Burn Bright 🔥

Chapter three: the arena

I woke up in a cage. I was bound with zip ties, my hands behind my back, my mouth gagged. Like an animal. I saw a boy next to me in another cage, coughing up fire. It burned in front of him, scorching his clothes. He must be a red, I thought to myself. Poor boy. I looked to my left, and saw a girl. Her brown hair was a mess, she looked like she was about to cry. So was I, although I had no idea where I was, so I couldn't be upset. I was angry though. Very angry. I knew that Clancy had done this. What the hell gave Clancy the nerve to sell me to this place? I hated him, I hated every inch of him. But I would never see him again, thank god.

"Hey," the girl next to me said, groaning. "You okay?" I laughed, and signaled to my gagged mouth, and shook my head. "What's your name?"

"Pixie." I mumbled.

"Huh?"

"Like the fairy? The mischievous elf?"

"Ohhh Pixie. Nice name! I'm Yasmin, blue."

She looked at me, asking for my colour.

"Uh, I'm blue too." I lied.

"Ha, awesome! We're like twins!" She laughed.

"Yeah!" I laughed with her, whilst the guilt of lying to her gnawed at my stomach in a tight knot.

A strong young man walked round the corner, and stopped by my cage, looking down on me. He leaned down, and I saw his face properly. It was Jake. I had so many questions.

"Jake? What are you doing here?"

"I work here." Was his vague reply. His expression was blank, and he almost looked bored.

"Why do you work here? Where even am I?" He smiled.

"This," he said, spreading his arms wide, "is the arena. Here we watch kids with freak abilities fight," he leaned down, to whisper in my ear, "to the death."

"But you have an ability as well, don't you?" He looked shocked, taken aback.

"Well yes, but it's not exactly going to get me killed, I mean how dangerous is intelligence?" He laughed, and it echoed around the small metal space.

He unlocked my cage and when I didn't move, he said,

"Get up. Now." His voice was almost scared, as if he needed me to get up or he would be killed. Either way, I got up.

Another mistake that I would pay for.

He led me down a tunnel, and into a round arena. The metal door slid shut, and I was stuck. I looked up, and saw a crowd of people watching. What was this? There was a boy in front of me, and his head was bent down.

He looked up, and grinned.

* * *

"C'mon you little bitch, don't give up now!" His hands clasped my cheeks, pressing them together. Mocking me. Humiliating me.

"I can't exactly fight with my hands tied behind my back, can I?" I retorted nastily.

"Nice try, twinkletoes." He hauled me to my feet and shoved me forward.

I faced the red in front of me, and his eyes were almost glowing with anger. He coughed, and fire spilled from his mouth. It burned the ground below him, and his teeth were red with blood as he smiled. He was insane.

I ran, pressing my back against the hard metal. The boy breathed fire. But not like a circus, when it is impressive, or when you gasp and gawk at the amazing acts. No. This was determining my life, whether I lived or died. It caught on my top, and my top caught fire. I swore, and remembered that stupid rhyme that my teachers said once. Stop, drop, roll. I did just that. Except, my hands were tied behind my back, so I couldn't cover my face. The flames were extinguished, but I had a few burns on my face. The next time the boy breathed fire, I turned around and let the flames lick my zip ties, and they were melted instantly. My hands were free, and I was free to do what I do best. I am an orange I told myself silently. I can do this. I edged my way around the arena, as the boy was recovering. I placed a single hand on his arm, and it was enough. I was seeing images again, being beaten, but I shoved it all aside and focused on what I wanted him to do. "Stop". I told him. "Burn yourself." The second one was silent, but I could see in his face that he had no control over his actions. His hand burst into flames, and he slapped it to his forehead. 

I staggered back, just as he realised what he was doing, but it was too late. 

I had done it. 

He was dead. 

I had just killed a boy. 

He was dead. 

He was dead. 

He was dead.