there is no light but mine; semper

Pepper Rebio

You were curled up in a sickly heap, occupying your usual dark corner. This time, though, you weren’t trying to daydream or think of all the possible futures that may come your way. Salt’s voice, stern and angry, rang through your head like a never-ending echo: ”Pepper! Do you realize what you’ve done? You’ve cost both of us our lives because of your stupidity! I should’ve known you would do something like this.” You didn’t mean to let Altiar in all those years ago – you really didn’t – but the naivety and innocence that comes hand-in-hand with childhood was an irregular filter that made you only see the good in people. Altair’s anything but good. But it was your fault, you concluded: you’re the one who let the man in that day, you’re the reason you and your twin sister are locked up in a dungeon and I regret everything. Maybe it would’ve been better if you had died in the dirt arena in order to make up for the massive mistake you made, and then maybe Salt wouldn’t have yelled at you for everyone to hear. Altiar probably heard and made that stupid crooked grin he always has on his face. He probably remembers the day he annihilated our lives.

Ever since then you’ve blamed yourself; for everything that happened to your sister you fabricated some reason as to why you were the cause of it. Every time you looked at her you felt a pang of guilt strike your chest with such a force that you couldn’t breathe properly for a minute. For a while you cried, silently, in the corner of your cell, avoiding any and all questions by pulling the it’s just allergies card, all the while discreetly wiping away the tears and telling yourself that there’s nothing you can do about it now. Nothing besides kill.

You brought your knees to your chest and hugged them tightly, burying your face and trying to put a stop to all your sensory input: the sounds, the foul smells, traumatic sights, the cold, damp ground, everything. If you could plug your ears you would; if you could stop up your nose anymore you would; if you could cut out your vision altogether you would; after all it’s all my fault, isn’t it? I deserve it. All the sickness, all the injuries, all the loss – your fault.

Salt won’t even look at you anymore with the same affection she did only a while ago. To her, I’m sure, you’ve become nothing more than a burden and a disgrace. It doesn’t matter how many fights you’ve won because a victory only means another chance to slaughter an innocent person again. (It all doesn’t mean anything in the end because I can’t get rid of all this regret and guilt; it doesn’t matter at all because I’ve lost my sister in the process of trying to stay alive.) All their blood was on your hands, those gnarly, torn-up and mangled appendages that had more scar tissue than actual skin, and no matter how hard you frantically rubbed your hands against the cement you would never get the sickly red stains off.

”Pepper? Do you like poetry?”

The voice broke through your trance and forcibly pulled you back to reality and all your senses. It took a moment but you lifted your head and turned it, seeing a very familiar pair of grey eyes looking at you. The poor boy looked bone-weary but there was still that warm, amiable aura around him that never seemed to fade. You truly admired that – were jealous of it, even. In all the doom-and-gloom, Sonnet was the eye of the storm and you were caught in the whirlwind, whipping around and unable to find any source of stability. But Sonnet was always there, offering a ledge for you to hold tight to. And you did.

You avoided using your scabbed hands in order to sit up and face him, crawling just a bit closer to the edge of your cage. Poetry? Frankly you couldn’t recall what exactly it was. Was it like any of Salt’s songs she sang when she thought no one was listening? All those lyrics that made no sense until you really began to think about them – wasn’t poetry similar? You shook your head and shrugged. ”I’m not too familiar with it,” you answered quietly, afraid of speaking any louder.

Pepper Rebio

You looked at Sonnet with an intense curiosity. ”It’s like a song, except you don’t sing the words, you just say them.” Wisps of memories came forth and you recalled overhearing Salt’s songs, and you tried to imagine if she had just said them in a conversational tone. Odd. It felt strange to not hear the change in pitch or volume and to just have every line be a single, steady note. Who would find joy in that? That’s boring. You pursed your dry lips together as you attempted to understand where Sonnet was going with this, hanging onto his explanation as if it would somehow bring to surface some kind of epiphany – but it didn’t.

Sonnet appeared rather upset that he couldn’t remember a certain number and your heart went out to him. Faded memories and forgotten facts were nothing unusual down in the dungeon and Sonnet – the most unbreakable of you all – was no exception to the misfourtune. Just as you were forgetting the feel of the soft breeze on your skin, the soft grass or crunchy leaves beneath your feet, so too was he. No one could escape the cruel effects of time and darkness, and Sonnet’s optimism was a faulty shield. Ever so slowly it would wear down on him and you prayed to Ripred he didn’t break and crumble like you did (I try to not remember my moments where I lost myself, like when I was begging for Fanta to respond to me from her cell after I had killed her) and so far he had proven that he was much stronger than the dungeon and Altiar.

Your facial features softened as you watched Sonnet put his forehead against the bars. All over his skin you could see his healing wounds that would probably only turn to scars over time. It always happens that way. The scars were so numerous that it was useless to even try to count them, let alone remember how you received each one. The bruises, too, never faded no matter how much time passed between fights.

”I only remember that it’s bright and warm.” During the few times you were dragged up above ground for the reaping you always looked up toward the sun, squinting your eyes so much that they were nearly closed. You never wanted to forget the feel of its warmth upon your skin, feeling so wonderful that tremors rolled down your spine and goose bumps dotted your pale arms. But to write a song poem about it? What could you even say about it other than it being warm and bright? You shrugged lightly, unable to remember any other characteristics to aid Sonnet in his poem-making quest.

But warmth — often during the colder times in the dungeon you would huddle against the bars right up next to Salt, sharing some of your body heat since the thin ratty clothes were not shielding your body any at all. You would stay there for very long periods of time, talking occasionally, but more so just sitting and trying to not shiver too much. Lately, when your nose wasn’t stopped up, you could smell the crisp change in the air whenever the door opened and Altiar or Bone or someone came waltzing down the stairs and you knew it was getting colder. But Salt wouldn’t dare to even look at you now (and everyone knows why – she only screamed it as loud as she possibly could) so you knew that during the cold times you’d be left curled up by yourself, trying to ward off the cold by pulling your arms inside your shirt and ducking your head below the collar. It didn’t work back then but what choice did you have?

You swallowed a bit nervously, clasping your hands in a futile attempt to calm yourself and shove the triggering memories of your screaming twin away. Your eyes carried their gaze to Sonnet’s hands in his lap and they looked just as scarred and gnarled as your own; if the older boy’s coping was anything like your own then perhaps he’d like some kind of reassurance. Reassuring Sonnet? He’s the one that reassures everyone else, not the other way around. But he was breaking, just like you – only at a slower rate. Something needed to fill in the cracks before the foundation crumbled completely, so why not at least try? You reached between the bars, careful to avoid touching the cold metal, and gingerly laid your hand upon his, putting minimal pressure on it for fear of hurting any sore spots.

Pepper Rebio

A small and frail smile graced your lips as you felt Sonnet’s fingers crawl across your pale, stained skin. It was nice to, for once, be able to touch someone else without the preposterous expectation of stealing their life being thrust upon you. You were used to contact with an unwilling Salt as she either comforted you after verbal abuse or huddled to keep warm, but with Sonnet you weren’t sharing warmth or helping him recover from some kind of abuse. Physical abuse, however, yes – you wanted to comfort him and somehow break his silence, which you achieved, and it was certainly a pleasure to hear his mellow baritone voice again.

The warm thoughts were cut short by the sound of rough footsteps coming down the squeaky stairs. You turned your head, hazel eyes seeking out the familiar (and unwelcomed) silhouette to emerge from the shadows, quickly followed by the dreaded voice. ”Next fight is in two days. Pepper versus Sonnet. Good luck.”

Your skin has always been deathly pale due to the lack of sunlight, but then even the very faint shades of color drained from your face, leaving you looking stark white. Your eyes, wide and glistening with a new-found terror, stared at the stairs as the man turned and left.

Your mouth ran irregularly dry as the dots quickly began to connect in your head. There’s a reason Sonnet is the favorite among the adults. He had won every fight for such a long time, he had killed far more people than you had, and all the while he somehow kept his sanity. He was a vicious killing machine that somehow you befriended and now all that intimacy was being ripped away.

What was worse, however, was that you realized you were going to have to fight Sonnet – and I’m going to lose. You didn’t want to hurt him, not after all those friendly conversations and times he helped you calm down after a fight when Salt could not. He never once yelled at you, unlike Salt, and he didn’t deem you crazy when you were screaming for the non-existent Fanta to answer you, pleading forgiveness from a ghost.

Sonnet was your best friend, but all of a sudden you were utterly terrified of him.

The breath caught in your throat and you made a few quiet gasping noises, gaze dropping to the ground. You had prayed for so long to not be tossed into the dirt arena with any of the few people you loved but it was a fool’s dream (and I am very much a fool). You were going to die by the warm hand that held your own and the severity of the situation struck you like the sharp crack of a whip across your back. (But what a lovely hand to die by.) No longer would you take peeks into his cell and look for that smiling face – but what if he started to hold a smug look on his face? Sonnet must know that he could very easily destroy you: you, the sick one; you, the naïve twin; you, the blundering fool who screamed for the dead to answer you. He’s already won. You had already lost your sanity, what else could Sonnet take to dehumanize you more?

”Pepper?”

Quickly you jerked your trembling hand back to your body, and in your haste you struck the knob of your wrist against the metal bar, sending shocks of pain running up your arm. A sharp yelp escaped your mouth and even startled yourself; you clamped a hand down over your dry and cracked lips, nose puffing out air quickly as the stone-cold terror began to set in. This boy across from you was not a friend but someone to be feared. You lowered your hand and caressed it to your chest, avoiding meeting Sonnet’s gaze with your wide eyes.

”I’m going to die, aren't I?”

Pepper Rebio

The fear was far more cold and terrifying than anything you had felt before all previous fights. Back then, at least, you were prepared to kill and even somewhat accepted the fact that you might die. It never once crossed your mind that you would be terrified to lose your life despite how shitty it was. It was all you had ever known and suddenly it meant the world to you – even the abuse, the murders, the starvation, the sickness, all of it. It would be ripped away from you by the one boy you truly befriended in the dungeon.

But what a lovely hand to die by.

Without a doubt Sonnet meant a lot to you. You rightfully panicked whenever he was thrown into the arena and you vividly remembered the flinching you did every time he was struck by the opponent. He meant just as much to you as Salt did but wouldn’t it be crueler to have me fight my own sister rather than him? What had been going through Altiar’s head when he chose the two candidates for the next duel? Surely the fight was not chosen at random, that would imply a near catastrophic sense of irony that would have Altiar cackling until one of you were lying with a crushed skull or broken ribs with a motionless heart exposed. Would Sonnet really do that to you? After all this time, would he value his own life over mine just for the sake of living to kill another kid? It didn’t seem characteristic of him but you had learned to not fully trust the people in nearby cells, though you couldn’t help feeling like Sonnet was something more than the rest – even Salt. She hesitated and calculated her moves, usually thinking only of herself and fabricating plans that never included you. She would listen to you and hold a decent conversation, sure, but once it went down to the nitty-gritty details you knew, much to your dismay, that she would sooner leave you behind than help you.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look up at the boy on the other side of the bars. Those copper eyes used to (and still do) have such an amiable glow to them; the rugged scar on his nose never once detracted anything from that handsome face of his; even the matted sandy hair atop his head was never a sore sight. It was odd to think that you very easily remembered all those features about Sonnet, whereas the only thing you could remember about your first “girlfriend” was that the perfume she loved to lather on herself made you sneeze. What set the copper-eyed boy apart from her? He’s friendly, she was not. He’s seen me at my absolute worst and still smiles at me, she certainly wouldn’t.

Sonnet’s words were unbelievable: ”No, I won’t let you die.” It was impossible to even say that because someone had died in each and every fight – why would this one be any different? Friends had murdered friends on that patch of blood-stained dirt and no excuses were made then. When people refused to fight Altiar would purposefully intervene in order to provoke a fight, so he would more than likely do that for this fight. Sonnet has to be lying. One of you was going to be dead in two days; you were truly glad for his optimism but sometimes you just had to face the inevitable reality. Slowly you began to shake your head, unwilling to let his single statement get any of your hopes up. ”We have to find a way out of this. We have to escape.”

The doom and gloom thoughts paused for a moment. Escape? Salt had always talked about devising an escape plan, and there were a few times that she really did try even if it was only pecking away at the cement floor with a small rock. Just recently Altiar filled up a hole that she had dug in the back corner of her cell; it was perhaps her fourth or fifth failed attempt at escaping and each time your hope for freedom dwindled with her ideas. Finally you looked up at Sonnet, defeat obvious in your quiet voice. ”But how? They’ll just hurt us more if we don’t fight and they always catch Salt’s attempts at escaping. I don’t—I can’t—how?” Your eyes glistened with the threat of tears and your voice fell even quieter, hardly above a whisper. ”I guess I don’t mind dying. You’d only be doing me a favor, really.”

Pepper Rebio

Maybe you did deserve this. Perhaps Altiar had overheard Salt screaming accusations and damning you to hell for getting her into the mess, and so logically he thought he would put that to good use. Maybe he secretly hoped that your own twin would root for Sonnet in order to bring your confidence to an astonishingly low level. You thought Salt would have your back, just as you had hers, but the past while had proven you wrong. Maybe she will pull for Sonnet and be glad when I die. It truly hurt to think that your twin could even possibly think that about you. Tears stung the back of your eyes and you failed to hold them back; salty droplets began to stream down your dirty cheeks, leaving trails of muddy soot in their wake.

In two days I’ll cease to exist.

You had never given much thought concerning death and what came after. All you had known was that death meant failure and it was never something you had wanted. Even now, however, as you sat teary-eyed in your cell, you did not want the eternal feeling of failure but I refuse to kill Sonnet. It was not that you could even kill him if you wanted – he was bigger, stronger, and far more agile than you ever were. He had many kills under his belt, and no matter how good you thought you were for bludgeoning someone to death with a candlestick, it would not save you. The copper-eyed boy held every playable card in his hand and you had nothing but duds.

Sonnet’s voice, soft but fierce, cut through your gloom like a hot knife. ”No, you have to live.” You hung your head down, wanting so desperately to believe in him and yet finding no spare traces of hope to form a foundation for belief. You blinked, forcing a wave of welled tears to spill down your face. A soggy sniff was the perfect indicator that you were crying and, frankly, you didn’t care that you were. All those years you had penned up the agony, bitten back what psychotic cries you could, reined in your sanity to the absolute best of your ability, and it felt nice to let loose for once. Again you felt Sonnet’s warm hand against yours and you didn’t hesitate to hold tightly onto it, trembling in an effort to not break down all at one. ”I don’t want to die, Sonnet.” It was the complete opposite of what you had said only moments ago, but the raw fear in your voice was evidence enough that that statement was the heartfelt response to the situation.

Sonnet continued to speak so quietly that you almost didn’t catch what he proposed. At first you scoffed, blowing off his plan as just a way to make you calm down, but the more it sank in, the more sensible it became. The walls in the arena were short, roughly at your eye level to be nearly exact. Your broken, jagged breaths became steadier as the thought processed. The plan was still unbelievable, yes, but what other option did you have? Remain in the dungeon until you died by someone else’s hand? No, this is our one shot. We won’t have this opportunity ever again. You weren’t facing a deranged Fanta who muttered and spoke to people that only she saw; you weren’t up against Salt who would value her own life far more than yours; you had Sonnet – the most feared of the children – on your side, willing to fight the true enemies in order to get above ground. It certainly was plausible – it’d just be one hell of a ride.

You sniffed once more, still tightly clutching his hand in yours, refusing to let it go. ”Do you really think it’ll work? We’ll, um, certainly have to make it look real at first. The fight, I mean, and that’d entail you looking like you’re winning. Is that what you’re getting at? Cause I can deal with that.”