The Colosseum

Just Kova

Kova

I can thrive in the scorching sun for hours; sweating, working, burning. I've done it since I was born and I'll continue to have to do it in the Colosseum ring. But up on this stage, the spotlights push me to passing out more than any condition I've experienced before. The white light makes my body jittery and completely rigid at the same time. Despite my brain drawing a blank, my mouth wants to speak. Despite my lips opening and closing, no sound comes out.

"I asked where you were from," Deveraux clarifies, though I didn't even realize he had asked a question. Get it together, Kova.

"The desert," I dazedly respond.

The crowd laughs, finding appeal in the plain truth. "We know that!" the interviewer cheerily exclaims, gently slapping the top of my right hand, which tightly clenches the left one. "What's your story? Who were you before today?"

What a dumb question. I was just...me. How would Ten answer this? I was a tiger trainer, searching for the meaning of life until I was wronged by the king and put here. I'd believe it if he told me that. Something about him is just so...unreal. But unlike him, I'm very real and very scared. "Like, what did I do on a daily basis?" I question.

For a second, Deveraux looks like he's completely lost on what to do with me. But like a good host, he doesn't bother to let it show. "Uh, sure. Tell me." Then, with a wave of his hand, "Tell us." As in the us who will kill each other to live another day.

"For the past eighteen years, I woke up on the floor of a tent. I searched for food, ate what little I found, then went back to sleep. That's all I've known," I honestly relay, unsure of how informative that really was. What kind of answer is Deveraux searching for, so I can give it to him and leave?

"And your parents? Did they do the same?" he probes, furrowing his light brows. The sudden mention of them brings waves of grief over me. I hesitate to answer, and Deveraux pounces on the opportunity. "Oh, dear. Have I hit a soft spot? Care to tell us what's on your mind?"

My jaw clamps shut. My first instinct is to keep quiet about my family, but when I assess why I shouldn't speak about them, I can't find a reason as to why. Perhaps I'm just sensitive about the subject. Or perhaps my intuition is telling me not to mention it. Overriding my gut, I choose to explain what happened to them. "I haven't seen my parents for eight years," I disclose, earning bright flashes of photography. "They were taken to the Colosseum. I can only assume the worst."

Deveraux sympathetically frowns at the timeframe of absence I give him, but cocks his head when I tell him where my parents were taken to. "That's peculiar. If I remember correctly, there wasn't a set of games eight years ago. Around then, people were taken as...hmm...unpaid laborers?"

"You mean slaves," I correct with a bite. "Everyone taken by the king's soldiers at that time were turned into slaves?" Every time I say the "s-word," Deveraux cringes a bit. I don't know why. It's his beloved king and past kings who have created the class, after all. "So, my parents could still be alive?"

"Well..." Deveraux unsurely starts. "As of last year, a lot of the unpaid laborers in good health were taken by our current king and turned into competitors in the Colosseum. In fact, our most recent winner was once a part of that class." As quickly as I'd filled with hope that somewhere out there, my mother was vying to get home – Deveraux deflated my balloon with his news. Even if it isn't where she was shipped to initially, the Colosseum could just as likely have been her final destination.

"Now that I mention it," Deveraux poses, leaning back and observing me. "I see the viewers' point. We got a lot of feedback during your match that you resembled the previous victor, and I didn't see it until now."