The Arena: Ch.1

Chapter 1: Chosen
It was a dark, stormy Sunday morning. The people of Diabla were crowded around the Podium at the north of the city, infront of City Hall. The Caller was waiting at the stand, a small, black top hat infront of her, bursting with small white tickets. My heart seemed to get stuck in my throat, beating faster and faster as The Caller reached her hand in the hat and drew the first ticket. She unfolded it and read the name that would seem to ruin the rest of my life...

"Torrin Wood!" she smiled. It was a fake smile; you could see the hate and fear in her eyes as she looked out into the crowd. Behind me my mother began to cry. My father's hand went around her back and he stared at me, seeming to send me a mental message.

I nodded, swallowed my fear, and trudged up onto the Podium. The Caller shook my hand and handed me my name card. She gestured towards one of 12 seats to her left, and I took the farthest from her. The Caller reached in the hat again and pulled another name.

"Dazzler!" she said.

A pretty, young girl- maybe 15- slowly walked up to the stage, a single tear running down her rosy cheek. She swiped her blue hair out of her face and straightend her milk maid costume. She sat down next to me. The Caller began picking out more and more names. All sorts of people came up. I saw a boy with weird, furry black ears poking out of his hair and a tall woman with ear phones on. The youngest person that was called was a 13 year old girl named Blanca. She was small but she was carrying three pistols at her waist.

Finally there was only one contestant left to be picked. The Caller reached her scrawny, pink nailed fingers inside of the hat and pulled out the last card.

She gave a sigh of relief, meaning her child hadn't been chosen. "Trey Lylac!" she smiled.

There was a shout from the crowd and someone began weeping loudly.

A young boy of only 13 began to make his way to the stage, but his mother was hanging onto his shirt and crying for him not to go.

"No!" she screamed. "Please! Not my son! Not my baby boy!"

The boy moved closer and closer to the stage, his feet inches away from the Podium. As soon as he stepped on...he would be officialy a tribute. He raised the heel of his foot and his shoe hovered above the Podium.....

"NO! I SUBSITUTE! I VOULENTEER IN HIS PLACE!"

The crowd turned. A young girl around my age, 17, was making her way towards the Podium. She was exceptionally pretty, her storm gray eyes matching the mood of the rainfall. Her black hair was wet with rain and it flowed down her back in a french braid.

"And who are you?" The Caller asked the girl.

"I am Nova Lylac, the contestant's sister." the girl replied.

"Age?" she asked, glaring down at her clipboard.

"17."

"Very well. Your subsitution is accepted."

"Nova! Don't-" the young boy named Trey cried, grabbing his sister's hand. But his mother pulled him back. She hugged him tight, and instead of crying for her daughter as she had cried for her son, she gave her a devil glare and backed away into the crowd.

Nova sighed with fear and walked up to the stage. Taking a seat, she put her face in her hands.

"Citizens of Diabla!" The Caller called. "Please give a hand for our 12 contestants! In two days, when the sun reaches its peak, The Arena tournament will begin. The contestant who wins will be given riches beyond his or her imagination. They will be able to leave the city and go wherever they want in the world."

The crowd clapped, though there was no meaning in the sound.

The Caller turned towards us. "Contestants...you will be escorted via limosine to the Bunking Quarters. This is where you will sleep, eat, and train. Remember that in two days the tournament will start...then it is a fight to the death..."

After that, the time seemed to slow down. When the limo came and all 12 of us piled in, I felt like it was hours, no years, until we got to the Bunking Quarters.

The Bunking Quarters was just an oversized building two blocks down from The Arena. It had no windows on the outside and was made up of four floors. As we entered the building, the feeling of dread and death flooded over me. The walls were pure,solid iron and each room had only a small window in the door. I felt like I was in jail....

"Each room is suited to the specific priso- I mean person's needs," The Caller said as she escorted us to our rooms.

My room was on the far right at the end of the hall. A plaque on the door read, "Contestant #1: Torrin Wood". The Caller unlocked the door and let me inside. The prison cell, or "living quarter" as they called it, looked exactly like my room at home. There was a giant tree in the corner of the room with lanterns dangling from the branches. A small fountain sat in the other corner with golden coins drifting around in the water. A large TV- similar to the one I had at home- was hanging on the wall. A giant wardrobe closet sat on the far right of the left wall. The only difference was the bed. It was a normal white bed with cotton sheets and fluffy, feather pillows. Sitting on the bed was a large black suitcase. I turned around to ask The Caller what it was, but she was no where to be found. Closing the iron door, I unzipped the suitcase and found a stack of clothes and a pair of black army boots. I pulled out the clothes and started to put them away, when I saw something else in the suitcase.

With out any hesitation, I pulled out an 8 foot long katana. The hilt was wrapped in what looked like really old leather. The case was beaten, old, and unappealing to my eyes, so I useathed the blade. To no surprise, the blade was rusty and a dull silver color. But as I unseathed it, the water in the fountain to my right began to glow green. The sword began to glow as well. Suddenly I could feel a weird connection between the water and the blade, as if they were calling eachother.

I moved over to the fountain and dipped the blade in. As if by magic, the blade began to glow and shine. The rust evaporated off like steam and the blade shined with new found power. Behind me the scabbard was clean and shining black. The leather on the hilt of the katana looked fresh and newley wrapped.

As the last peace of rust fell off, I felt a sharp pain in my arm. Raising the left sleeve of my shirt, I saw a burning symbol on my left arm. It resembled smoke, a wispy pilliar of dark mist. The burning stopped and the tatoo was left on my arm.

With widened eyes, I fell to the floor.

Let's review what's happened today, I said to myself. First, you were chosen to compete in a fight-to-the-death tournament. Then, you walked into a room which weirdly resembled your room at hom. Last, you found a weird sword in your suitcase that burned a tattoo onto your arm..anything else?!

I looked over to the suitcase and grunted. "Please no," I said aloud.

I walked over and looked in the bag again to find a papyrus note at the bottom. I opened it and read:

"To my dearest son, Torrin

''Take this sword and use it wise. It may look blunt on the outside, but it is a family heirloom known as Olympic Bane. It is a special blade, with special powers...use it wisley son...''

Love, Father..."

I let the note float swiftly to the ground and picked up the katana. I felt a strange tie to it, as if it was an extension of my soul...

Placing the blade in my closet, I plopped on the bed still in my day clothes. I covered myself up and wrapped myself in the blankets tightly. In two days I would be in an arena fighting to the death either alive...or burning on the earth...and then I fell asleep...

Next Chapter: Chapter 2: The Arena