. the will to live . [Python]

It was evident by his quiet ranting that Pepper was too distressed to function as he normally would, and Sonnet couldn’t blame him. There were times - too many times to count - when Sonnet had been warned of his being summoned into the ring with a fellow prisoner, and during those times it was difficult to live fearlessly with the constant thought of death and gore dancing sweetly in his wearing brain. He could empathize with poor Pepper, just as he could empathize with everyone else sharing the misery. He did, after all, understand more than anybody what it felt like to hold death within his two hands. It was something that haunted his every nightmare and tattooed itself into his beating heart, turning it as black as the reaper’s cloak. It was something nobody could erase from his memory, and something he wished Pepper did not have to endure.

Terror was a infection contagious to all. As if the other ailments weren’t enough to weaken poor Pepper to the bone, terror had managed to slip itself into his system and burned him with feverish fright and pessimism. With the scheduled duel taking place within only two days - a short amount of time that would feel like an agonizing eternity - there was a protocol to follow if Pepper wanted to reverse atrophy and obtain golden strength to survive in the makeshift, blood-stained arena. For Sonnet, it was a mental and physical process consisting of focus, extreme optimism, and pacing around his cell in order to pump blood to his racing brain. Constant activity and an appropriate amount of undisturbed sleep was crucial if Sonnet wanted to stand a chance against his opponent, and if Pepper wanted an opportunity to live another day of darkness he would have to snap out of this phase and gather his courage.

Fingers curled around his hand, sharing a strange and foreign warmth with the surface of his grimy skin. The only skin-on-skin contact he experienced was within the boundaries of a ring of death, his limbs colliding with another to cause only harm and agony; to weaken the bones until they could fight no more, and when Sonnet would perform the finishing blow that proclaimed him a victor, a survivor, and a weeping warrior. This simple but kind gesture was comforting to someone who felt nothing but the cold, dampness of the basement and the painful blows from the arena, so when he felt the warmth radiating from Pepper’s palms he did not budge, but rather kept his hand steady upon the boy’s shoulder.

”Do you remember the leaves?” The pieces of earth’s mighty trees that crunched beneath his soles as he walked - how could he forget? Their colors matched the grass until fall’s coming season plucked them from their nests and scattered them throughout the district as if sprinkling it with fairy dust. When he closed his eyes and tried to retrieve the memories fading within the depths of his mind he recalled the vibrant clashing of reds, yellows, and oranges that gave fall its identity and basked the district in it’s fiery glory. He had especially enjoyed leaping into piles of these leaves to watch them flutter above his eyes and itch against his skin to distract him from the reality that was his life in the outside world: plagued with poverty and loneliness. What had raised him in the outside world, however, was nothing in comparison on the grey that had awaited him in this dungeon. Now, it seemed like his past life had been a wonderland, and even the simple color of his mother’s eyes and the bed sheets on his mattress were fading. He was surprised he could remember something as seemingly insignificant as the leaves of autumn.

”You’ll see them again.”

Pepper sounded so positive. It was as if his fears from minutes ago had disintegrated into hope. However, it was not hope invested in himself. It was hope meant for Sonnet, hope that had abandoned its owner and dedicated itself to someone entirely different - someone who already hoped enough to keep himself functioning. So, why? Because he has lived longer than any other. Because he was “clearly the best”. Even if such statements were truth, the reds and purples and yellows of the outside world that clashed with each other to create earth’s beauty seemed millions of miles away from his desperate hands, even when the brutal reality was spat in his face everyday - the reality that freedom was only a story away. What separated him from happiness and glowing sunshine were wires, a case of stairs, and a door. Three meager objects that strapped him down like a rabid animal in its cage. It was pure agony just to think about it, even just to imagine the outline of the Melnont mansion. He was so close to freedom, yet so far, and the thought threatened to tear him to pieces on the inside.

Pepper’s words were so kind he couldn’t help but flash teeth in his next smile. He wanted Sonnet to survive. He wanted Sonnet to beat the odds, overcome bad luck, and achieve victory through freedom. They both desired identical goals, but at the same time, Sonnet wished for Pepper’s freedom as well. Why should he be the only one to make it out alive? Pepper was as deserving as he, and the thought of his blood spattering the ring tormented his poor heart. It was wonderful to know that others had faith in him, but Sonnet didn’t just want his own personal freedom - he wanted the others to live too. He wanted them to avoid Altair’s clutches and flee from the basement before they too lost their blood and sanity.

Not impossible. Of course it wasn’t, how could he let such a foolish idea run free through his supposedly optimistic mind? It was a strange turn of events, Pepper being the one to prove that it wasn’t impossible when only minutes ago he claimed that being rescued was never likely to happen. In Sonnet’s mind, nothing was supposed to be impossible; freedom, happiness, beauty, it was all available for those who strived for them, yet when something as simple and insignificant as a gesture of friendship through cell bars served as an obstacle, his wall of optimism crumbled. But why? Why, all of the sudden, had he let his guard down for pessimism and doubt to plague him? It wasn’t in his nature to do such a thing.

Sonnet wished for a lot of things. He wished Altiar would slip up so he could escape, he wished none of the children would have to kill or be killed, he wished Pepper wouldn’t have to sacrifice Fanta’s life or his own in two days time. He wished for food. The simplest delicacies in life had become a rare luxury in the basement of disturbed and animalistic children, and to such an extent that even Sonnet - a boy who had lived in poverty in a district that was supposedly rich - realized that he had taken advantage of these aspects of life. Food, water, clean clothes, bathing, a functioning toilet - all were limited behind these bars. To the average day-walker, these children would appear bony as though the gentlest breeze could sweep them off of their bare feet and carry them away, and if approached they would be repelled by the aura of stench staining the very surface of their skin from lack of opportunity for personal hygiene. They were filthy, pathetic, and desperate children waiting behind bars for a sadistic wench to feed them scraps and further humiliate them as they waited for imminent death.

Yes, Sonnet wished for many things, and freedom was highest on his list.

But right now, it was Pepper’s life that was on the line, not his own, even if all deaths seemed inevitable other than the one child Altair would supposedly choose to survive and become his champion. ”I just wish the bars weren’t here.” So did he, Pepper, so did he, and yet there were too many things to wish for. Choosing one maybe be selfish, and choosing another may secure the lives of those he cared about but not his own, and everything he had thrived for would vanish within seconds. Knowing Sonnet, though, he would strive to fulfill every wish. He could not live with himself if he didn’t at least try.