Word count: 340
Based on the dream I had the night before yesterday. Can’t think of a proper title.
He is a weakling. He was thrown into this dismal place because he is weak. In a world where the vermin gets eaten–exterminated–he would never survive. He looks around. Dirt. Guns. Blood. Chaos. Other kids with their grime-filled faces. This is to be his new home–together with the other vermin of society.
He has lost count of the times he tried to sleep despite a swollen eye. Or a sore body. Or with knuckles he could barely open, their skin almost stripped off. It was not just the system that was his enemy. Yes, the camouflage-clad men were merciless, forcing them to bend to their will. Beating them like dogs. Starving them–pushing them to their limits. Tearing away at their humanity.
But it wasn’t them, he realized, who were his greatest enemy. The vermin, those very same faces he saw during his arrival, were the greatest threat to his existence. They picked on him, took what was his, invaded what he has established his own.
He was tired. He closed his eyes and saw the sands of his youth slip away.
D-Day. Today, he, along with the others, will be judged. The rules were simple. Darwinian, even. At the price of everyone else’ lives, each has the chance to get out–to return to their families.
For years he trained; survived up to this point. And as he ran, dodged blows from the other vermin, wiped his bloodied hand across his face, he hardly felt the pain. He wasn’t there.
He was never there.
Before he knew it, the bodies have piled up. And as the cheer of the spectators reached his ears, he realizes that none of those bodies were alive. He sees their glassy eyes gaze back at him as his mother and sister ran towards his direction.
This woman, his mother, locks him in a tight embrace.
“Let’s go home son,” she said with tears in her eyes.
He holds the woman on her shoulders, and takes a step back.