The Rock

I picked at my eyebrow as everyone anxiously waited for Dr. Berryman to make her appearence. I was trying to take all the dried blood out. My stomach felt much better and breathing had become much easier as well. B-58 however, had given me a black eye, and that still hurt and annoyed my eye, but otherwise, I had made it out better than most it turned out.

A quick glance around the auditorium made it obvious that no-one had an easy day. Most people were bleeding or had bruises of some kind. One boy in particular had his entire arm soaked in blood as it looked that a girl had ripped the skin on his shoulder with talons. It was still bleeding, but didn't look fatal by any stretch of the word. Painful though, for sure.

Kamil had a few bruises, among the mentioned one underneath his eye was a few scratches on his arm and a few bruises on his stomach that he showed me.

"It's no big deal," he had told me, "my brother taught me how to fight early on, and then my parents."

He had won both of his competitions early. Becca; however, did not share in the luck. She had fought against Connor, who currently only looked to her with a sorry look. She had lost, as it turned out, which spoke a lot for Connor because I was always under the impression that Becca was quite lethal, as evident by her second fight.

"I really wanted to win," Becca explained once we sat down in the auditorium. "I was scared to lose again," she said shaking. "I had already gotten so close to losing, and again I lost to Connor," she said eyeballing him, "that I gave it my all. I didn't know what to do. I... just don't know. I hope the girl is okay," she finished looking back to the hallway we came from.

"You did what you had to do," Connor reassured her, "she would understand."

"If she didn't die," Becca rebutted," and, if not when I knocked her out, then when she lost both of her fights."

"Don't worry about that Becca," Emma chimed in, finally speaking. "You gotta just press forward, don't worry about what happened. They probably wanted that from you. They want you to fail. Don't let them do that. Push through, you here me?" She was holding Becca now, staring her dead in the eyes, telling her more than asking her.

Emma had moved on fast. She was hardened. The bright, dancing green in her eyes I noticed the first time I met her looked more like a swampy, wooded, and firm look. She didn't speak too much, but when she did, you could hear her walking over her pain. She had bruises over her, but she gritted her teeth when the pain began. Her words were made of steel, piercing everything in its path and cutting like a sword through the air. She was serious and was going to make it.

"There is nothing but right now," she continued, "pull yourself together girl and move on."

She shot a glaze around at us, looking from Connor, to me, to Kamil where she rested her eyes and went to her food.

"She's right," Kamil offered Becca, "there's nothing we can do right now. But look, It's time for the devil to show her face," he finished pointing towards the figure making her way into the auditorium.

She was as tall as ever, the same broad shoudlers and the same cunning smile and annoying glare that pierced through the low air. Dr. Berryman was a sight for sure, and her slow, graceful walk only annoyed me more. If I was ever in her room again, I would throw her in the fire. I was sure of it. I would grab her like I had grabbed B-58 and show her how much it hurt. How much it hurt to know that you were responsible.

She was still guarded by another dozen guards with rifles in their hands. She reached the center of the room and looked around at us, eyeing everyone who was breathing hard, or covering a wound. We were the low lives festering her pretentious space.

"Welcome," she said in a genuine state of joy. "I'm sure you've had a busy day, as have I. The times are coming near, and we need to be certain of our leaders," she continued.

I looked over to Emma, who turned away from Dr. Berryman, and looked in the opposite direction in a spiteful state. She was angry.

"We need someone who is agile and strong, first and foremost,"

The doctor was turning around and looking at all the hatred-filled eyes staring down into her hellish soul. She was pleased with what she saw.

"We need a leader who is cunning and knows how to take an advantage when neccessary."

She motioned to the screen at the end of the auditorium, drew her hand up, and made the same fist as before.

"And today's challenge saw to that end. Only the strong survive in this world," she finished.

The screen came up, and there were another 10 names listed on the screen.

Top 10 fighters today:

1. G21 = 10

2. F97 = 10

3. L45 = 10

4. B27 = 10

5. G01 = 10

6. E99 = 10

7. J49 = 10

8. B25 = 10

9. A07 = 10

10. C71 = 10

"As you can cleary see," the doctor began, "our top ten performers, those that won their challenge in the shortest times, all recieved ten points. Points have been distributed evenly downwards until halfway."

I looked over to Emma. She got fourth place and had dominated the fights today. Even Kamil, who I thought would crush everyone, by his massive stature and speed, lost in time to Emma. I looked over to him, his eyes glued to the board, eyeing the fourth place finish, he didn't seem surprised though. He had a small smile under that serious expression he always wore. It momentarily broke through and quickly escaped.

"And now," Dr. B said, "for our tally so far."

The screen changed to show the overall standings:

Top 10:

1. F97 = 20

2. G21 = 19

3. L45 = 17

4. G01 = 15

5. B25 = 14

6. A07 = 13

7. B27 = 10

8. E99 = 10

9. J49 = 10

10. C79 = 10

Everyone started talking and the chatter of the room overpowered my ability to think clearly. I was exhausted, ready for bed as ever. I looked over to Becca, her head looking at the screen, her face still wet from her tears before. Her brown eyes glistened with the salt water streaked across her face. She lightly shook her leg, to mask her pain and to stop straining. Her hands ran across her scratches, lightly touching each one. She looked at the screen the entire time. Every time she touched one, her eyes would squint for a second and immediatly go back to their places.

I thought of reaching over to her, to comfort her. Maybe I could say something that would make it okay, something that she would nod to, acknowledge and move on. But something told me that wouldn't be the case. It had been a long day, and we were all done.

We all just kinda sat there, silent, as the powers that be told it's story. The story of the winners. Our story was written by the points they gave us. Those at the bottom of the pit, those who were held behind in the fighting room, they all were at the cost of the story being written. To what cost are you willing to destory good for the good story I should've asked the doctor. Time moved slowly, and I was a victim to its mesmerizing glamor. I had a sense of accomplishment, of pride flowing through me. I had made it past two challenges that had brought us to half our normal amounts. Our B group had halved in two days.

Connor was silent. He was bloodied more than any of us. His body was destroyed, as his breathing suggested. His second fight was brutal. He held his left wrist in his right hand, which may have been broken as he winced every time it moved. Being hunched over, he hid his right side from view, as blood had pierced through his shirt stained it. He took his time to situate himself in the most comfortable stance and slowed his breathing and closed his eyes.

Kamil turned his attention to Connor, reached out, and touched his shoulder lightly, "You made it man," he said smiling kindly.

Connor, looked back halfway, staring at the table, chuckling, "my horse came back to trample on me."

"I guess you're right, but you're still here, are you not?" he asked encouragingly.

Connor took a moment to look around and examine the chaos. Over a thousand students, all bloodied beaten, sitting down, tired and eating food that tasted like cardboard. He laughed lightly. "I don't know if that's better."

"Alright, before we're almost done here," Dr. Berryman proclaimed after some time. "I have just one more thing to clear up," she said motioning to a guard.

The guard nodded and started walking over to a table slowly.

"I have a simple policy about my rules," Dr. Berryman continued.

The guard grabbed a kid and began dragging him forward towards the center.

"You listen," she added, "you move on,"

The kid began fighting to release himself, and as he hit the guard once, two more came to get him under control.

"If however you choose not to listen, maybe decide that the rules don't apply to you..."

The guards threw him into the circle of guards that the doctor was in. She knelt down to his body, on the floor, breathing heavily.

"then I am forced to show you that I am serious," she said into his fearful, angry eyes.

He lunged at her, pulling out a knife and attempting to stab her. His arm reached her leg and scratched her skin, bring some blood out. But before anymore damage could be done, a guard grabbed him by his legs and threw him off balance yet again, this time pinning him to the ground with two other guards.

The doctor walked up to him, eyed him and looked at her leg. There was a small amount of blood slowly oozing out of her leg and down. She eyed it for a moment before looking at him. she kicked the knife out of his hands with one fell swish and it clanked across the floor a few feet away. "What is your name?" she asked him.

He didn't respond, only looked at her and spit on her leg.

"How unfortunate," she said.

She walked over to the knife and looked at the blood on it curiously. She bent over and took the knife by her hand and brought it back to him. She pointed it to his face. She drew it closer and closer to him, asking again, "What is your name?"

She began to push it into his cheek, slowly, painfully. His eyes shot around in circles and his legs danced. He gritted his teeth and let out a loud yell. She didn't stop, only kept pushing and driving the knife deeper into his face, letting blood flow out in a stream.

"P-21!" he finally screamed out.

She removed the knife from his face and blood came out like a stream. It poured without stopping.

"Cover that up!" she yelled at one of the guards. A few moments later a medic guard ran over to him and covered the wound by taping his wound shut. He procceeded to also mend the doctor's wound as well. After the repairs were quickly made, she knelt down on her knees to him.

"Very good that you cooperate now," she said raising his chin with her hand. "Unfortunately," she shook her head, "you did not do so when you were told to fight your competitor, did you?"

His eyes widened as she smiled down to him, a cold smile.

"No," she said picking herself back up, "instead you thought attacking my guard was better. You thought that you had the power to do that. You, and the friend that you were with. Where is he now?" she asked looking around. "Can you tell me where he is right now," she asked looking into his watering eyes.

He began tearing up and his eyes began puffing up. His friend didn't make it out of the fight.

Through bloody, gritted teeth he spoke, "The same place you will be one day."

She smiled as she saw him there, fighting for a moment to be free. "Where is that?" she asked.

He stopped moving and sighed. He looked at her and actually smiled this time, happily speaking, "the same grave, the same dust mites eating at your burned skin as you will rot in the deepest pit of hell." He spat his blood onto her face.

She wiped her face with her hand and stood there, dissapointment on her face. "That is unfortunate," she said coldly to him. She motioned over to a guard who came over and drew his rifle out and aimed at the boy. "I thought I would have a nice one. But I think you're wrong."

"something tells me," she said looking into his eyes and picking up her hand. "his grave will be much too full with you in it."

His eyes closed as she threw her hand down with force, jolting herself downwards a bit. The gunfire rang out loud, and the boy's body flopped down. For a second you could see the anger and passion in her eyes. She had proved herself serious as she had intended. She took a few moments of silence and stared at the limp body in front of her.

"Take him away," she commanded the guards.

As two of them grabbed the boy and dragged him into an unseen corridor, the doctor took a moment to speak.

"There is one way our country has made it this far students. That is following orders. Unfortunately, some, like this poor boy, are too slow to understand this concept. He doesn't understand why we do what we do," she said turning around in circles. "There is no order without discipline and there is no discipline without enforcement. Anything else causes chaos."

She looked over to a girl, "Is there one person that can guide this country on their own?"

The student responded slowly, cautious through every one of her words, "...I'm... not... sure."

She continued to wipe the few dots of blood off of her face, one by one. She began walking out of the auditorium.

"Oh, but of course you are not sure, you are young and naive, with much to learn. There is much to teach, and much to know. Two days ago we began with a full auditorium of roughly 2600 students. Almost half are still around today. You are but the smartest half, and I must pick the ripe fruit from its blossom. Who will blossom and thrive?" she asked rhetorically.

She stopped when she reached her hallway, stood there for a moment and turned around. She looked at us, and wiped the last drop of blood off of her face.

"And death," she said, "is the flower falling so that the fruit may grow." She walked out.

Her intentions were clear. She had said what was needed. If we followed her rules, we might have a chance, if we didn't, we would turn into the boy on the floor, we would be the person left behind in the fighting room, we would be the person to fall into the pit. It was her game of chess, and she moved the pieces as she wished. She let you move the pieces, but if one got too close, she would break it.

As Z walked us back that evening to our rooms, I noticed his unease. It had started when he told Becca to stop fighting. I don't think he was supposed to have stopped her, at least it didn't seem like a thing that Dr. Berryman would have wanted after what we had just seen. His walking down the hallways was more uneven and his eyes twitched and darted around him whenever another guard was talking to him. He was quick-paced and he put everyone into his rooms quickly.

As I entered my room with Kamil and Connor, I felt a cold wind pass over me, as if she was watching me. I stood at the foot of my bed, looking at it. A desolate comfort place. Connor however, collpased on his bed with a thud. He looked over at me.

"Can you help me wrap my side? I can't bear to touch it." he said.

I nodded. Kamil helped me to take his shirt off, to reveal a gashing wound on his side.

"It's bad isn't it?" he asked.

"Nothing a shower and some sleep won't fix," I smiled.

We carried him over to the shower, sat him down in the corner and turner the water on. As we walked out of the bathroom, I could hear him grunting at the water as it hit his side.

I plopped myself next to my suitcase and closed my eyes. Kamil sat down at the edge of his bed and looked at me. I kept my eyes closed, taking in everything that had happened. So much death, in such little time. So much blood, so much chaos.

"He'll be fine," Kamil finally reasssured me, "I've seen way worse."

"That's not who i'm worried about," I answered.

"Oh," he responded, "you're worried about that Becca girl, right? The one that almost beat the life out of the other girl?"

"I didn't tell you how I know Becca, did I?"

"No," he shook his head, "But I could tell there was some history there when she called out your name during the race. In my experience, you have to know someone to yell at them by name and especially to trust them with your life," he jokingly said.

"We grew up together in the same town, but when the floods came, her family went somewhere else. We thought she died, but..." I said.

"But then she popped up in this random place of all places?" he finished.

"They really ought to give it a name," I said.

"Well if they don't," he said, "then we should."

"I'd call it hell," I responded, "It took my friend away from me, it took my sister away from me, and now it brought someone I care about back into my life only to tease their death."

I looked at him. "What about you?"

"That gives it too much credit," he said. "the place itself isn't that bad," he said pointing to around the room. "It's built pretty well, everything is more or less sturdy," he said shaking his bed, "and most of the people arn't half bad," he said looking at me. "The only bad part is the bully with the guns," he finally said making finger guns with his hands and shooting himself and me.

"Why doesn't this scare you, Kamil? What's your deal?"

He looked at me for a second, eyed my eyebrow, which had dried itself and left a small scar. He looked at my eyes, trying his best to read them. What would he find? I didn't know. I don't know what anyone would think of me.

He let out a sigh and looked at floor. "I told you that my brother died right?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Well, during that night, I ran away from the fight to try to find a neighbor, someone who might direct me to my parents. I ran for hours around the city, but everyone was fighting. In every street there was someone with a gun, shooting and mowing everyone else down. I remember in one of the streets I caught a look at the guy with the gun and he had a military outfit on. He was the commander of our army. India attacked its own people," he sighed.

"And," he continued, "not only that, they brought torches to burn down the houses of people that wanted change. They burned down every house. That night, after realizing there was no help, I ran down to the docks and hid myself in an empty ship to wait out the night. It was a small sailing boat, unoccupied and clean. The next morning I heard commotion outside as I woke up. I heard people yelling and screaming. I walked outside to see a large assembly of military personnel dragging some revolutionaries to the center of town. The townspeople that followed were silently watching. I joined them and watched from the sidelines as the soldiers dragged the screaming people across the dirt path to the center of town."

Kamil took a moment and thought deeply on what he was about to say. His eyes were not fierce in this moment and fear finally showed himself in his eyes. Kamil looked towards the door.

"The soldiers sat all the revolutionaries on the ground in a line, tattered and bruised next to each other. I climbed on top of somone's horse to see them. My mother and father were in the group. They both knelt at the feet of those pathetic soldiers. My mom only looked at the ground but my dad found me out of the corner of his eye. He saw me there, watching from the horse I stood on. He smiled at me."

Kamil's eyes glistened in the dark room as they never had before. The light switch was turned off in the room and the only light came from the underneath the door. His eyes reflected the pain and trauma he had seen that day. They began to wet, slowly.

"A soldier came up to him," he continued, "and asked my dad why he was smiling."

"What did he say?" Connor lightly asked, standing at the doorway of the bathroom, holding his arms around his stomach.

Kamil turned to look at Connor and back to the door. "My dad said, 'because I see the fear in your eyes, and a good boy never fears his day of death. I will not completely die like you, a great part of me will escape the grave.' With that, the soldier stabbed him. My mother saw me then as my father fell on her lap. She cried loudly and before before the firing squad rained their bullets that hot summer day, she mouthed the word 'run' to me."

One tear streaked down Kamil's face, and landed eloquently onto the wooden surface of the floor.

"So I ran to the sailboat and stole it at 8 years old," he said proudly, "until I I traded it later for enough money to get out of that godforsaken country."

He looked back towards me and Connor.

"There is nothing worse than that," he said, "No evil whoever can take as much away from me as those soldiers did that day. The entire country was screwed. The townspeople did nothing but watched as their own people were being slaughtered. They stood their, mouths closed and stomachs empty.... No-one, not even Dr. Berryman can make me scared," he said definitively.

"We are more alike than I thought then," Connor said.

Kamil looked at Connor's shaking body, and smiled.

"I guess we are."

Connor walked in front of me and Kamil and reached into my suitcase.

"I think I know what to call this place," he said, taking out the dagger my uncle had given me.

Kamil and I eyed the dagger, it was similar to the one the boy had used to try to attack Dr. Berryman. The dried blood was still on the blade.

He looked at Kamil and me and held the blade out to us.

"It's time we start showing this place who's boss, huh? Kane, we'll get Becca and her friend safely out, somehow; and Kamil, don't you dare tell me you are not ready to break another bully with another gun. I'm done tired being the person with the little power. It's about time we break this topple the rider off of his high horse."

He looked down at the blade and smiled, "I'd call this place the rock, no?"

Kamil looked at me, and I looked at him.

I looked at Connor, beaten and bruised up from the day. In all aspects his was tired and he should've collapsed on the floor. He had take the worst beating than any of us. His passion kept him standing on his feet. His determination powered his heart. His sheer will kept him moving.

I thought about Andrea, I thought about my mom. She had fought in a war, she had given it her all. What would she expect from me? We're all called in our time of need, she had said in one of her stories in Abeline. That was her time, and this; well this was my time.

I stood up next to Connor, waiting for Kamil's choice.

He looked carefully at the blade, the blood stain on it, that may very well have been one of ours in the future. He knew that we would risk dying for this. But Kamil was a strong man, reforged into steel by his family, that pushed him forward with every movement.

He smiled, stood up, and took the blade.