Imagine a World Without Music | Teen Ink

Imagine a World Without Music

May 25, 2015
By psychedelic.huskii SILVER, Chelmsford, Massachusetts
psychedelic.huskii SILVER, Chelmsford, Massachusetts
5 articles 0 photos 1 comment

Favorite Quote:
"The Fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars / But in ourselves, that we are underlings."
~ Caius Cassius, 1.2.147-8 (Julius Caesar)


Chapter One: I’ll be brutally honest right now. I’ve killed many people in my short life. Before you judge just yet, allow me to explain. I am a fight champion, that is, someone in a fight club – mine happens to be the number one club here – who has won many times or is on a streak. It’s the only life I know, and the only one I have known. My whole sixteen years have been spent here, living and eating after hours and fighting during hours. It feels natural, especially after the government fell to…

But I shouldn’t talk about that. In fact, forget that. So, why do I fight? Well, this place is my home, though maybe not much of a nice one, and if I don’t meet the standards, I’ll be the one killed. That’s the catch to all of this. Who do I fight? Mainly criminals, or the occasional challenger. These fights, bear in mind, are not usually to the death except in extreme criminal cases. That being said, sometimes a kill is necessary. Those are the only times I do more than injure, otherwise I won’t be able to regret anything. I only have an allowance of three losses for every two months, so I have to keep up my wins.

Myself? I’m not very interesting, but here goes. I am 1.7 meters tall, 62 kilograms. My eyes are dark blue, my hair is dark and spiky. Not too spiky. I’m intelligent, so they say, and I’m a quiet person by nature. Years of fighting have made me strong, perceptive, and difficult to injure badly. The way I fight isn’t anything too special either. I specialize in short blades, giving me the nickname Rose Blade. I have no idea why roses, so don’t ask me. I usually have one knife in each hand, one in the outer cuff of each boot, two tucked against each hip in my belt, and one in each sleeve. Just to keep track of them, I labeled them on their handles, carving each label in.

Oddly enough, it would seem that each of my blades has almost a personality, if you will. Ichi is sturdy, but shy. Shorter but solid blade. Nii is very jumpy. Blunt and thin blade. Nii doesn’t do very well with stabbing people. San is also very sturdy, but San is extremely sarcastic. Sliding blade. Shi is very mellow, and stable. Medium and hard blade. Go is very observant and advantageous. Sharpest blade. Roku is possibly the most narcissistic. Fairly blunt but very shiny blade. Nana is my favorite, Yami coming in close second.  Both of them are very nearly perfect in every way a knife is supposed to be, and are almost identical, being a set of twins. Gin and Kuro are the same way.

All of my knives are handmade with ivory handles and leather sheaths. Each sheath is imprinted with my artist’s signature to prevent thievery. See, I’m not completely inhumane. I’m an artist. I spend most of my free time on either sketching or target practice. Both relieve my stress, albeit in very different ways. Sometimes, on good days, all of the champions gather in the main hall to socialize. The only three active champions are Lilith, Phineas and me. All of the others are retired, but living in the club still. They’d often ask me what new sketch I’m showing off at the moment, and I would bring it out. Most of them appreciated it as a common interest.

Considering that fact, I felt nothing but utter contempt for the man standing in front of me on the dusty arena floor. He was a brilliant criminal, so I had been told, accused of art thievery and forgery, among other things. Nana and Yami were each tucked into a sleeve, off for the day. Instead, I had Gin and Kuro balanced in my hands, the rest of my knives in their various sheaths around my body. I narrowed my eyes at the man, anger boiling just under the surface.

The beefy art thief shifted his weight, nervous or uncomfortable. Or itching to fight. Bothe worked in my favor. The bell rang, signaling the start of the fight, and my opponent charged at me immediately. Stupid move and even the audience knew it. He’d have to do more than throw his weight at me and hope for the best. I easily sidestepped and dragged Kuro across his right thigh. A thin spurt of blood sprayed the arena wall behind me, and I turned to face him once more. After the first charge, I could see he’d already realized his mistake, so he was trying a different approach. Smart, but not smart enough. I could read his every movement in his body language. Experience in the ring does that.

This time, I sprang on offensive first. I leapt forward, seeming to imitate his lunge. He crouched, and I jumped instead, leaping for his face. Unfortunately, I had misjudged the speed at which my opponent could move; he caught me midair and threw me to one side. My back slammed the wall, making my breath disappear from my lungs. Even as I was recovering, I was acting. I switched Kuro for Shi while I rolled out of the way of the thief’s attack. The audience began shouting at me to finish him already, and I grimaced. Tough crowd to please. When my vision returned, I began dodging to give myself and opportunity to prepare to throw Shi.

Of course, I wasn’t just brainlessly avoiding him. I let the man hit me a few times just to give him a sense of victory. People tend to relax when they think they have the lead. At the same time, I snuck in a few slashes in places that would drain his energy. Through this whole time, I tried to find an opening to throw Shi. Since the audience was beginning to get restless, I stopped messing around and got right to business. The rest of it was mostly a blur, but I remember whipping Shi, slicing the art thief’s Achilles tendon, and watching him fall to the arena floor. Next thing I remember, I was on my own spin to the floor, my left calf burning.

“What just happened?”

“The criminal poisoned him!”

“Get him to the infirmary, quickly!”

Right after someone picked me up, there was such a commotion that my head began swimming, and I lay there, gritting my teeth. The person carrying me quickened her pace, jostling me slightly, but at that point I had no cares except that they let me slip into unconsciousness. She ducked through a doorway, setting me down on a couch, thankfully.

“Lilith, what happened here?” I whispered.

“You’ll be okay, I promise. Just sleep. It’ll all be okay.”

She was nearly crying, or maybe that was my own imagination, but suddenly her suggestion sounded marvelous. I closed my eyes, feeling very tired, and lost all consciousness in minutes.
 

Chapter Two: I’m a bit of a dark personality, but I have feelings for my family and friends. Azrael and Phineas are practically brothers to me, and I even call them brothers in front of other people. It just feels natural. To be fair, there is the fact that we grew up fighting and training together, in the fight club called the Bloody Jane. I think I fit in the place pretty nicely, even with the crowds in the halls, but that’s irrelevant. There’s not much to say about my appearance. I have dark hair, I’m 1.73 meters, and I weigh 62 kilograms. Unlike the two boys though, I fight with my body and nothing else. I also the only girl, making it harder to stand out as more than an average martial artist. But, I like the challenge it provides.

The three of us rotate the fight schedule, giving the audience different chances to see each of us in action and giving us some downtime. I’ve been oddly nicknamed the Betrayer, but maybe that’s a result of my name. We work for Flynn and Xyra, who very nearly feel like parents to us. Anyways, it was Az’s turn, and he was doing really well. In fact, the audience could tell he was messing around for the first few minutes, so he crunched on the art thief. It was beautiful, until he fell to the ground after his opponent poisoned him.

I carried him to get treated, trying not to cry. Phineas and I waited outside his room, both of us very nervous and me nearly in hysterics. I’m only three years older than Az, but he‘s still the little kid who we taught to fight and train so many years ago. I still feel very protective of him, and I think Phin does too. So, of course I was worried about him. Everyone was.

“How is he?”

I looked up to see Xyra. She gave me a kind smile, which I tried to return. I’m fairly sure I just grimaced though, because she sighed. There was a tense moment when she just stood there, looking worriedly at the door to Azrael’s room. A second passed, and she sat down across the small hallway.

“I don’t know, Xyra.”

Phineas, who doesn’t talk much and is notorious for it, nodded. Xyra bit her lip, seeming to have anticipated this. She didn’t say much after that, but neither of us really minded. Knowing I had Phin, it was easier to wait, but it was still difficult to stay calm in the ten minutes before the nurses came out to give us the news.

“He’s awake. The good news is that he will be fine. The bad news is, he will probably try to escape the infirmary for lack of action.”

I gave a relieved sigh, laughing at the joke. Azrael did tend to leap out of bed at the first chance he got, so I wouldn’t be surprised to see him up and about the next morning. Hurrying in to see him, I wasn’t expecting what I saw. Az had his eyes closed, his dark hair matted onto his forehead and his skin a shade paler than usual. He looked so weary that I couldn’t help gasping softly. Az’s mouth twitched ever so slightly, and he arched one eyebrow.

“Lil?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be fine. Stop worrying.”

“I – I know.”

I began crying a bit, not loudly but enough to make Phin put his arm around me. He gave my shoulders a quick squeeze, letting go afterwards. Az seemed to wince, and I sighed. My emotions ran wild, spilling all sorts of terrible possibilities into my head. What if he ended up dying? What if the poison made him blind, or deaf? What if he never fully recovered? As relieved as I was to see him alright, the possibilities still ran through my mind.

“Lil, don’t cry over me, please.” He begged me, frowning.

“You sure you’ll be okay?”

“Absolutely. I can feel it.”

He didn’t open his eyes, but he smiled brightly. Eventually I regained control of my emotions and the tears subsided, drying on my cheeks. Phin even gave me a wan half-smile, which further reassured me. I sat next to Az, on his left, and took his hand. He squeezed my wrist, and I was shocked how much weaker his grip was. He barely was able to dent my skin.

“Lil, please. Try not to worry.”

I looked to Phin for a decision. He was good at judging these things. For a second or two, he stood with his head tilted slightly to the side, but then he nodded to me. Az would be back to normal soon. With Phin’s intuition on my side, I relaxed, knowing I didn’t have reason to worry. Besides, Az was usually correct about himself also, more often than not.

“I’m trying, Az.”

There was a certain deadly feel to the room that was giving me chills, so I rose to leave. We had lunch to eat before I took the afternoon shift. I paused for a moment, looking back at him. I asked if he wanted anything, and he smiled a tiny bit, sighing.

“Yes. I want out of this room.”

I laughed despite my worries, and Az opened his blue eyes. They glinted mischievously as I left, and this time I was sure he would turn out just fine. Phineas walked with me down to the main hall of the club, where a crowd of people was standing and milling about, per usual. I only had seconds to regret not taking the secret back passageway before Phin and I were mobbed, questioned and harassed.

“Where’s the Rose Blade?”

“Tell us what it’s like being champion.”

“Are you guys actually family?”

As a fact, I dislike crowds. They make me feel like I’m being closed in on, and it’s really just not a good feeling. Phin knew this well, frowning out into the crowd. When I tried to push through, they just closed in from all sides, leaving us nowhere to move. Worst of all, still asking questions.

“How it is being the only girl?”

“Does the Animal Tamer talk at all?”

“Can we have your autographs?”

All of a sudden, Phineas pushed past me, protecting me from the crowd. We always looked out for each other as a mutual understanding, but even I was surprised a moment later. Phin opened his mouth and everyone naturally quieted, waiting to hear what he was about to say. Those who kept talking were angrily shushed by their companions.

“My sister is not a toy for you to question until it speaks. She is a human being who dislikes nosy outsiders. Now get out of my way.”

He very nearly growled the last few words, but then turned to me, gesturing towards the door to the dining hall, and I nodded wordlessly, shocked.


The author's comments:

I wrote this based on the idea that things may be very different in the future, and almost (but not quite) an alternative to the Hunger Games take on post modern society.


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