Entry Nine

This is Rewel. Do we all walk through the mist of uncertainty or am I the only one left who questions where I am going?

The arena is a large, white room; there is a square ring at the bottom that has some padding as bleachers rise on all four sides with four aisles as exits in the corners of the square building. Matduke’s shins rest against my back as touch of possession rather than friendliness. Speakers are scattered throughout the arena all with their Thieves, touching them in some manner.

Speaker Lizardo runs her hands through Thief Silverbaine’s white hair as the thief lies with her head in the speaker’s lap, the corners of her mouth turned up. A glance across the room creates eye contact with Varien. Speaker Arion has his hand on Varien’s thigh and is nibbling on his ear. Varien’s face is kept precisely blank. Another glance and I see another Speaker kissing the neck of his Thief, her eyes closed and smiling. There are a few pairs that sit similar to Matduke and I but they are far between.

“Shall we begin?” Arion’s neuron waves resonate in the room. “Thief Andony, Thief Kosei.” The two thieves rose from the bleachers and walked down to the ring. Their white clothes grip tightly to their bodies, feet bare, weaponless, they step onto the padding. “Begin”

I do not know which is which. They grapple, arms locked with arms, hands curled like sleeping children and impact is a red dawn as a nose explodes crimson. Fingernails dig into shoulders and one is thrown to the floor, the padding becomes slowly painted. Hurtling forward they embrace on the floor, no sound but heavy breathing, the lulling thud of human force.

Matduke sighs and places a hand on my crown. I look up to see Speaker Arion with his hand fully up Varien’s short skirt and kissing his thighs; Varien keeps his face passive.

“Enough, Andon, Kosei.” The waves rumble, thick with Arion’s own desire. “Speaker Matduke, you have never sent Thief Rewel into the ring. You will do so today.”

It is true, Matduke never requested to see me fight. I notice him stiffen, his grip on my crown tighten. “Be gentle,” he whispers, the words clinging to the atmosphere. I nod, as usual, but of course, I do not understand.