Blood Tournament (2018, #1)

2018 (Coming Soon) CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

Alex King rolled uncomfortably in bed. The time was several minutes past two o' clock in the morning and he still was unable to get to sleep. He could hear indistinct noises from the television in the sitting-room. "Obey the law . . . president . . . everyone's good. President . . . love in his heart for the people . . . our government. . ." The words banged his head like a hammer. He had turned it off before he went to bed. Three years after his first experience and he still wondered how the televisions and radios manage to turn themselves on at will.

Hell, he thought. The television wasn't the reason behind his sleeplessness. He knew it.

When he came in earlier that evening, he had met his mother crying again. Alex suspected she had been crying for a while because the dress she was mending, then resting on her laps, was wet with her own tears. He had gone to her and taken the culprit from her laps. Then he had collected the needle from her hand and helped her to her room. The dress belonged to his youngest sister, Debra. Debra was still in school. She had been sent there when they were brought here three years ago and she wouldn't be allowed to return until another three years when she turned sixteen. Mother must have collected the dress at her last visit. They were only allowed two visits per year. Abigail, his immediate younger sister, was home on her one year probation.

Abigail prepared supper and the three of them had eaten in silence. The meal didn't taste very good but no one complained. Aside not having much time to be taught proper cooking, there was very little ingredients in the house for Abigail to prove herself.

He missed his elder sister, Mary. Mary did everything there had to be done in the house. She washed their clothes, cleaned the house, prepared their meals and helped them with their school work. She always had a cheerful air about her. She never complained about having to do all the housework alone. Even during the difficult times, there was always a smile on her face. She was mother's backbone; no wonder mother has been broken since her demise. She used to sing as she worked. Alex could vividly remember her voice. It was beautiful to hear her sing. Sometimes she'd get angry at their misconduct but like the dew at dawn, her anger evaporated with the rise of the sun. She always turned a sober countenance wherever Alex was concerned, constantly reminding him how she wanted him to grow up into an intelligent, strong and courageous man. Alex had been preparing for his Senior School Certificate Examination and she had promised to buy him a laptop if he passed. He had felt very elated.

Tears welled up in his eyes and Alex pressed his face into the pillow to hide them. The war took away many good things from him and Mary was one of them.

At this time, the noises from the television in the sitting-room had stopped and a slow country music was now being played. It was a sad song and it was sung in a strange language. The singer must have felt really odd in her place and time. She sang in a small tune and each rhythm seemed to unveil a new layer of sorrow and pain.

Alex rolled over and switched on the bedside lamp. Then he picked up the alarm clock resting on his locker and peered at it under the light from the lamp. It was exactly four o' clock. He leaned back. Time had passed very quickly. In another two hours the alarm, radio and television would start up again. He needed to get some sleep.

Alex King stumbled over a sand dune but he quickly regained his balance. He raised his head and threw a surprised glance around him. He was in a hot, dusty arena. It was oval in shape and over an acre in size. The walls were grey and more than twelve feets high and they towered dangerously above him. At opposite sides of the wall were huge, black gates with drapes pulled over them.

Opposite him, at the far end, a man stood. He had the look of a bull fighter and his cape was extended. In his right hand, he held a small sword with a bent tip. Alex recognised it. Estoque, he had read. The sword used for the kill.