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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2046948
by HWard
Rated: E · Draft · Young Adult · #2046948
In and out. In and out.
Breathe.

In and out. In and out.

This is the day. The day I have been waiting for. My call. My sacrifice. My last stand. I was excited before today. Now, I feel the opposite. I shake where I stand. Sweat is pooling from my pores, drowning me, making it hard for me to breathe.

In and out. In and out.

I don’t fear dying. I fear the dirt. The weight of six feet's worth of gravel pressing against my coffin. The darkness, the cold. I'm scared that when you die, you don’t leave, you stay. Staying with my body is fine, but I would rather not look at a coffin for eternity, waiting, and watching the mud flood it; being completely helpless, while the insects bite away at me, bit by bit. I would be offended, but what would be the point? I would be dead. I want to be left by the sea, let my corpse rot near the waves, the smell of salt and fresh air is fine by me, but that would be... indecent. It could never happen anyway, all people that get ‘The Call’ have a ceremonial funeral, with flying banners, and horrible music. And of course, dirt. I guess one can have a dream, right?

In and out. In and out.

I remember being five years old when I was Called. An honour they said. A privilege to serve, and be noble they said. They said. They said. I don’t care any more what they say. I should have stopped them from taking me. Ran. Jogged. Walked. Anything would have been more dignified than running into there arms willingly. It makes me cringe thinking about it.

Standing in my gear, head to toe in weapons of finery and privilege. My leather suit presses too much against my skin, I wonder how they expect me to fight in this? It smells too, I try not to breathe through my nose.

In and out. In and out.

I will fight for my country, but not in the way it was hundreds of years ago. Not with honour, and self disciplined sacrifice, but by force. I don't want to fight, not any more, but it doesn't matter what I think, I was chosen. War has become entertainment, and a betting game for all to watch. It no longer takes millions to die to win a war, just one from each country. Countries had fallen, and had been rebuild, over, and, over, and, over again, but due to this new system it makes it almost impossible. Great right?

I have been trained to serve my country. To serve my people. The people I now hate.

In and out. In and out.

I was chosen because I had a hundred percent success rate in every aspect to become a killer. Apparently it’s something in my genes? I dunno, is there a killer gene or something? They wanted someone smart, athletic, brave and strong. A true worrier. I excelled beyond my training, surprising the people that bought me. I am the first female to compete for my country. Over hundreds and hundreds of years, they never expected for there to ever be a female competitor for my country, but as my results showed they couldn't really say no. They HAD to have me. They needed me to win for them, because you see, we never win. The last time we won was fifty something years ago, way before I was born. There are competitions every five years, so then any disputes that the countries have, can then be reconciled during the game. The winner gets authority for the next five years over the countries. Calls the shots if you will.

We knew that it was part of humanity for there to be war; for there to be death. There was no such thing as true peace, so we altered the way we lived. The human race was falling apart, crumbling at the seams and we were all dying in either war, or illness, so there became an alliance. An alliance that has ruined me. One may win. Twenty two contestants, and only one can win. Only one.

In and out. In and out.

“CONTESTANT SRTB0022, PLEASE COME FORWARD” I still don’t know what that means, but that's me.That's my name. SRTB0022. They like to keep my identity anonymous so then the public won’t get too attached to me, its a way of controlling the masses, because a person without a name, do they really count as being a person? I am no one, but everyone. I am my country and that is all the people need to know. I don't think I even remember my original name, but I don't think I am that person any more anyway.

This is me.

In and out. In and out.

I step forward.






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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2046948