The Colosseum

Trial One

Kova

The next morning, the gladiators awoke to an announcement from Deveraux. We were to meet in the cafeteria and eat breakfast, but not leave until Annette spoke to us about an exclusive series of events that would lead up to an "epic celebration of clashing classes." AKA, our best fighter facing what others know to be the nameless king. Groaning, I slide out of bed. In the bunk across the room, Josephine sits up, her eye still beneath a black patch.

I don't have a wrap around my knee, as it hardly hurts anymore. The surgeons repaired me so I don't even have a scar, and as I look at my wound and to Josephine's, I'm startled by how uncaring I am. To me, Josephine deserved what I did to her. But it's this train of thought that makes me wonder if sometimes, I'm more like Ten than I'd care to acknowledge. Does Ten believe that everything he does is excusable because he truly thinks that Ezra deserves it? I know I want to understand him, but I fear that comprehending his mindset means becoming him, and I don't want to do that.

Like the snake she is, Josephine slithers between the other girls who shuffle out of bed, keeping her eye locked on me as she hurries out. I don't get the rush, but I lost far too much sleep last night to put a lot of thought to it. Lethargically, I hop out of bed. This room used to be stuffed with people, but for some reason, I only now notice how much it's really been thinning out. I doubt this set of games will even make it to 100 days. I can't tell if this is good or bad for me; I've just learned that with things being so fast-paced lately, it's better to take each day in stride.

When I first came here, I felt like I was transported into another word. I started living in a place where there was always a roof over my head, AC, food, and a bed as long as I survived the day. There were flashy shows, experienced fighters, and big-name reporters eating us alive. But now that I've experienced the Colosseum in full, it isn't much different than what I grew up with. The bottom line is, you're fighting for your life every day. That's what I was raised to do.

The only true differences now are the relationships I've developed and ended in this stretch of time, as well as the fact that someone in me enjoys the thrill of vengeance. I don't want to stray from my path and become so vengeful that I wound up like Ten or Ezra – the two are forced into opposite sides of the personality spectrum by the same circumstance. Though Ezra seems to be trying to make sure I don't follow in his footsteps, I think it's his way of righting the wrongs he did to his own brother, as well.

Like a zombie, I shuffle out of the dorm hall and into the cafeteria with the others. I don't catch a glimpse of Ten anywhere, but he's never seemed the slightest bit drowsy no matter what hour of the day or night I catch him at. Chances are, he was at the cafeteria long before we were awake. Does he still have his fragmented bone? Or worse: an actual weapon from the rack by the arena?

I keep the pocketknife he originally gave me under my pillow, and these days, I don't walk around without it. If he's coming for me, at least I'm armed. If I have to, I'll take out both his eyes. Something in Ten is unravelling, and no matter how hard I try, he won't let me sew him back together. Perhaps it isn't my job to do that, but someone else's. A probable cause for his sudden snap could be the accumulation of the upcoming fight he's always wanted, as well as his vulnerabilities being discovered one-by-one. He's become such a bulletproof person physically that I'm almost positive that he forgot he was still weak emotionally.

Once we're in the café, everyone files into the seats, our lunches delivered to us by the cooks. Again, we're given mystery mush. I only manage to force three spoonful's down before losing my appetite. The last time I felt this not hungry was the first time I was in the catacombs. Seeing all that rotting, bug-eaten flesh...I get goosebumps just thinking about it. And while I'm thinking about the catacombs, I find it rather odd that Doc and Annette patched up the wall like that. Clearly, they aren't friends to the king, and I'm sure that the people who store the corpses would've reported the outlandish patchwork. That would've brought all kinds of attention to the scene, and Annette's only meeting place within the Colosseum would been compromised.