Arena

CHAPTER ONE

TW: Blood, knives, stabbing, burning people alive, murder, torture

I ran through the streets, pickpocketing anyone who looked like they were rich. I needed to sell the valuables that I stole.
For Mother.
For Father.
For my baby sister who was never born.
They were slaughtered when the soldiers came to town. The arena had been built three kilometres away from the giant staircase that led to the Stage of Honours. I was only five then.
"Welcome, welcome," a short, plump man with white hair had said, stood up on the stage. His beard was long and wispy, and it looked like it was as thin as smoke.
His grey tuxedo looked horrible on him, but he kept on brushing it smugly like he thought that it looked great.
"Welcome to the Arena Entrance! 1500 of you will be very lucky, as you will pass through these doors to enter the Battle Arena of Justice!" He pumped his fist in the air, but no one cheered. The people of the town all knew what the requirements were. "Every family must contribute one family member, or the whole family, children and elders included! Ha! This year is going to be interesting!"
"Meri," My mother had ushered me into a corner the day before the Arena was open. "I'm volunteering as the offering for this year's Arena Battle,"
"NO!" I had screamed with tears in my eyes. 
"Meredith," My mother had said in a calm clear voice. "They said this year was different. They're not going to kill me. They're just going to leave me there for a day and see if the gods like me or not. If they don't, the Arena Guards will get me out of there,"
She didn't look scared that day.

She should've been.

Once she had reassured me that no harm would come to her, I felt like everything was going to be fine.

I was so wrong.
So young.
So stupid.

If the Arena Guards were crazy enough to contribute to a cult like this, of course, they didn't care about the safety of citizens. Their job was to make sure most of them died.
One by one.
They were all crazy for power and money.
So was I.

I kept on running wiping away my tears as I remembered that day. I needed to do this. 
I remembered the unusual feeling my Mother had radiated. Like there was some reason why she needed to live, like to continue a generation, like her life depended on it.
I remember stopping on the path, terrified for my mother. Then I realised, Oh shoot. She's pregnant.

I remember screaming, punching everyone nearby. I was angry.  I was scared. 
I winced as I remembered the worst thing I've done in my life-- I grabbed a box of matches, and I burnt the Stage of Honours to the ground.
I saw my mother running away with my father, looking at me with terror in her eyes.

I had looked around, and I had seen bodies. Dead, burning bodies. Even the announcer was there, dead.
All of them, dead, dead, dead, dead.

I was a monster. I was a killer.

But my family still allowed me to come home that night. 

And to this day, I have no idea why.

But two weeks passed, and the Arena Offering was going out. Tonight.
I had cried, and cried, and cried, lying in my bed. 
My mother was going to die.
The offering didn't go to the Arena.
She didn't know that though.

She was so happy, like sunshine.

Why, why did I come outside to watch the Offering Ceremony?
Apparently, my father had too.
The bonfire was lit.

My mother strode calmly up to the wrecked stage-- that I had burnt down.

The soldiers positioned her in front of the bonfire to say her speech.

Then, they pushed her in.

Her screams still echo in my ears.

My father shouted and ran up to the stage, punching the soldiers. They stabbed him with their knives and walked away.
"Where is your daughter?" One of the soldiers asked.