Round Three - Ishmael Khalil vs Maya Gomez

I'm still alive.

Sometimes it feels like a dream, like he's trapped in some sort of alternate reality that isn't his own. He's just a scrawny teen from district six wanting to make toys for kids out of scraps of garbage. For a moment, Ishmael stares at Mako and breathes a sigh of relief. Soon he's called underground again, and this time he hobbles forward. It's hard to stand, hard to think, hard to do anything other than focus on breathing. Only four remain, just three more have to die.

I'm so close.

But it's all so far away. Killing more people, watching them die, making them struggle and suffer, all of it weighs heavily on his mind, yet he wants it. The desire to go home, the thirst to see his family again, all of it pushes him forward through the pain and struggle and the suffering. Even as they halfheartedly clean his wounds, Ishmael knows it's for the best. It's time to prove that he's stronger than anyone ever gave him credit for.

When he returns, Ishmael notices his new opponent, and the crowd is roaring louder than ever before. It makes him angry, it tears through his soul, it makes him want to pretend that nothing has ever happened, yet right now the only thing that's keeping him alive is will power alone. Taking the anger and turning it into something good, that's all anyone can do right now. That's all anyone can do.

Tightening his grip on the sword, Ishmael knows he has an uphill battle, but maybe it won't be that bad. All that matters is surviving this moment, proving his strength. Just two more kills away from returning home alive. That's all. And when it's time, he hoists the sword into the air wanting that first strike.

I can do this. I know I can.

Every part of his being aches, and Ishmael is struggling to stand, struggling to focus, and struggling to breathe. Each breath hurts, yet his brain keeps forcing him to fight because it's a matter of life and death. Right now, all he wants to do is lay down on the ground and go to sleep.

But I can't. I'll never wake up.

All he wants is a chance to prove himself, a chance to prove his worth, and right now everything is hanging in limbo. A frail life hangs from a frayed rope. and it's only a matter of time before the braids split causing him to crash heavily into the afterlife if one even exists. The grim reaper is standing there beckoning for him to come, and as much as Ishmael wants to fight, and wants to plead his case, it's only a matter of time before the angel of death succeeds.

Nothing makes sense, even looking at his new opponent, she's a blurry mess, and the roars of the crowd becomes even more deafening, his ears are ringing, and all he wants to do is scream at the top of his lungs begging for everything to stop. All it has to do is come to an end.

His whole world is crashing down before his eyes, and nothing will stop it.

Everything is spinning so fast, and his hands rest on his knees.

This isn't how I die.

But it's foolish to think he stands a chance. It's foolish to think a boy from six can succeed in this terrible place of an arena.

But the kids.

They all need the toys, and who else will make them? Who else can care for them? Who else will tinker with garbage just to make someone happy?

I need to live.

Blood leaks from the corner of his mouth, and he wipes it away before gripping the sword tight.

"I want to go." His voice is just a whisper as he lifts the sword into the air. "And you're standing in my way!" He shouts strong as he drives himself forward with all his might.

Even if I die, I just want everyone to be proud because I am proud of me.