors flew open and didn't wait for me. Smashed. Finally a bright light. Then, nothing. I was gone.

Cold wrapped around me and was warmed by the blanket of my pain. I was in my own pool. Blood. Bright white blinded. The room was medical white stained with me. A chair, a table. So close, yet so far. Feet touched the ground and I stumbled into the embrace of the arms of the chair. The cool soothed my scars. Looking around, I was alone. All until a sound. Screeches of another chair echoed in the room.

"So, what are you here for?"

The voice came into view. Raucous, rough, raspy, he matched his tone. My voice struggled.

"I don't know, I was just dragged here after the fight."

My eyes met the floor and locked.

"The 1v1?"

His voice thought I was joking. Blood and scars, how was I not believable. I moved slightly in the formation of yes. His smile grew.

"How are you still alive?"

I knew his laugh was hiding, just. He came closer. Sandpaper fingers met my shoulder. I remained in a staring contest with the floor. Eyes locked still, I was quiet.

"Tell me how. Why are you the chosen one?"

First, I stayed quiet. The roughness remained hard on my skin. Trembling, I told my story.