It Rained Red Upon the Arena by Kenneth Champion Page B

the man who was in the cell to his right. He was massively tall, with an incredible muscular build. As Nick walked behind him the stench hit him hard. The man smelled of sewage.
    As they walked down the hall the inmates made a left which proceeded down another hall, then a right turn into the kitchen. Inside the kitchen there was about one hundred tables, and a line at the counters where workers served plates of food to the inmates.
    Nick still stood at the entrance of the kitchen and took a moment to observe. There had to be over three hundred inmates stationed at the arena. Reza and Paplon men and women, all of various shapes and sizes. As he got his first look at all of them he realized one thing: he could not make a friend in the arena. Not one. At the end of the day, every person in the room was someone who wanted to kill him. If he made a friend, that would be a weakness. He could be thrown into the arena against a friend he had made. Or see a friend die.
    Nick walked over to the end of the line to get his food. Inmates at the tables talked, some laughed, and some sat quietly. He was in line behind a Reza girl. Skin blue, and her hair was black. She turned around and looked at Nick up and down slowly and gave him a smile. She turned back around and Nick did not say anything, he did not react. Nick had to mold himself into a different person. If that had happened in the city he would have sparked conversation with such of an attractive girl, if he could first find his courage to do so.
    The line kept moving up and Nick got a plate of food. A steaming pile of mush and a banana. A marvelous cup of lukewarm water to wash it all down.
    He turned to find a table where he could sit. He would rather sit at a table by himself but all tables had at least one person sitting at it. He walked over to one where there was a Paplon man sitting. He had curly black hair, and a long beard. Nick sat down across from him, not directly across but slightly to the right. Nick did not look at him. He only looked down at his gourmet pile of mush.
    “Don’t ask what is in it. Just know it’s not all that bad,” said the man.
    Nick looked up and then he looked back down. No conversations means no friends. You can do this, Nick.
    “The name is Phillip Denize. What’s yours, brother?”
    Again Nick sat quietly and tried a bite of his food. It was fairly tasteless, only a slight taste that reminded him of chicken mixed with the taste of rubber.
    “Are you mute? Or do you simply have the strategy of making no friends?” said Phillip.
    Nick looked up at him with a confused expression.
    “So that is the strategy,” the man said with a chuckle.
    “How did you know I do not wish to make any friends?”
    Phillip smiled and said, “I’ve been here for nine months now. You shouldn’t think you’re the first one who came here and did not talk to anyone. It is a sound strategy, though. You won’t have a problem killing an enemy, but you know you’ll have trouble killing a friend. That’s okay, though, because it shows two things: one, that you are smart, and two, that you have compassion. The only problem with your strategy is that you do not yet know how the inmates work, how this system works, and what you need to do to stay alive. I can show you those things. All you have to do is to not think of me as a friend, but rather as a guide. Do you have a scheduled fight yet?”
    Nick was making way at his pile of mush as Phillip gave him that speech. Nick finally looked up and said, “Yes, I’m fighting tomorrow.”
    “Well, who are you fighting?” asked Phillip.
    “Grimey,” Nick replied.
    Phillip face skewed as Nick said the name. Phillip leaned in towards Nick and carefully and stealthily pointed at a Reza man a few tables over. He looked tall and skinny and his long hair was pulled back into a ponytail.
    “That’s Grimey over there. He got here three months after I did and has had a good number of fights. He is a quick Reza. He can