The Blood Pits

A Story by Calbin

Just something I felt like writing

There he was again, standing in the middle of a howling crowd with every face locked in anticipation for brutality. His grip tightened around the hilt of his worn shortsword. With trembling lips he looked around the crowd and at once everyone seemed to be stripped bare and not one soul was innocent. They demanded blood. People could be so cruel, he thought. Everyone in that crowd had suffered, and yet somehow watching his pains numbed their own. Were he in their position, would he do any different? Doubtful. All the deep thinking in the world couldn't prolong that gate on the other side of the arena opening. The boy began to shake. His fragile hand balled into a tight fist.

A sudden burst of cheers and screams in the crowd meant only one thing, it was time. The boy - let's call him Pup - turned to see a great fire roaring into life at one side of the arena. In that short moment everything seemed real again. The overpowering pang of dread deep in the pit of his stomach flared. The poor boy just wanted to go home.

The gate on the other side of the fighting pit swung open and arms in the crowd flew up into the air; their champion had arrived. Pup was nearly half his opponent's size - if you could even think of this as a competiton - and atleast five years younger. His opponent, who shall be known as Whelp, was weilding a long unforgiving spear. The blood from Whelp's last fight had stained at the tip. Pup whimpered and frantically began searching for his mother's face in the crowd. His attention was only caught again when the fire on the otherside of the arena surged into life. If only little Pup hadn't been so panicked he may have seen a few faces in the crowd that were glazed over with something that looked suspiciously like pity. There had never been a fight so starkly unfair in the history of the Blood Pits.