The Champion

My knuckles ached as they split open for the second time that night. Dammit, they had just stopped bleeding an hour ago, but now, ruby drops traced down my fingers. I had to admit, I found it sickeningly beautiful the way the moonlight lit up my crimson blood; after all, there was plenty to go around as my nose started dripping again, too. It would stop in a bit; it always did, and I couldn’t go home still drenched in fresh blood stains; Father would have thought that weak of me. Still, the state of my hands was out of my control; the cuts would never heal while I had my hands gripped so tightly around the wooden handle of the shovel. 

There was a subtle breeze that rustled the forest around my clearing deep in the woods. I often think I should stop calling it my clearing, but I was the one who found it; I was the only one who knew the way, and I was the only one who ever came here, mostly. It was in a part of the forest that no hiker could get to; it sat about two hours from the trails, and nearly three hours from the one-lane highway that drove past. That’s why I had picked my clearing; it was the perfect place to do my work on a night like this. Besides its logistical superiority, it was beautiful. I tilted my head up to see the sky framed by the tops of trees. Tonight was stunningly clear; the moon was full, and every star seemed to shine its brightest just for me. It made what I had to do easier. If my clearing wasn’t tainted by this, I would probably spend all my time here, looking at the stars and breathing in the fresh, midnight air, just as I was doing now. My sore muscles, broken bones, and bloody cuts didn’t hurt here. 

“You’re wasting time.” 

And just like that, I was pulled out of my trance and back to the shovel in my hands. My gray tank top, cargo pants, and black braided hair were gross and sweaty from carrying the bag all the way to my clearing. Anyone else who didn’t have the strength and stamina I had been conditioned to have would have collapsed halfway here. God, I wished I had collapsed; it would have been just the out I needed. 

“I know,” I sighed, “I’m just taking my time. It’s a nice night; it was a long hike, and everything hurts.” 

The stalky red-headed girl next to me just shrugged, “It’s always a long hike; it’s always the same hike. The hurting is new; normally, people are lucky if they get a hit or two in. This fight really gave you a run for your money.” 

I smiled as I continued the deep rectangle I was digging. “It was kind of refreshing. Father basically sculpted me into the perfect champion; I was getting tired of the easy wins.” 

Her short curls fell into her face as she looked down at the black body bag at our feet. “Well, you still won.” 

“I always do.” 

The hole was just deep enough now, so I hopped down and began stamping the dirt with my feet. I felt like a child throwing a tantrum; that’s what Father always said I was whenever I said I didn’t want to go into the ring. He would shush me and pet my hair gently like a loving dad with his daughter, reminding me that he was the one who found me, who made me, and that he could destroy me just as fast. Then he would coo and smile at me, rubbing his hand over the scars on my shoulder as if they were trophies he himself had earned as he pushed me into the fenced-in octagon. Tonight had been no different, just another death match. I sneered as I continued stomping, caking my combat boots with dirt. Just. Another. Match.  

I could hear the bag crinkle beside me as the wind danced over it. I never did ask Father where he got the bags; I was just happy we got the ones with handles. Everybody is heavier when they're dead, or at least, that’s how it seemed to me, but it didn’t really matter. I couldn’t help but think about how far I’d come since Father started dosing me when I was fourteen; the changes happened quickly, and by fifteen I was one girl stronger than all his men. I chuckled when I thought about their bones breaking beneath my fists. 

“What are you so happy about?” said the girl. 

“My first fights,” I replied, climbing out of the grave, “before it was to kill or be killed, and I was just in a regular ring. I felt… powerful. It was the kind of power no other teenager could even dream of.” I stared at my bloody knuckles; the skin was cut all the time in fights, but my bones never broke, not anymore. “It felt good.” 

I looked up at her, and her eyes had a hint of anger and something else. Disgust? “Tell me, does it feel good now?” she asked, circling that body bag. 

She was right; I hated the death matches. I hated Father for making me fight; I hated myself for winning every single time. I hated myself for being the one who walked away. People don’t normally call me out on it. They’re too afraid of me or Father. But this girl didn’t have anything to fear from me anymore. She walked around the grave as if judging it, making sure it was up to her standards. She was light on her feet, and her pale skin seemed to glow in the moonlight. When she finally faced me again, her gaze softened with pity. 

“I’m sorry. I know you didn’t choose any of this.” She walked over and stood beside me, arms crossed. “How does the guilt not eat you alive?” 

I snorted, “Who says it doesn’t?” I thought of the first death match I had ever won; Father had trained me to be a winner, and that’s exactly what I was. I was a machine, an animal, death itself in mortal form. He was twice my age, three times my size, and he thought I was just a stupid little girl. He was dead in ten minutes. Not even Father expected me to be that good that fast, but he didn’t know I had been practicing by myself too. I thought if people could see what I was, they would be too scared to fight me. I was wrong, and that night Father had me get rid of the man. He said it was important that I learned to clean up my own messes.  

“I feel awful about it,” I picked up some pine needles from the forest floor and twirled them through my fingers, “but I do what I have to do to survive. I don’t have time to dwell on the past; Father doesn’t believe in shame.” I could feel her hovering beside me. “I was strong; they were weak.” I crushed the needles between my fingers and watched the jagged, crumbled pieces fall back to the Earth. “If they didn’t want to die, they should have fought harder.”  

She rolled her eyes. “Is that how you justify it?” 

Justify. That’s all it was. My way of distracting myself from my own guilt. It was my way of still finding beauty in my clearing and paying attention to the handles on the bag instead of the person inside it.  

“I- I don’t know,” I said, averting my gaze. “It’s just what I do. But I do feel bad. I don’t want it to be like this. Believe me.” 

The air seemed to be getting colder with every guilt-ridden word that dripped from my lips. After a second, I realized there was a fog rolling in; my clearing would be covered in a ghostly fog. I found it surprisingly fitting. 

I stared down at the body bag. Such a powerful enemy snuffed out and laid at my feet. This one hurt a little more than the others. She was young, she was fast, she thought she stood a chance. Now, she was just another heavy corpse in a black bag. The girl next to me sighed heavily, her face sad, but also resigned to the truth.  

“We don’t have time for this. You should finish up,” she said. “I don’t want my body out here much longer.” 

“Bag or no bag?” 

“No bag. I want to feel the Earth.” 

I nodded and crouched down, slowly unzipping the fabric to reveal the face of a pale girl with curly red hair. I ran my hand over her face one more time, making sure her eyes were closed. I exposed her whole body and rolled her into the grave, her body hitting the bottom with a dull thud. 

I stared down at the corpse, my back to the girl next to me. “When I bury you, will you go away?” 

“No,” she stated sadly, “I’ll join the others in the back of your mind. You’ll carry us around as you have since the very beginning. We don’t go away.” 

I didn’t want another ghost to carry, not again. My voice was full of pleading, “Please, why won’t you all leave me alone” 

“Why won’t you let us go?” Her voice sounded distant, as if she was walking into the forest, but I didn’t dare to look up. I didn’t want to see her.  

“I should go now, but don’t worry, I won’t be gone long. You’ll see me again,” she said, “the next time you close your eyes.” 

I gritted my teeth in anger, frustration, and maybe a little sadness. “I know.” 

And with that, the girl was gone, and I began shoveling the dirt onto the body in the ground, careful not to disturb the dozen other graves surrounding me.