“Time for The Badlands!” Michael had excitedly announced to us this morning. He had such a creepily happy smile on his face when he brought it up, it was odd. Thankfully no one else seemed as excited about it as he was. But not-so-thankfully, the group had decided to go anyway. I expected a little more pushback from the group, I desperately hoped for it even, but it never came. Michael was desperately pushing for us to go to it and he had Grace backing up every single point he uttered and counterpointing everyone else's. I tried my damndest to argue back against them, but it didn’t help that I had no ideas of my own as to how we would get more money. I looked to Khalil to help back up my point but he was out of ideas too. And when Michael mentioned how large the reward for this “session” of the Badlands would be, Khalil dropped almost all of his arguments against it, so I was on my own. Neither Cameron or Isabelle tried to make any arguments against it either, though I don’t think it was because they actually agreed with Michael and Grace. I think Isabelle was still upset about the failed cure by those guys in the supermarket. She spent the whole of yesterday on her own writing, saying nothing to no one. Usually Isabelle is the most vocal one during group discussions, it’s like a light within her died. Cameron on the other hand is usually this quiet, but not usually this shifty. If I knew any better I’d think something else happened with him at the supermarket. But I don’t. I tried to ask but Isabelle didn’t know and Cameron didn’t care to tell me. Something did happen and it’s making him silent. Though I’m not sure Cameron would’ve helped in backing up my argument. I think no matter what we’d still be heading to The Badlands.
The six of us walk in a huddled group towards the gated entrances of Wenblem Stadium. The Renyland National Team used to play their matches here and father would always secure VIP seating for us to watch the matches. I was never the biggest fan of football, but Prescilla and Xander liked going so I liked going with them. How Xander adored watching the team play. Those were just such wonderful days. One of the few times in which father would really enjoy his moments with us instead of working half of the time. But now those days are long gone, as well as most of the stadium. The gates were graffitied and broken apart and the ticket stalls were all but non-existent. Instead of the multiple gate-guards, ticket-handlers, managers, fans and players you used to see hovering around the stadium, there are just a couple dozen scarred shirtless armed and gruff men and women awaiting us. The gatekeepers of The Badlands.
The Badlands seemed to operate very smoothly, which was surprising to me from what I’ve heard about it. From the way Michael talked about it, I thought it would be like The Arenas but two times bigger and five times wilder. Whilst it still was wild there’s a surprising amount of organisation involved. Our weapons are taken away from us and stored in a storage room for safe keeping. Then each of us are taken into a dark room where we sign a contract that promises we will play by the rules and if not be subject to a long tortuous death. And the contract had to be signed with blood instead of ink too. I will never understand everyone’s sudden fascination with blood. Must be the mist, even I started to marvel at how my handwriting looked so pretty in blood. I signed my name as Lys D. on the contract. I think it's best they don’t know I’m Lysandra Devon just yet. I don’t want a repeat of the Ryan McKeown situation.
After we finished both these tasks we were taken into the main stadium to see the Badlands in all its glory. The grass of the football pitch was dead and charred, no longer fresh and healthy as it used to be. The field no longer hosts dozens of the most elite of players and managers of the football world scattered instead with hundreds of the most brave, violent death-wish-holding people in the land. Michael fits right in here.
As we come out onto the grass and find ourselves around all of the players. Apart from Michael, the others look just as uncomfortable to be here as I am, even Grace. Khalil, especially. Out of nowhere he decides to hold his arm across me tightly, like he’s trying to shield me from something.
“Is everything okay?” I ask him.
“Yeah I-..,I just wanted to make sure you were. That’s all.” he answers, smiling at me. When he looks at me like that I swear I can feel a flutter in my face as my cheeks become rosy. He was making me feel like that a lot lately. Not just because of the looks we gave each other, but because what those looks reminded me of. The time we spent together in the supermarket…
All that was supposed to happen was that I helped take care of Khalil’s injuries at the first aid centre, then we would regroup with the others. But then it just happened. I don't know what it was. Whether it was the fact that we were alone or the tension brought about by me tending to his wounds, but soon the two of us were overcome with the urge to be with one another. I had thought Khalil was handsome and kind from the day I first saw him and the thought of engaging in such acts with him excited me, but I never thought it would come to the point where we would do it. But we did. I don’t know if it was because I had not had sex once since the first mist, but when I was with Khalil I felt like I was on another world. And Khalil must have felt the same. I’ve never seen him attend to anything with such passion as he attended to me that day. Afterwards, we relaxed within each other's arms. Because of that though, we ended up late in rounding up the rest of the group at the meet up point and had to go searching all around for them. Maybe if we hadn't been with one another we could have gotten to the supermarket earlier. Then we could have found out what Isabelle and Cameron were doing earlier.
We haven’t told the rest of the group about what happened. We haven’t even talked about it amongst each other since then. Which has only made our interactions even more awkward and fluttery. But I’m glad it happened. Really really glad it happened. I’ve never felt so close to Khalil.
Khalil leads the group towards the leftmost end of the charred grass field, where the corner kick spot would have previously been. His squinted eyes move across the field as he looks at all the other players, as do Michael’s. It’s like they’re scouting their competition. I don’t know why, but them doing that is worrying me alot.
I look around too, but less at the competition and more at the general stadium. It really has fallen from grace. Most of the seats within the stands have either been removed or taken apart piece by piece. I look for the VIP seats in the stands that my family and I would always sit in. Most of these seats actually are still intact themselves, though the cubicle surrounding them have been destroyed and been done away with. I take notice of the people who sit within the VIP area of these stands. There’s a sombre looking woman with hair dyed a viciously bright red sitting in between two men, one tall, pale and skinny, the other dark skinned and average height but so stocky and muscular it makes him look short. Those three sit on their own, looking down at the rest of us who gathered on the field. I’m assuming those are the organisers of all of this. They must be, who else would look so weird, scary and condescending. The red-dye woman turns to the pale-skinny man and says something to him. The pale-man listens eagerly to whatever she has to say to him and the muscled-stubby man leans over to try and listen too. I think she’s the leader of the three.
After a short while of her mouthing instructions to him, the pale man leaps up from his seating. With a crazed jagged-tooth smile he laughs with enough crazed boldness that it draws everyone's attention. That must have been what he wanted, because as soon as everyone turns his way, he violently cleared his throat to speak like a cat with a huge hairball.
“Ladies and Gentleman! Cunts and Cocks!” he shouted crassly. “Welcome to this month's edition of The Badlands Events!”
The crowd of players made weird beastly sounds with their mouths as they shouted in celebration, Michael making sure to join in with them. The pale-skinny man started a round of applause to which the muscled-stubby man excitedly joined in as does the crowd. The red-dye woman did not join in on the applause, sitting still with the same vacant expression on her face.
“Now today's events are a very important one. In fact, probably the most important one ever! Winners could walk away with one-thousand!” yelled the pale-skinny man, causing the crowd of people to happily yell back and make even more weird noises. “I know some of you are dying for the chance to be able to get your hands on Dubois’ cure so we hope you’ll give it your all in…The Dolor Olympiad!” This leads to another series of weird noises and shouts. Though I don’t know why myself.
“Dolor Olympiad?” I ask, hoping for some insight from the others. “What does that mean?”
“Pain Games.” Michael answers me, his discomforting and excited look reaching new levels of creepiness.
“Sounds interesting.” says Grace.
“Interesting it is.” confirms Michael, the two making googly eyes at each other.
“It sounds dangerous.” I interject.
“Of course it is. That’s why it’s called that.” scoffs Michael.
“Naturally.” scoffs Isabelle.
“There’s nothing natural about any of this.” I complain. “I can already tell.”
“Well one-thousand is a lot of money, so we might as well see what it’s about.” Khalil states. I suppose he’s right. I still have every right to be apprehensive about it though.
I glance back at the organiser trio in the stands and see that the red-dye woman is now mouthing instructions to the muscled-stubby man. He stands up to address the crowd in a calmer way than the pale-skinny one had.
“Today's events include the Cannibal Cage, The Walk of Frosty Fire and a special secret last event.” he said “I’ve been asked to warn you that the last event will be an incredibly dangerous one and only open to those who leave the first two games unscathed…assuming any of you do…”
The way he said that second part was really ominous and I think he meant for it to come across that way because half of the shouts and noises immediately lessened after he did so and he seemed happy about that. Since the mists I’ve dealt with enough cannibals, fires and ‘dangerous’ things for two lifetimes. I don’t need to participate in events where I’ll have to purposefully deal with such things.
“Damn, they’re really going hard today.” says Michael. “Are you sure you guys are ready for this?”
“I am.” asserts Grace, the only one to answer Michael. Michael is more than happy to hear this from her, making a weird playful grunt as he plants a wet kiss on Grace’s cheek. Grace chuckles and pushes Michael away. Michael’s smile drops from his face
“Now I don’t want any of you fucking this up. Alright?” warns Michael, paying special attention to Cameron and I. I roll my eyes at Michael, but Cameron gives off no reaction, not even a dejected sigh to be heard. What on Earth is up with him?
Twenty minutes later and I’m sitting on one of the broken graffitied stadium stands alongside Isabelle. I had already decided I was not going to participate, but an encounter I had a few minutes prior solidified the decision in my mind. The man who had collected the blood contracts was going around to check every name on the list of those who were and were not participating.
“Lys. D? As in Lysandra Devon? Like Devon Manufacturers?” he had said. “They say your father’s company was the reason we’re dealing with all this mist nonsense. Is that true?”
“Um… I don’t know.” I said to him,
“I find that hard to believe.” he chuckled. But even though he laughed he had a certain look in his eye. A look that said ‘They’re going to get you, Devon.’ After that conversation I was sure the stands were where I belonged.
Isabelle and Cameron had also decided not to participate. But whilst Isabelle sat right beside me, Cameron was nowhere to be seen. One second he was next to me and Isabelle whilst the blood contract checker was going through everyone, he was gone. I tried to go out to look for him but we were forced to the stands so they could “set up the events.” And from the stands I continued to look for him but was not able to catch sight of him anywhere. Where could he have possibly gone now? Seriously, what on Earth is up with him?
“Have you seen Cameron?” I ask Isabelle.
“No.” she responds bluntly. Her attention is solely fixed on the pen and paper on her lap. On it, she continues to scrawl different numbers and statistics, none of which I can particularly read because of how fast she writes and how messy she writes it. I want to ask her what she's writing but I know she’s just going to be dismissive about it. I can already tell she’s not going to make for good conversation up here. All I can do is sit silently, watching on in hope that Khalil, Grace and Michael don’t get brutally killed by the “Dolor Olympiad”.
Down onto the charred pitch I see that all of the “Badland Players” are being sectioned off by a flimsy caged metal barrier that confines all one-hundred of them in an encircled space in the right half of the pitch. All the players keep together in their own little groups, trying their best not to cross paths with any of the others. I see Khalil, Grace and Michael standing together in the left-centre of the circle. Khalil notices me, his beautiful sparkling eyes locking with mine. He gives me another awkward fluttery smile which I warmly return. I look to the right of him to see Grace and Michael passionately making out with each other. Probably trying to get one last in before the events start. And it’s a sloppy one too. Unlike Khalil and I, Grace and Michael seem to love making it obvious to everyone what they do together. And that’s a lot considering they’ve been doing it longer than we have.
“Don’t leave.” one of the cage-builders orders the players before returning to the seating stands.
The pale-skinny man stands up to shout at the crowd again. The evil smile on his face is even more corrupt than before.
“Let us proceed with the first event.” he bellows excitedly. “The Cannibal Cage!”
A chorus of chomping teeth, gargling throats and snarling tongues echo throughout the stadium.
Coming out of the football dugouts are a legion of cannibals let free by the muscled-stubby man. The event players watch with dread, bracing themselves as the emaciated bleach-skinned cluster of cannibals charged towards them and climbed into the caged enclosure. Without as much as a warning the cannibals starting to attack them with their clawed nails, the players forced to defend themselves.
“Disgusting.” Isabelle comments as the cannibals start to sink their teeth and claws into the players. Disgusting indeed. It’s like they’ve been starved for blood and are desperate for refreshers. I pay special attention to the three members of our group. They all manage to either fight off or avoid the cannibals. Going well so far. But is that going to last?
“The rules are simple!” shouts the pale-skinny man. “Fight the cannibals in the cage and survive! If you die or get pushed out of the cage, you lose! You fucking lose!”
More cannibals flood the area and tear at the skin of the event players. I focus back on our personal trio, to see how they are doing. Grace seems to be doing fine, ducking and weaving out of all the cannibal's grasps. Michael seems to be doing excellent, punching and kicking the cannibals into submission with a few martial arts movements I couldn’t even name if I tried. Khalil is the one I worry about the most though. He’s not doing badly, he’s doing great even. But the way he is doing it is what worries me. He risks getting bit by each cannibal, punching them in the face with reckless passion, even going out of his way to punch cannibals that aren’t even attacking him directly. And the tasks are taking a toll on him. There’s so much impulsivity and anger in the way he moves. It reminds me of how he was the day we defeated Ryan McKeown. I don’t think Michael’s the only one with a deathwish…
“Glad we’re not down there.” I say to Isabelle.
“Yeah.” she agrees. “Remember when you got mad at me for killing that cannibal that you were trying to save?”
“Um, yes. I do.” I admit awkwardly. “A naive move on my part, I must admit.”
“At least you’re aware of it.” scoffs Isabelle. She goes back to writing on her piece of paper. On it I see a series of names with ages beside them, I only recognise two of them. Tyrel Ibori - 27 and Steve Austin - 60. Khalil’s brother and Grace’s uncle. Underneath each of the names are a series of formulas of what I think are for chemical compounds. I was never good at science in school so I’m not sure what any of them mean.
“That looks interesting.” I say as I gesture towards her piece of paper. Isabelle answers me with no more than a sigh. So much for conversation, I guess I’ll find out later.
I'm back to watching the players struggle against the cannibals. And quite a few struggle. The cannibals swarm and outnumber the players within the cage, desperate to cut them to pieces and taste their flash. And it looks like no amount of punching and kicking is keeping them at bay. Actually it looks like its just angering them and causing them to bite and scratch with an even greater vengeance. I hope Khalil and the others are doing alright.
I look around to find Khalil within the area, but first I find Michael. Michael push-kicks a male cannibal on the groyne then sends a violent punch towards a female cannibal's chest. He then grabs another cannibal and plunges his thumbs in his eye, headbutts another and roundhouse kicks yet another in the temple. Oh my, he's really going on a frenzy here. Only he could enjoy something like this. I find Khalil who has moved closer to the edge of the fighting cage. A group of cannibals have cornered him, but he does not seem fazed about it at all. One of the cannibals bites down on his forearm, and instead of wailing in pain, he punches their face, aiming for teeth and knocking them out with a blow. He pulls a large jagged tooth out of his arm and uses it to cut out another cannibal's eye. That seems to be a very popular move today. He allows two cannibals to lunge at him, ducking out at the last second so their claws and flared teeth meet each other. He dodges out of the way and continues on fighting in another part of the cage. I don't know why I was worried about him, he's doing really well! And I wasn't ever really worried about Michael, he seems to be doing even better. The person I should still be worried about though, is Grace. She started off decently, dodging and evading attacks with ease, but now that there are more cannibals within the cage she's starting to struggle.
Grace punches a cannibal across the face only for it to completely eat the punch. She punches it again, this time successfully knocking it to the ground, only for another cannibal to scratch her from behind. Grace winces in pain as she turns around to attack this cannibal, but with her back turned she's unable to avoid another cannibal who runs up behind her and bites into her shoulder. Grace's legs wobble as she squints her eyes in agony. Another cannibal scratches her from the front, bringing her down to her knees. Now several cannibals compound upon Grace, ready to kill her, unable to defend herself.
"Fuck!" cries Grace as the cannibals claw and beat at her. Her exclamation catches the attention of Michael who beats a cannibal's face in.
"Shit!" exclaims Michael, dropping the cannibal and rushing to help her. Right out of the gate Michael attacks the cannibal who bites into Grace's shoulder with a strange kick that looks like he's bringing down an axe with his foot. The kick slams the cannibal's head, forcing him away from Grace. A few of the cannibals redirect their attention away from Grace and towards Michael. He headbutts one and presses his fingers through the nose of another until he draws blood, then headbutts him too…classy.
Grace is still struggling to deal with the rest of the cannibals, one of which starts to drag his claw across Grace’s throat. Michael lets on a deep passionate scream as he pushes past the cannibals he was fighting off, tackling the one who threatened to cut her neck to the ground. Michael wrestles the cannibal into submission, allowing for Grace to escape. As she dodges away and Michael writhes on the floor, the creatures all decide to attack Michael. Michael is thrown off of the cannibal, stumbling over towards the barrier edge of the cage. The cannibals descend upon him again. Michael attempts to fight back against the cannibals that surround him but this time they’re too strong and too many for him to continue his frenzy. Michael does not go down without a fight, flailing his arms as the cannibals beat him bruised and cut him bloody. At this point he only has two choices. Either let them kill him, or escape from the cage, taking the loss. He chooses the latter.
Michael joins the other players who lost and got shoved outside the cage. Most are dead. Michael looks around at their bodies in disgust. He looks back into the arena to see Grace is now safe and sound, having escaped away to an area of the space with less cannibals. But for some reason, this does not fill him with relief or joy. If anything, he seems deeply annoyed.
Michael watches as the cannibal fights continue with more and more people falling out of the cage, dying from their wounds and becoming "losers" just like he was. After a minute or so of desperate fighting, the event is halted by a loud echoing scream from the muscled-stubby man. Didn't know he had that in him. A group of gunmen rush out of the dugots with rifles at the ready. They shoot at the cages, causing immense amounts of panic, until the event players realise that they're only aiming for the cannibals. After a systematic cleansing of the cannibals, only event players were left in the cage.
"Congratulations, Cannibal Fighters!" he cheered excitedly. "If you're still in the cage you move onto the next event. If you're not? Then you fucking lose!"
I watch as those who barely came away with their lives in the cage tiredly celebrate the chance to get into another insane event. Whilst the ones who lost either had their bodies taken off of the pitch by a clean up crew or sulked back to the stands. Khalil and Grace embrace eachother in a hug of relief. Michael glares at them both with a furious fury.
"Jesus, are you guys okay?" I ask, the five of us huddling up in a group again on the edge of the pitch.
"We're fine." sighs Khalil, his voice laden with an aching.
"We're golden." Grace jokes, rubbing the scar forming on her neck. She swivels over to Michael. "Thanks for saving
Michael does not look like he appreciates her thanks, parting his hair over the swollen knot in his forehead, courtesy of the cannibals that beat him out of the cage.
"When I said I didn't want you guys to fuck this up for me. I didn't think you were one of the people I would have to worry about. " he scoffs, not even bothering to look her way.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
Grace's eyebrows scrunch with confusion. She tries to place a hand on Michael's shoulder but he moves out of the way before she can. Oh no, I think troubles forming in their odd little paradise. Khalil shakes his head.
"Right Grace, are you ready for the next event?"
"I am." says the seductive voice of a woman approaching us from behind. We look behind us to see a smirking caramel skinned woman walking our way. Wait, whose this?
As the woman approaches us, I get a better look at her. Everything about her looks so smooth and rough at the same time. Her skin is beautiful, as are her amber eyes which look bright and smokey simultaneously. Her hair is long full and vibrant but has a tattered look to it. And her eyebrows are well-kept, in contrast to the drawl and dirty clothes she wears. Who is this woman? I check to see if the group is as confused as I am by her presence. Isabelle and Michael are. But Khalil and Grace look like they might know her. Grace immediately stares her down, whilst Khalil's harbours a look that's hard to read.
"Elena." Grace greets with venom.
"Grace." Elena greets back with a smile. "And hello to you too Khalil."
Khalil's eyes lowered as he looked at Elena. He bites the corner of his lip slightly, his eyes widening as they set their sights upon her. I think there's some history here. I hope its not the type of history I'm thinking it might be...
"Who the hell is this?" Isabelle asks bluntly.
"Oh you've not heard of me?" smirked Elena. "That's surprising...all things considered."
Elena gives Khalil another one of those looks again. And for whatever reason, this compells Khalil to speak.
"This is Elena. Someone who used to be a...friend of ours."
"Used to." comments Isabelle with a scoff. "Is there a reason she isn't anymore?"
"Because Khalil and I fell out-"
"Because she has no loyalty!" interrupts Grace, the venom still within her.
"When a building comes crumbling down around you, you can't expect a person not to evacuate." Elena rationalises.
"But you should expect them to help the ones they care about leave to." Khalil grunts.
"That's surprising. I knew you liked me Khalil, but I didn't know you 'cared for me'. " mocks Elena. "Then again, I shouldn't be surprised...we were eachothers first."
Elena's smokey eyes seem to do something to Khalil. I've never seen him this shifty and unsure around anyone. Eachothers first? So it is the type of history I was worried about. So far, I don't like this girl. I don't like this girl at all...
"Keep bumping into members of the old gang recently." mentions Elena. "Have you seen that Declan's part of Dubois' guard squad now?"
"Yes."
"Are things still...between you two."
"What do you think." Khalil says bluntly. Elena laughs.
"Well if you need any help with him, don't be shy to come and find me." says Elena. Grace spits on the floor. Elena looks down at the phlegm in disgust, but looks back up at us
"Good luck in the next event." she says. She swivels around and walks away.
"Can you believe her?" Grace asks Michael. He ignores her.
As Elena walks back to where she came from, Isabelle studies her every movement.
"I'm guessing she's not to be trusted?" she asks Khalil. Khalil turns to say something to her, but his only response ends up being just a sigh. I know what that means - it's complicated. It always is...
I'm back in the stands watching and waiting for the next event to start. Now, a sour-faced Michael sits next to me and Isabelle. Still no sign of Cameron. I'm really starting to worry now.
The players still in for the fight all stand on either side of the pitch as a long road of hot coals are layed down across the halfway line. The coals are lathered in something a weird frosty green colour that kind of reminds me off…wait, is that… toothpaste? With all of the hot coals being placed down by officiators wearing gloves. The muscled-stubby man comes back onto the pitch holding a flame torch. Using the torch he sets fire to the first set of coals, the flames catching onto the next coal, then the next coal then the next coal until the entire road is scorching and the stadium smells of burnt mint coals.
"Have any of you walked over hot coals before?" the pale skinny man asks the crowd. Not many people raise their hands. "Well to those of you who do, imagine how that felt but with burns that are ten times worse! That is what you're going to have to deal with for the next challenge of the day!"
The pale skinny man excitedly twirls his fingers together as he looks down at the hot coals, where the muscled-stubby man and a series of others are prodding with scorched sticks to make it hotter and making sure the toothpaste is sticking to the coals. I gauge the reactions of all of the event players. Most have that blank look of disturbance squashed down by determination on their faces. Like they regret ever joining the badlands but refuse to give in now. The things we do for Dubois' cure.
"Is any of this really worth it?" Isabelle sighs, as if she read my mind.
"It is." asserts Michael. "We're already pulling ahead with the money we've got. If any of us win this we'll be richer by a landslide."
"At the expense of permanently scarred minty feet?" asks Isabelle.
"Yes." grunts Michael. "Who cares about fucked up feet when you can buy the cure."
"This is the type of bullshit the human race has resorted to?" scoffs Isabelle. "What a fucking sad life we all live…"
"Talk about it whatever way you want, at least we have a life." said Michael.
"Not for long if we carry on like this."
"Well if we want to keep living we have to do shit like this."
"True." I say, feeling I should probably add something to the conversation at least.
"We're so close. We can't fuck around now. " says Michael rubbing his cannibal-given scars and bruises on his neck and shoulders , his sights set on the remaining players.
I suppose I see both of their points, even Michael's. All I know is I'm glad I'm not the one being asked to fight cannibals and step on mint-coals. Because I do not see it as worth it. Cure or not.
Grace notices Michael staring at her from the stands. She blows a kiss to him, expecting one in return. She doesn't get one, with Micahel all but gritting his teeth when he sees her. Yikes.
The muscled-stubby man watches over all the players as each person takes off their socks and shoes, revealing dirty bare feet soon to become coarse and burnt.
"Simple rules." he says to all the players. "Run across fully and win…fail to complete and lose."
With the coals double-checked to be as hot and minty as they possibly can be and the players lined up at the start of the frosty death road, the event starts.
A tall slender but built man is the first player to take on the coals. He shuts his eyes tightly and takes multiple breaths in and out to syke him up before he takes on the task. Lord knows he needs it. With his eyes open again he takes one final breath, then charges down the coals with a blistering pace.
His tactic seems to be hot-step across it as quickly as possible before your body even realises what it's doing. But that's easier said than done. Halfway through his journey, the pain eventually gets to him. And once it registers its all over. The man loses his footing and falls over. He pushes his arm outward to break his fall but that was a bad idea. The burns curse him and he ends up falling over and having to roll off of the coals and onto the pitch. Now his entire body is covered in painful skin scarred raw and with nothing to show for it.
You'd think this would deter most of the other players from going ahead, but it only worked to make some other players want to prove they could do it better. But they couldn't. I watch squeamishly as player and player, person after person fail miserably in crossing the coal path. Soon the pitch is littered with the crispy bodies of the events losers.
That deterrence I was wondering about is starting to settle in. For the time being it looks like no one else is willing to take a trip across the coals anymore. But then, Elena steps up.
As Elena saunters her way to the front of the line, the other players who haven't tried to cross yet look in admiration of her boldness. But out of all the admirers Elena pays attention to none of them. None but Khalil. As she passes him by in the line, she gives him a smolderingly flirty glance, like she's cheekily smiling at him with her eyes. Khalil glances back at her, his eyes wavering slightly. Is that a slight smirk I see forming on his face? I hope it's not. It better not.
As Elena reaches the front of the line, she stares down at the coal path in front of her. Along with the sizzling of mint, you can vaguely see chunks of torn off skin and flesh in the coals. These games are determined to make me throw up my rations.
Elena tears off the bottom of her shirt, exposing her toned midriff. She makes sure to give Khalil another look as she does so. Typical. She takes the torn cloth and rolls it up like a boarding school boy would do to make a towel whip. She puts the cloth in her mouth, ties it around the back of her head and bites down hard. What kind of tactic is this?
With the cloth stuffed in her mouth, Elena takes her first step onto the coals. Even she is not immune to the awkward whinces of pain that plaster themselves across the face of everyone who had stepped on the coals. But to be fair, she seems to be doing better than most. The others watch on in amazement as Elena steps across each section of the coals, not giving up despite every pain receptor in her body probably telling her to do so. Her eyes well with tears and her lips tremble as she makes her way further down the track. A vein pops out of her forehead as she squints her watery eyes some more. Every part of her wants to scream and shout, but the cloth in her mouth stifles both her ability to shout and her reason to do so. So it did have its uses.
Elena’s eyes continue to water, mouth continues to tremble and skin continues to throb, but she pushes past it all and makes it towards the other end of the coals. Though the soles of her feet were scarred black and bruised, she looks relieved to just have completed it. She unties the cloth on her mouth, wipes the tears from her eyes and looks back to see the rest somewhat galvanised by her show of endurance. Whilst others just look jealous . Again, Elena only focuses on Khalil. And as Khalil looks back at her, his expression is less ambiguous than it was before. Oh, no. She’s definitely pulling him in again.
“Impressive.” comments Isabelle, Michael nodding in agreement with her. I desperately want to disagree with them, but I can’t bring myself to do so. It was impressive. Definitely better than anything I ever could have done.
Grace is the next to step up to the coals. She must have taken Elena’s showcase as a challenge, cause with nothing more than a few deep breaths she immediately starts to make her way across the coals. No preparation, no prior tactics or sizing up the others like Elena did, just straight hopping onto the coals and seeing where it goes from there. She approaches this challenge the same way she does everything else in life. In both a literal and metaphorical sense. I don’t know if I like that way of living, it’s a very easy way to get yourself seriously hurt. And it did.
Grace’s hopping method only manages to get a quarter of the way across until the pain of burning flesh was too much for her to handle. She leaps off of the track and onto the grass of the pitch, rolling on the floor as she curses herself out.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. FUCK!” Grace screams as she holds the bottoms of her burnt crispy feet. I thought seeing so many burnt feet today would desensitise me to it, but I still feel like vomiting when I see Grace’s feet. Lord, do I feel bad for her.
“Fantastic.” Isabelle comments sarcastically, her face harbouring a similar squeamish expression to mine. Michael however, does not seem to extend the same empathy for Grace’s pain. All he can do is let out a dissatisfied grunt. He’s seriously more bothered by the fact that she is out of the games than the fact that she is in deep pain? I’ll never understand that boy.
And with Grace out of the event, it all lands on Khalil’s shoulder, like it always usually seems to. He steps up to the plate, offering himself up as the next person to try his hand at the coals. His face is hard and stoic like one of those Greek statue heads mother used to always buy at auctions. That’s a good sign isn't it? It means he’s ready, right? As he reaches the front of the coal track he catches the eye of Elena who walks back from the other end. She gives Khalil a flirtatious look as he passes by her. For some reason this one bothered me more than all of the other times she did that.
“Why can’t she just leave Khalil the fuck alone?!” I snap.
“Tell us how you really feel.” Michael scoffs sarcastically. I have a few things I could say back to him, especially things about Grace, but I don’t want to risk him cutting me or som“Maybe you’re just jealous.” snides Isabelle. ething. He seems like the type.
“She’s such bad news.” I say.
“Jealous?!” I ask in outrage. “What the hell would I be jealous of?”
“The fact that she is a gorgeous girl from Khalil’s past who can handle herself?” suggests Michael. “Whilst you’re just a fit girl from his present…who can’t do much at all.”
“That is certainly not the case!” I assure them, but from the looks on their faces they don’t buy it at all.
“Right, I believe you.” laughs Michael sardonically.
“I-. I’m not jealous! I’m not! How are you two going to sit there and treat me as if I’m fucking unreasonable for not wanting a dangerous girl to be around us?!”
“Lysandra, calm down. we’re not attacking you here.” says Isabelle.
“I’m not fucking jealous.” I say, putting my foot-down.
“Fine.” Isabelle conceded with a sigh. “Not like I care either way.”
I swear, these two are the worst people to talk about anything with. Why couldn’t Cameron be up here? Honestly, where is he? He’s missing everything! I could use his support. Not just to back me up on the Elena jealous thing, but because Khalil is our last hope here.
Khalil steps onto the first coal. I naturally grimace as he sinks his bare feet onto the hot minty rocks. But Khalil does not. Not even a wince or a falter in his eyes. Either he has lost the pain receptors in his feet or he is masking it very well. He allows the pain of the coals to seep through him, standing there. This has to be the strangest tactic I’ve see today yet.
Khalil screams at the top of his lungs with pain and passion then bombs his way across the coals. Jaw clenched and teeth gritted, Khalil sprints across the hot coals not stopping for even a moment of breath. His caramel skin turns red and veiny as he bares the shock and weighs on his endurance caused by his forward rush. I stand up in my seat excitedly as I watch him go past the halfway line. Oh my God, he’s doing it, he’s really doing it! Though his pace falters as he reaches the end, Khalil does not give up, not a single foot is put a millimetre out of place as he dashes down the track until eventually…he makes it!
“Oh my fucking God!” I blurt out in a cheer.
“Oh wow!” Isabelle exclaims, her first . Even Michael puts on a genuine smile in place of the using malicious smirk. He actually made it!
Khalil crashes down to the floor at the other end of the pitch, lying down on the grass as he desperately pants for air. All the pain and tiredness seems to hit him at once as he refuses to move from his spot on the floor. Excited, Grace ignores the pain from her feet and leaps up to rush towards Khalil with open arms.
“Well fucking done!” cheers Grace, enveloping him in a hug. Khalil smirks weakly as he hugs her back.
Some of the other players clap in congratulation towards Khalil, even more impressed by his efforts than anything else they’ve seen today. One of the players who claps the hardest is Elena, who is not just satisfied with doing that, but also feels the need to approach him and Grace. Jesus, why can’t she just fuck off?
“Nice job.” congratulates Elena. “You’ve always had it in you to do the hard thing when it needs to be done.”
“Yeah…you too.” Khalil congratulates her back. Elena smirks at Khalil, and this time he actually smirks back. Not a polite look, or a somewhat confused one, but a real and genuine smirk. And, they hold eye contact too! They better not be having a moment! They better better better not.
The dyed-red woman starts whispering orders again. First she says something to the muscled-stubby guy, who after hearing what she has to say leaves the stands where they sit, probably to go set something up. Then, she says something to the pale-skinny guy, but the orders he receives are much longer and probably very exciting. Either that or the pale-skinny guy just decided to get all giddy and jumpy for no reason. He gets quite literally jumpy, launching himself onto his seat, stretching his arms and clearing his voice with another bellow. Time for another one of his announcements.
“And now the final game will be revealed!” his eyes watering and mouth trembling as if he was on the coals. Though with a happier smile on his face. The event players still in the game all zone in on this oddly happy face of his, eagerly waiting to find out what event they will have to endure next “The Final Event is…”
“Russian Roulettes.” finishes the muscled-stubby man as he re-enters the pitch from the dugout, carrying a barrel of revolver guns. Most of the players look apprehensive about this event. Though they were willing and able to walk across coals and risk permanently damaging their feet, this was a gamble on their life they were not as willing to carry out. I don’t blame them. I don’t blame them at all.
“Who wants to try their luck against me?” asked the pale-skinny man. “Who wants to earn their thousands?”
Most, in fact, practically all of the players are reluctant to put themselves forward. But one person puts themselves forward without a second thought. And it’s exactly who you think it is…
“We have a challenger…” chuckled the pale-skinny man as he looked down towards Khalil.
“Do you have a fucking death-wish?!” Isabelle asks as we all gather by the bottom of the stands before the match starts.
“I’m getting tired of you asking me things like that.” grunts Khalil.
“I’m getting tired of you doing things like this!” exclaims Isabelle.
“Khalil you don’t have to do this.” I urge him.
“We both know that isn’t true.” he dismisses.
“Khalil listen to reason here.” says Isabelle.
“We’ve passed the point of reasoning. Now is the time for action.” says Khalil. He really has lost it.
“You really are just desperate to die aren’t you?” scoffed Isabelle. “Death-wish doesn’t even begin to describe whatevers running through that thick head of yours right now.”
“Every single day of our lives is a death-wish.” argues Khalil. “The only difference here is that it’s in a controlled environment.”
“Russian Roulette though?” asks Grace. “Come on man, there’s a limit to all of this.”
“Yeah, even I wouldn't do that.” chuckled Michael. If anything, that was Khalil’s sign that what he was doing was a horrendously stupid idea. One could hope he would start to reconsider. He didn’t.
“So what do you suggest then?!” bellowed Khalil. “Do you really want to leave here with nothing? Look at us! Your body bruised from cannibal beatings and Grace and I . We have to leave her with something. I have to play this.”
“Khalil mate…there’s being brave and determined and there’s being a dumbass.” Michael laughed at Khalil. “Go ahead and get yourself killed if you want. But don’t say we didn’t warn you.”
“Fuck off.” snides Khalil turning away from us all. I want to argue back to him and try to think of something that will get him to stop. But once again I’m at a loss for words, so I just do whatever comes naturally to me in the moment.
“No, Khalil! Don’t do it! Don’t!” I command as I latch onto his arm. I make sure my grip is as tight as ever, tight enough so that he would struggle to release himself and be forced to stay here and hear us out . This does not last long though.
He knocks me to the ground with such force I get whiplash in my neck as I fall over. I gasp in shock, but he doesn't even turn around once to look if I was okay. With no remorse he marches away from us and back onto the pitch . There’s no changing his mind. We’ll just have to hope this goes well.
Ten minutes later and I’m only a few metres away from Khalil who sits at a table across from the pale-skinny guy in the middle of the pitch. All of the event players, past losers and onlookers have climbed down from the stands and been made to watch the event as we all encircle the pair at the table. The pale-skinny guy looks excited to continue. Khalil glares at him, following the man's erratic shifting eyes, as if someone told him if he broke eye contact he would lose the game then and there. Oh the intensity.
The muscled stubby man walks up to the table, and places a pre-prepped revolver on each side. I can see it. One bullet in the chamber. One in six. A one in six chance that you end up blowing your brains out. But everytime you spin that chamber and press the gun to your head, your chances drop drastically. My uncle learnt that unfortunately, after what my family liked to call “The Country Club Incident.” Though Uncle Archibald was always off his head. To be honest though, the same could be said about Khalil. But his particular brand of insanity is much different. And somehow, more concerning.
“You know how to play?” chuckled the pale-skinny man. Khalil nodded somberly. “Good…then let's begin.”
The pale-skinny man starts the game with an overbearing excitement, lunging at his gun and holding it with a strong grip. He adjusts the chamber of the revolver, presses the gun to his head and fires…it’s blank. The man laughs maniacally as he waves the gun in the air.
“It's your turn now!” he exclaims as he points the gun in Khalil’s face.
Khalil obliges and picks up the gun. Like his opponent he spins and adjusts it then places it to his head. I feel the churning in my stomach return, this time accompanied with a thumping of my heart and chock-full feeling in my chest . Somehow I feel like I’m more anxious than Khalil probably does right now. Khalil shoots a blank at his head, and just like that it’s the pale-skinny mans turn again. Though he seems more than happy about that.
The man takes his second shot, another blank. Then Khalil takes his second, another blank. The man takes a third, another blank. Then Khalil takes a third, another blank. Everytime Khalil takes a shot at his head, I feel my heart stop for a second. The man takes his fourth shot another blank, Khalil takes his father and…another blank.
Oh my good Lord, please when will this end. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. Now it’s time for their fifth shot. The pale-skinny man takes up the gun, but instead of shooting, he places the gun down. He swaps his and Khalil’s guns around, adjusting both. What is he doing? Now is not the time to be playing games.
“This time…you go first.” chuckled the pale-skinny man.
“Alright.” said Khalil with a gulp. The tensions finally getting to him. Please God, make it blank. Please God, please god, please god, please god, please god, please-
As Khalil takes his fifth shot of the gun, I feel time freeze for a second. Probability is not on his side. It's not on either of their sides. If he really had a deathwish, now was the time it was too be granted.
Khalil takes the fifth shot and…it's another blank. I almost pass out from the sheer relief that comes over. Maybe God truly did answer my prayers. Or pleads should I say.
The pale-skinny man chuckled maniacally again as he grabbed his revolver. He had a toothy grin on his face, but that grin was soon to fade. For as soon as he took his fifth shot, the revolver blew his brains out.
It was so quick and surreal I didn't believe it happened for a moment. But just like that, Khalil had won. Khalil gasps for air as he drops the gun, dry-heaving between deep breaths. Imagine the sick feeling of relief he's going through right now.
Not much fanfare seems to follow the win. Everyones just in silence, even the members of our group. I think everyones just surprised that Khalil actually made it out alive. Too shocked to celebrate or act on the relief they felt. Too shocked to do anything. At least I was.
The pale-skinny man's body gets removed by some of the officials with even less fanfare. The red-dye woman does not even seem to bat an eye at her fallen associate. All she does is quietly order for the body to be disposed off and for Khalil to receive his reward. Khalil recieves a bag full of notes and coins in a dirty brown sack. As the crowd around him disperse, the Badland Events reach their conclusion. The rest of us gather around Khalil, waiting for him to do or say something. But all he comes out with is: "Let's go home."
Alright then…let's go home.
But before we could even try to get home, Elena crosses our paths once again. My oh my this girl is relentless.
"Hello Khalil." she says, as if the rest of us aren't even here.
"Hello Elena." Khalil responds calmly. No smirk this time. Good good.
"I think I-
"What the hell do you want?!" I interject before she can finish.
"Yeah! What do you want?" added Grace backing up. I nod upwards at her, appreciating the support.
Elena guffaws softly, shakes her head at us as if we were nothing but pesky interrupting kids then goes back to looking at Khalil.
"What do I want?" she asks as if it was obvious. "To be part of your group."
"No chance." Grace tells her without hesitation. Exactly what I was about to say.
"And why not Grace?"
"Is that a serious question? You weren't ride or die for our gang back in the day when things were normal, so you sure as hell won't be ride or die now."
"That is true." Khalil corroborates, his face wearing down with apprehension.
Yes! Listen to Grace. Send her packing!
"Oh really? Well how's this for a ride or die." says Elena.
She reaches into her jacket pocket to retrieve something. Khalil instinctively puts his guard up to protect me. I love when he does that.
"What's this?" asks Khalil
"Nine-hundred pounds. All the money I've gathered up since Dubois' race of cure started." she says like the smug snake she is. "It's all yours…if you let me join you."
"Yeah right." I scoff, expecting the others to have the same reaction to me. But none of them did, not even Grace.
Khalil sighs out of his nose heavily. He's not just considering it, he's probably already made up his mind. For fuck sake…