Diced Out

CW: violence, blood, death, mentions of sexual abuse

Nobody believed in me. That was their first mistake. Or maybe it was their second, since putting me through this had to be their first. At least, these were my thoughts before I entered the scene.

Now, the moment the school bell rings, I run for my life. The room is dim with windows covered in soot and dirt, unable to let light through. Chairs and tables mix up on the floor, broken. All from the explosion, I guess. On the whiteboard, some old formulas are still written. A cylinder, drawn with hasty lines. Did the teacher know it was the last lesson they ever gave?

Wood splitters outside. I grab the handle of the door as quick as possible. Somehow, it survived. But rather I think somebody took money to make it new. To grant us this experience.

As soon as I step outside, the sounds get louder. The clatter. The screams. Some have weapons already. Better than their bare hands.

At least if you plan to win. What most of the girl probably don’t even plan to. Being sent here is enough of a death sentence. The commanders of our camps – prisons, I call them – always find a reason to condemn you to this, even if it‘s only that you went too close to the fence.

The hallway is completely murky. Smelling of cement and smoke, I get the urge to cover my nose, but I better keep my hands both free. I was positioned in the middle of the hallway. Without another thought, I run right. Open the closest door. Tables in neat rows. Broken and covered in rubble. Probably some exam room. No one's inside, but under one of the chairs I see something shiny. Metal. A weapon.

And there it is: a pickaxe. Ugly weapon. But not good-ugly, instead bad-ugly. Nothing shiny, neither useful. Still, I don't go in weaponless.

Before I can grab it, an eerie feeling tickles my skin. The next moment, the rope comes from behind. Sharp pain in my neck, pulling me over. I stumble. Throw back my arm, hitting something with the pickaxe. The pressure on my neck lessens, air streams through my lungs. There she is. I don't know her name, but she must be another girl from the Dice camp. Coffee brown hair, falling down in two braids. She's going all for that harmless look. Too late for me though. Bleeding from her neck, she sinks to the floor. "You snitch." Watering eyes. No one expects to die in the first minutes. Still, I take her down right there and then. Slamming the pickaxe in her sternum, her bones break. Blood gushing. Taking her rope and leaving the room. I want to throw up, but there is no time for me. I have to kill the rest. Especially him.

Blood sprinkles the wall of the hallway as I step outside. And there he is. Azriel. His finger deep in the mouth of the red-haired girl. Her name was something with a flower. Calla? Her moans like drowning. Azriel doesn't know me. How could he? Still, as his gaze connects to mine, I see the hunger in his eyes. There is no way he would leave me, so I sprint down the stairs, suddenly noticing somebody running after me. Blond curls. Another girl. How many are we? I think, usually around ten. I push the axe in her stomach, watch as she falls over, folding like a blanket. Her hair is ash-ridden, her smell rusty from the blood on her wrists.

I check the stair railings. Rusty and loose. Of course, they haven't survived the bombs. I push it to the side, throwing it right on her spastic body. She may be just like me. But I’m here for something else.

I make it out the flight of stairs, just as the blow gets me right on my chin. Blurred, my eyes try to adjust. The ringing in my ears sounds like hell. Well, there I’ve been already.

“What are you doing here?” The woman glances down my eyes. Cracked lips, rough skin, full of dirt. And still, I recognise her. “I volunteered.”

“You did what?” It’s the first time I saw her speechless since probably ever. The person who once was my very best friend. Before all of this. Still remember how Dayna snuck us some of her uncle’s pharmaceuticals to put a stop to the women’s pain. Only that it never worked. Pain lingers on and in moments you think it’s not there, you should feel lucky. Because it only sleeps.

“You can’t do this to the village.” She means our camp, but has always ignored that word.

“Dayna, please.” I notice how quiet my voice sounds. “He’s looking for me already. He can’t get us both.”

Her expression freezes. “You can’t do this to us.”

But I have to. I goddammit, have to put an end to this.

“We need you, Nola. There is no way around it.” Sweat runs through her thick braided hair. I can’t help but feel sorry for her. Her life was always full of opportunities. She’s married to one of the generals. Or was. That‘s probably the reason she‘s here. I guess her former husband enjoyed the thought of her being smashed by Azriel.

“Now go hide.” As she doesn’t move, I start to scream. “God, run off.” I can’t watch her dying. Hopefully somebody else is going to kill me before she has to. And the other way around.

I sit behind an old stool for probably an hour until I finally make out his steps. Heavy, quick-paced. I could recognize them from a million. And so that was their third mistake. Giving me time and space to learn. Generals never checked my pockets too well. No girl like me would smuggle a blade. But at the same time, a girl like me, who went through what I experienced, would do exactly that. And so, the fence lost more and more of the wire, and nobody even gave it a second thought. They thought themselves way too strong to be outsmarted.

He came every second night. The last step he always jumped down, landing with both feet at once. He stopped the day he saw my belly grew. Then he didn’t jump anymore.

Yes, this is why I know you so well, Azriel McCannell. And today, you actually jump the last step, landing on both feet. You don’t even care if I heard you. Because you never imagine I even stand a chance. But this, as I said, is your second mistake.

Even through the dim light I can make out your hair, which should be vanilla, smelling of butter and rat poison. His sword rest in his palm lightly. And he’s grinning. I can’t see it, but I was never surer of something. Am I one of the last ones?

His clothing is bloodied, his collar ripped apart, exposing his tattooed skin. On his chest, the rest of his Dice Commander – patch is still visible. Dice, like the small tool you use for playing. Reveals how it’s nothing more than a messed-up game for them. Especially for him. And since his family runs the country, he‘s free to join this annual playtime. They want all of us girls dead anyways. To cover up what they did to us.

I rub my sweaty palms, shaking slightly. Hopefully it‘s adrenaline, not nervousness that is igniting me as I jump and throw the chair right in his direction.

Wood bursts, his sword falling down, ringing on the cement like a small bell. With all my strength I throw myself in his direction, crashing his weakened body to the ground. My axe is ready to pierce him. But he‘s ready as well. His hands clasp arounds my neck. No rope this time. Still, I lose my breath within seconds. My vision blackens. Never had I imagined such a strong urge to suck in air. “Think you’re clever, do you?”

If I could, I would spit on him. But so, I can only nod. I clearly am.

With force, he presses me down and for one moment, air fills my lungs. I almost pass out from the sudden relief, until his hung body sits right on top of me, pressing everything out of me. Would have surprised me if he killed me like that.

“You think you have a chance, right?” Of course. It doesn’t matter that he sits on me. I know he won’t kill me so easily. He wants a fight, not a simple slaughter. Otherwise, this whole game was useless. His right leg lifts, as if he was shifting. But I know he tests me. And I pass as I kick his leg to the side. He gives in. Way too easily, of course. But I know. And I’m faster than him. My fist hits his face, breaking his broad nose. Just like a nut it crashes under my blow. “You didn’t.” But I did. And I hold his sword. Never before did I hold a sword. Surprised by its weigh, I slam it towards him, leaving a red trail on his arm. Should I better use it as a stabbing weapon? I don’t know. I’m at the point where I have the odds on my side, for the very first time. But I’ve never been more puzzled about what to do next. And so, he’s faster. My body slams against the wall. Chalk dust evaporates as he pulls my hair, causing a sharp pain on my head. His body pressed against me; I have a hard time keeping the sword on my side. Kicking knees, I mostly hit the hard concrete. “You don’t know what you’re doing, little?” His voice is so close, I even feel his stale breath against my ear. “Oh, you have no idea.” I whisper. “I know exactly what I’m doing.” So, now that I lost the odds so easily, my air being pressed out of me for the third time, I can pull my last straw: letting go of the little-girl-image being easily underestimated.

“I waited for this moment for months.”

“Of course.” He growls. His position didn’t change. Only now he grabs my wrist, pressing against my soft skin. But I’ll keep this sword, whatever it costs. And if my bones shatter under his force, so be it. There is a task I have to fulfil.

“There are many girls who can’t wait to get to fight with me.” His voice takes on a light touch, as if he was talking about family memories with his grandma or something.

“But they all have something in common. They lose terribly.”

“Nice to think that, right? But even you can’t win forever.”

Now he laughs, openly and loudly. I almost forgot this is pure fun for him. He’s excited for this every single year. Does he get some kind of trophy for this? How many does he have? And does it feel real? Or rather like winning some primitive memory game against a toddler? Since that’s how he must see us?

“I will win forever, as long as you do exactly what I want you to. Because you know what?” His tongue flicks my ear. I want to turn away so badly, but how should I?

“You may have waited as long as you want. And you may think you know exactly what you’re doing. But at the same time, you killed several other girls already. You take away my job and then you wonder why I’m so strong after you fought for hours.”

With one abrupt movement he turns me around, grabbing the sword, twisting my arm. I feel like surrendering as he puts the blade against my neck. Not an inch away from my skin, I can already feel the cold metal as well as the sweat running down my forehead in anticipation of my personal disaster. As he presses the blade down, I feel the drops of blood collecting on my skin. It doesn’t even hurt. But the epiphanic expression on his face does. I see the silver in his eyes, shining with enthusiasm as he licks his lips.

Before I can finally close my eyes, his expression shifts to a painful yet silent scream. It takes moments to realize there is no metal against my neck anymore.

Dayna’s eyes find mine over his slump body. “That’s just what he wanted, isn’t it?”

I can’t answer. Sinking down at the wall I collect all my power left not to cry. My hands shake and every breath tastes like I’ve been sick for days.

Dayna doesn’t move. She clasps her hammer in her small hands. Probably waiting for me to answer.

I know we have to flee. There is no way this is going to end so easily. That hope I have buried moments ago. But I feel unable to stand up. Unable to use the freedom I was now granted. By her. I have to thank Dayna. And I want to. But thinking about how bad of a person I am for not doing it, is all I can imagine.

“He wants us to hate each other. And he wants us to believe we can overpower him.” Dayna coughs, dropping the hammer and finally stepping over the body of him to reach me. “He needs to not be the main enemy.”

“But he was the main enemy. My main enemy. I came here to put an end to him.”

She takes my hands. Hers being as sweaty as mine, dirty and chipped, rough with splinters she had before already.

“But you killed others, didn’t you? You must have had many enemies.”

That’s the moment the tears come. Sobbing, shaking. I want to go to bed. Want to lay down on the hay and just forget that the world still exists. Want to forget the moment our town fell. Want to forget the moment soldiers searched for us, took my family and ripped me apart from mom and dad. I want to forget that we are at a war, which people in the west claim to be a conflict. And especially I want to forget the night they brought my sister, suddenly pregnant. The moment I chose to face Azriel.

“That’s what he wants. Not to be the only one worth killing. There can only be one winner.”

“Survivor” I try to mumble between my sharp attempts to take a breath.

“But imagine we all just tried to kill him. He won what – six times?”

But that’s over. I think of the ragged patch on his uniform. “He gets to roll two dices, where we only get one.” I try to find the right words. They came to me before I started all this. “For every time he rolls, we need to roll twice. Or – together. To roll more. To dice him out.”

I thought myself so prepared. Turns out, I knew nothing. You can’t win with weapons alone. You can’t face an aggressor with nothing but your own being. Sometimes one dice is not enough.

And maybe it was never anyone’s mistake but mine. Not their fault to not believe in me nor to put me through this. It was quite calculated. Maybe they even recognized the anger in me. Knew that putting an end to me through the Games was the smartest thing.

“We ended this, didn’t we?” It feels like it’s over. Though, not as if we actually won anything.

“He’s out, I guess.”

“But the games aren’t over. We need a winner.”

Dayna nods. “So, go. Kill me now. They need you more than me. Azriel is all evil. But not all evil is Azriel. You fight the rest. Can’t lose you now.”

There is no way.

In the times where all the odds where in our oppressors’ favour, where I seemed to fully lose their wicked game, it was Dayna who came to my rescue. Dayna, who’s the real hero.

“You don’t deserve that.”

I’ve killed several of what people call babies, although they are just foetuses. I’ve killed people in this game. There has to be an end. I succeeded at my plan. This is all I wanted. And I never planned on being alive afterwards.

“You can help them. You have a life out there.” I whisper. Dayna had a husband. A possibility of living. What have I to go home to? My family ripped apart. My parents nowhere in sight. My sister dead. Everything that counts was to avenge her. There is nothing beyond killing Azriel.

Dayna’s eyes drop. She lets go of my hands, standing up.

“You never did it for them, right?”

“What do you mean?.”

“You didn’t kill him for them, did you? The spiral will just go on. There is no peace on what was once earth, just because one of the aggressors is smashed. But this is all you wanted.”

It seems so neutral. No emotions behind it. Did she ever believe in what I did?

“I saved them for years. I took their babies, tried to soothe their pain. I…”

“Went to the Dice Games for them? Or did you only do this for your sister? You speak of I so often, but you never considered what you could do for the others.”

It is so unjust of her. Who does she think she is, blaming me? Clothes torn apart, blood on my hands and around my neck. Yet, I don’t know why she’s here. I never asked.

“It’s not enough if we all just fight for ourselves. Because some don’t get to fight at all. So, we need to share dices. Let me take yours.” She says with apparently the last words I hear of her before the hammer hits my head and my pain concentrates on a dull throb, knocking me out of life.