Dilapidated buildings everywhere: overgrown with weeds, windows boarded-up, cracked and broken walls, faded and peeling paint.
Smoke and dust filling the air, our everyday oxygen.
Hunger is our reality, water is our scarcity and survival is our fight. Harsh reality of being born in the Lower Class.
As I walk down the street filled with dead bodies and hungry residents, eating anything that seems to be edible. I see a familiar dilapidated building, not far away. It is my home.
I live there everyday with my sick mother. I walk through the damaged doors and start to climb the cracked stairs that threaten to collapse. I finally arrive on the only floor that seems to be habitable. My home is at the end of the hall.
I'm carrying 2 plastic bags in both of my hands which are filled with necessities I fought for with other hungry families. The blood on my hands and bruises on my face proving as evidence of the harsh reality we live in.
I unlock the door to my home and the familiar warmth engulfs me. The place is too small but its better than living outside. The faded yellow walls, peeling paint, and a single dim light bulb. A rickety table, and a rusty sink. A few tattered clothes hang from a makeshift clothesline, and a small pile of belongings is stacked in the corner.
And there lays my mother. On her death bed though the bed has died a long time ago. Her skin pale as snow, her body as thin as a pole and her lips as dry as the desert and as cracked as the walls. Her hair thin, its colour gone and her eyes shut. Her breathing so faint it sounds like she's taking her last breath everyday.
She never always looked like this. She used to be vibrant and beautiful among the people of dead souls. People here loved her but as she lost her glow, she lost her light in the eyes of others.
"Mom, I managed to get us enough water today. Clean water." I inform her as I unpack what I fought to get. Two loafs of bread, 1 kg of butter and jam each and 4 water bottles, each 2 liters. A smile spreads on my lips at how much I managed to get but it fades away as I receive no response from my mother.
"Mom?" Her eyes being shut wasn't new, and her stillness wasn't either, but one thing was – the faint breaths had stopped.
"Mom?" I call out again, hoping she'd answer but no response. I step near her, crouching down on my knees to see her closely. There is no sign of breathing. She's dead.
Here's a revised version with some minor corrections and suggestions:
As much as I wanted her to see me partake in the tournament, part of me wanted her to rest. Part of me wanted her to succumb to her illness and sleep peacefully forever. I cover the rest of her body with the remaining blanket, completely concealing her. There's my reason for wanting to participate in the tournament. Although, she wasn't the only reason.
I've been here since the day I was born. Every single day of my life, I've spent it waking up, showering, eating, playing with other kids, and fighting with others for food. I don't want to die without seeing what's out there. I want to confirm my thoughts and beliefs. I want to see what it's like to be like other classes. Unlimited water, unlimited food supply, unlimited medication... I want to escape this stagnant, mundane life.
I get up from my knees, take a seat, and shift to face the direction my mother's body is facing. Leaning back against the wall, I take the necklace that's hidden behind my ragged hoodie and caress the symbol. My mother told me that it's precious and I should keep it hidden and protected at all costs. She never told me why. I put the necklace behind my hoodie again and close my eyes, resting as tomorrow is a big day. The day of registration for the tournament.
Morning arrives, though it doesn't seem like the usual morning. The clouds are much darker today. No birds chirping or ray of sunlight, just like how mother would describe what mornings should look like whenever she read stories to me. I hurriedly get up, fix my attire, and hurry towards the door, fixing my boots along the way. I take one last glance at my now deceased mother, then leave, closing the door behind me.
"Have a piece of bread; you can't go on an empty stomach. I heard that lines can be really long," Aunt May says, stretching out her hand as soon as I step out of the apartment. I take the bread, thanking her. I had requested her to come take care of my mother while I was gone.
"How is she?" she questions, but immediately gets the answer as soon as she sees my face fall as I look away.
"She's gone..." Aunt May immediately hugs me, rubbing my back the way my mother used to do. I hug her back after a few seconds, embracing the familiar warmth. She slightly pulls back.
"Oh, poor child... I'm truly sorry." She pushes me forward. "Now move along; I can't keep you waiting. I'll bury your mother for you. Go now." She hurries me away. I wave goodbye and quickly jog down the stairs, exiting the building.
As soon as I arrive at the train station, there are already a lot of people, to the extent that I can't see the entrance of the station. I join the sea of desperate souls; I, too, am desperate.
As the line becomes narrower, the guard's voice becomes clearer. "Only people from the ages of 18 to 40 can participate, or you must be eligible to participate." The guard announces repeatedly. After what feels like an eternity, I finally arrive at the front of the train station. One guard is still announcing the requirements, another guard is tapping away on a transparent tablet, and not far from him is another guard busy taking pictures of our faces. Two others stand at the entrance of the station with full protective gear and guns held firmly in their hands.
The guard looks up from his tab. "Next!" I step toward the guard. He takes out a gun with a strange fluid connected to it. "Tilt your head to the side," he says. I comply. As I tilt my head to the side, I see more guards dealing with other people to make things run faster. I feel the gun on the left side of my shoulder, right between my collarbone and neck. He immediately pulls the trigger without warning and gestures me to go to the man taking pictures. My hand instinctively goes to where I was injected as I walk towards the man taking pictures. I stand, facing the guard, and he immediately takes out a device. He holds it up and clicks the button at the back, and it flashes. The previous guard nods to him. "You may proceed," he says. I walk to the two guards at the entrance. One of them pushes me inside after roughly searching me. I stumble a bit, then catch myself.
As I enter the train car, there is nothing but poles to hold onto, and a few people are occupying it for now. I find a spot next to a barefoot man who's leaning against the train wall, and I lean against it as well.
After a few hours, the guards join us with their equipment, announcing that the train is full, to the angry, protesting souls. The door immediately closes shut as the train starts to move.
Nothing is said. The only things I can hear are the noises made by the train, frequent rustles by the people, and my thoughts – the same as everyone else. We are all thinking of the same thing, which is the tournament, and we are all thinking of one outcome, which is to win.