brant anders ; kire/kay ; white elephant

It had been a number of months since Brant had been saved. At the time, he didn't know why and in all honesty he hadn't much cared. When his name had been called he had frozen, locked in fear of what would come next - the climb up those stairs would be his walk to the gallows. Then another boy had come forward. Brant hadn't cared who he was, just that we wanted to enter the arena while Brant would give anything to stay out of it, including let another sacrifice himself.

In the end, perhaps it was for the best. Watching the boy on the television, Brant had initially been rooting for his saviour - surely he deserved to return home after saving his life - but then he started to become disgusted with him. Disgust turned into fear and now Brant was more thankful about the boy being in the arena than about the fact that he wasn't. This boy did not deserve to live, he was a monster.

Why did a monster save him?

When it looked like the boy might make it out alive he began to panic. He would run to the beach and stare into the waves for hours. If that creature made it home then Brant knew he would die. That thing had to be stopped, that was plain. The problem was, no one could stop him. He took blows almost every day, severe or otherwise, but was never slowed down. He had abandoned his allies before stabbing one of them through the eye. He had torn another boy to pieces and laughed maniacally at the slaughter of four people on the beach.

It had been an overwhelming relief when the new victor had cut him down. Finally the laughter fell silent, finally the bloodlust faded, finally the creature was slain.

Now Brant stared at the waves, wondering how he might have fared had that monster not taken his place. He probably would have died in the bloodbath, overwhelmed and stricken to pieces. Even the monster had lost a hand in the confusion. Alone, for who would ally with him, he would have died almost immediately.

He was alone now, too.

Hunching over himself, he hugged his knees to his chest. He might have grown a year older, thanks to the boy, but there was a feeling in his gut that it wasn't all over for him yet. Something, at some time, in some place, would go terribly wrong for him.

I am scheduled to die. The date has merely been delayed, not erased.