Tale of the Gifted Beings

chapter 5

chapter 5

FROM THE MOMENT I entered our small, quaint home, the air was thick with this weird feeling. The pale sun peeked through the faded curtains, and I sighed. The scent of antiseptic and stale air hung heavy, and my heart pounded in my chest. Elliot's insistence on staying home was both admirable and infuriating. Luckily, Dr. Welsh said that he could stay and recover inside our home. He lay in the heart of our living room, his once robust body now wilted with illness and his vibrant eyes dulled by fever. His coughs echoed through the little house, and hearing him wheeze made me feel awful. I mean, how can I even sit and listen to him like that? To be honest, his spirit was indomitable, but his body was betraying him. Elliot just doesn't listen.

Dr. Welsh had done all he could, though. I mean, he already prescribed a barrage of medications that promised hope. Yet, those small capsules and liquid medications were more than just medicine. Their cost was a mountain to our molehill of funds, creating this emptiness on our hope for recovery. I held the newest prescription in my hand, the paper crisp and cold. I could almost taste the bitterness of the pills it prescribed. My mind danced anxiously around the numbers etched on the bottom—the cost of Elliot's life in cold, hard digits. Could I afford it? Could I afford not to?

Shocks. I can't. I just can't afford all these.

In the quiet of the evening later that day, I found myself alone with my thoughts. Elliot had always been there. But now, honestly, I felt adrift in the dark, icy waters of uncertainty.

I woke the next morning with a reluctance that matched the heaviness of the gray clouds outside. My heart was weighed down by the reality of Elliot's condition and my inability to afford his medicines. Mamori had offered to help me with the prescription; her heart was as vast as the universe itself. I was supposed to go by myself to buy Elliot's medications, but she insisted on buying the medicines herself. "You've been through a lot," she said as we made our way to the pharmacy, her words cloaked in a kindness that was rare in our brutal world. "I'll handle this. You just wait here."

And so, I found myself waiting in a narrow alley, sandwiched between two old brick buildings. The air smelled of damp earth and forgotten lives, a scent that was as familiar as my own heartbeat. The city's noise dwindled here, replaced by the hum of a distant generator and the occasional scurry of a rat. At the far end of the alley, two men loomed, their figures hidden and menacing against the graffiti-ridden walls. Tattoos crawled up their arms like vines, disappearing beneath the frayed edges of their shirts. Their faces were hard, etched with lines of a life lived on the edge, and their clothes were as unkempt as their beards. As society's outcasts, they were much like me, only with a different set of choices.

I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but their conversation floated my way, carried by the breeze.

At first, the conversation between the men was just a low murmur, blending into the distant hum of traffic. But then, a word caught my attention. "Prize." That word. That one word. My heartbeat quickened, and I found myself straining to catch their whispers.

"The biggest payout yet," one of the men was saying, his voice gravelly and low. "Enough to make a poor man rich, or a rich man richer."

A knot of anticipation twisted in my stomach. Elliot... The medication he needed was more than we could afford. The thought of the sum the man had just mentioned made my heart pound in my chest. It was a dangerous thought, a dangerous hope. But with Elliot's life on the line, I was ready to embrace anything.

"Raunn would remain the champion there for sure," one of them growled, his voice raspy like a chainsaw against wood.

"Underground Arena ain't seen someone like him in ages, though," the other agreed, chuckling darkly.

A cold thrill shot down my spine as I realized they were talking about an underground arena. Is this illegal? Is this real? An illicit gathering where the desperate and the daring fought for money, power, or just the sheer thrill of it.

I swallowed hard, my mind made up. I stepped into the neon-lit circle, my shadow merging with theirs. "This arena," I began, my voice steady. "Tell me more about it."

At first, they looked at each other, then at me. They shared glances, before finally concluding what I was going for. Slowly, they wheezed in amusement. Their laughter echoed off the grimy brick walls, a harsh, grating sound. They shared a look, their eyes gleaming with something akin to amusement. "It ain't for the likes of you, girlie," the taller one sneered.

"It's illegal, you know," the other added, smirking. "But if you're smart, you'll keep your pretty nose out of it."

I held their gaze, unflinching. It was crucial to show no fear now. "I plan on joining," I said, my words hanging heavily in the air.

Their laughter boomed louder this time, a cacophony of disbelief and amusement. "You? In the ring?" the shorter one wheezed, clutching his belly. "I'd pay good money to see that!"

I scowled, my pride stinging. But I swallowed the retort that bubbled up. What did it matter what these men thought?