by Cameron Jace
So here I am, hours away from fighting a one-eyed tiger who might have killed Woo. If you ask me if I know what I am doing, I will say no. If you ask me how I plan to do it, I’ll say I don’t know. If you ask me why I am doing it, I’ll hesitate and think it over. But I’ll tell you it’s because I am planning on one thing, only one thing is on my mind: staying alive.
46
I am inside a cage, swaying above the Monsterium. It’s pulled with chains, dangling down from a military Zeppelin made of steel, with rotors like a helicopter.
Looking down between the bars of the cage, I already feel disoriented by the large amount of white sands. There’s one single tall silver pole in the middle that I could use to shoot the Carnivore from, or take a rest at. The pole has metal, ladder-like rods made of steel, sticking out of it on both sides. But if I climb up there, how long can I keep hanging on? The pole seems to bend slightly at any breeze, which makes it look unsafe. It’s not like it’s a stairway to Heaven. It’s just a tall pole in the middle of the sands. It reaches for nothing. The real game is played down on the dunes.
Where there should be a tier of seats for the audience surrounding the battlefield of the Monsterium, there are contoured lines of sand, sloping up, as if it’s a mountain made of sand. The slope is steep. I don’t think I can get up there to touch the blue sky. At the tip of that slope, there is a tall barred cage-like wall encompassing the Monsterium. The tips of the bars are sharp and deadly. Behind the bars, there are soldiers. This reminds me of what Dad used to call maximum security prison, used for the most dangerous criminals in the country.
Zeppelins are circling in the sky above the steel bars. Not that they can see anything by being so close, since they will watch me through the ClairVo. It’s just that the tickets for these Zeppelins are the most expensive. Some people like what is expensive, however irrelevant. Higher prices mean better products, which mean higher prestige.
Numbers here, numbers there, e i, e i, o.
I am dressed in red, with thousands of people waving at me from their balconies in the Zeppelins, before I disappear into the white underneath. I still don’t understand this audience-contestant relationship.
Watch me, love me, kiss me, kill me.
My arm feels much better now, with the honey cure from Ariadna. I make sure the ten bottles of honey I have ordered are in my backpack. Yes. I ordered ten honey bottles, the plastic bottle type you can squeeze the honey out from, like mustard and ketchup. And yes, when you squeeze, it makes that funny sound: fwwwwweeeeeeerrt.
I didn’t order the honey because I wanted to feel sweet before I die — although that would be cool. When that man dressed in black comes to you and asks for that one last wish you want to be granted before you die, you just say make me feel sweet.
I ordered the honey because I have a plan. Not sure that I can pull it off, though.
Today the world is watching me to see if I can kill Carnivore. Today I am playing to know who I am. Am I a Ten? What is the number of the human spirit?
I clap my hands and rub them together, igniting a surge of courage in my soul. I jump up and down and stretch my shoulders, like boxers do. I have my backpack strapped and my bow gun in my hand.
I try to think of this like Prom night. Me and you, Carnivore. Prom queen and king. Let’s dance.
“Seventy million viewers worldwide.” Prophet Xitler announces this game himself. “Watching with one pair of eyes.” So he stuck to his marketing slogan after all. They write everywhere on the iAm screens: Seventy million viewers watching with one girl’s pair of magical eyes.
Men, women, kids, and everyone worldwide are putting on their ClairVos. I haven’t put mine on yet. I am the queen bee today. I wear it when I want to. The world is going to know what it’s like to be me.
I’ve never seen seventy million people agree on something; not one religion, not one land, not even the fact they could live on this planet in peace, without killing each other. Look at these monkeys, agreeing on the ClairVo.
“One girl,” says Xitler. “One girl’s eyes. One girl’s feelings. One girl’s fears. One girl’s coming of age. One girl’s angst.” I hear the audience hail. This is a world ritual, not a game. “One girl’s hopes.” Xitler’s tone of voice changes into a surprisingly happy tone, as if he really wants me to kill Carnivore, as if he really wants me to be a Ten. “One girl’s power. One girl’s strength.”
“Now I am a girl?” I mumble alone in my cage, fisting my hands. “Not a Monster anymore?” I open one of my fists, and look at the scissors in my hand. I have a plan.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
“Are you ready?” Xitler asks, and the world goes crazy.
My cage starts lowering. I am ready.
“Wait,” says Xitler. They stop the cage from lowering further. “Is there something you want to tell the world, Pixie?” He knows I am Decca. He just wants to provoke me.
I look at the Zeppelins all around me, looking at me, waiting for me to speak. Pleading, so I would wear the ClairVo.
“My name is not Pixie. My name is Decca,” I say, signaling to the steel Zeppelin above me to roll the cage down. “And I don’t have time for you.” I say that to the whole world, putting on my ClairVo.
47
The cage descends down into the Monsterium. The voice of the audience is deafening after putting on my ClairVo.
As I am descending, I remind myself that once I start my plan, I have to stop listening to anyone. I will be on my own, and many people will criticize me, but I can’t give in.
I take off my white backpack, and put it next to me. Yes. I ordered a white backpack. Even the zippers are painted white.
Then I do the unthinkable. The thing I would never have thought I would ever do. Not in front of seventy million people. I take off my red dress, not wearing anything underneath.
Most of the world doesn’t see this. Not now, since they are concerned about looking through my eyes, not paying attention to the iSee cameras surrounding me, while I am naked in a cage. All they know is that the picture transmitted looks wrong somehow.
Those who see me fall into a trance of silence.
I try so hard, not to think of being naked in front of seventy million people.
I use the scissors to cut the dress into pieces. I throw the red pieces randomly down on the white sands from behind the bars of the cage. The red is shining bright everywhere on the sand. I will use them as a compass to guide me. More important, they will distract Carnivore for a while when it enters the Monsterium, after I complete my descent. He is attracted to the red color. It will buy me some time.
I pull out the honey bottles and start squeezing the honey out of it, glazing it on every inch of my body. Ten bottles are more than enough to coat myself in honey. The only place I can’t reach is below the upper side of my back. Yeah. I am not that flexible. I guess that is why I am a Monster. I’ll deal with that later.
I pour sticky honey on my arms, my legs, my belly, my buttocks, my neck, my face, and my shining bald head. Then I rub it all as fast as I can before I descend, leaving out my eyes, my nostrils, my mouth, and my ears.
People are asking about what I am doing, if I have gone mad, if this is a joke. Some claim Carnivore hates honey. Some say I love honey, and I am on a suicide mission to ruin the game.
They’re all wrong.
I keep rubbing. I have to cover every inch of my body, even my eyelids. It’s hard trying to avoid honey in your eyes or in your mouth and ears, but I try my best.
I am done. All honeyed, all covered.
The cage descends and lands on a dune, white sand shifting to the inside. I am still wearing my ClairVo. I hold my backpack in one hand. I will not strap it on now. Not yet.
Once the cage’s door opens, I run into the white sand and take a dive into it, like jumping into a shallow swimming pool with both your hands stretched forward. The audience goes “Woooo!” I roll in the sand until it sticks to the honey on my body, coating every part
of my body in white. Even my shiny, shaved head’s eyebrows.
The only part that is not covered is that upper part of my back. Nothing sticks to it because I couldn’t cover it with the honey. I will cover it by strapping on the backpack.
I stand up and start running on the sand, as scared as a white ghost. I look like a lizard or a white snake, or just another dune.
Prophet Xitler says something about me being a hell of a girl. I don’t care about him or about the audience. I am still so far away from completing the mission.
Suddenly, I hear a loud drone from the audience, then I hear a roar.
It’s Carnivore. They let him out. I hope the red pieces scattered in the Monsterium will occupy him for a while.
I run to the pole without seeing it. My eyes have not adjusted to the crazy white yet. I know where it is by remembering my left from right, since I had my eyes on it from when I was in the cage above.
I run and run, but can’t reach it.
Then hey, I see it, the silver unstable thing in the white.
Before I reach it, I hear Carnivore roaring nearby. I might be only panicking, but I think it is too close.
Disoriented and irrational, I dig right under my feet to hide my bow gun in the sand, just like the Amerikaz buried their history. If I dig further, will I find instructions on how to kill Carnivore?
I know I am only feet away from the pole. The bow gun and its arrows are the only things I have that are not white. That is why I have to hide them.
I try not to breathe aloud, since I feel Carnivore is near. Does it see me? Is my disguise not good enough?
What are you doing, girl? Why didn’t you run to the pole?
I panicked, hearing its voice.
I raise my head to run to the pole, but suddenly don’t see it again. Where is it? It’s all so white. So white.
I turn back at Carnivore’s roaring, and start running aimlessly. As I am running directionless from him, it occurs to me that I might be running toward him, without knowing. I decide to run in circles and curves, as if I am in a maze.
Running barefoot in the sand is so hard. Running barefoot in the blinding sand when you don’t know what and where you’re running to is even harder. You don’t know what you might bump into. What if I bump into Carnivore accidentally? “Hi, Carnivore. How ya doin’, man? Let’s do this one more time.”
I keep running, all white, like a ghost; panting, squinting my eyes so their color isn’t visible for Carnivore, trying not to open my mouth too much, so it doesn’t see my red tongue inside. I am invisible, a white ghost in a white world.
“I am a white, white girl in a white, white world. It would be a black, black thing if you see me.” I find myself humming while running. I hear the audience laugh. I hear them through the ClairVo’s headpiece. Stupid me. I shouldn’t make a sound. What’s wrong with me?
Run. Decca. Run.
Every twenty strides, I change directions, for no apparent reason. Let the randomness and utter coincidence of our lives spare me from Carnivore’s fangs. If I do bump into it running like that, I don’t know what else to do.
As I run, it keeps roaring and running, thudding with its heavy weight against the lush sands. It is looking for me. It must drive it mad that he can’t find me. I am supposed to be like Red Riding Hood for it; all visible, all eatable. But nah Carnivore, you can’t fool me with playing Grandma now.
I trip over a dune, pick myself up, and run again. Honey sticks to my tongue. With it comes sand. No biggy, as long as it’s not falling down my throat. Which reminds me, I shouldn’t run so fast. I could sweat. My color could shine back.
My eyes hurt so bad, trying to see in all this white. I don’t know how to describe this feeling. It’s like a massive amount of sunlight in your eyes, so bright that you can’t see anything. It makes you feel like you’re in the dark instead of the light, except that your brain refuses to believe you’re in the dark. Paradox yourself.
At some curve in the whitey-whites, I start to see. What’s that? My eyes hurt because of the color. It’s red. What the heck is that?
Oh. No. It’s a piece of my scattered dress. I shouldn’t run near it. I made them to waste Carnivore’s time. It is going to hunt every single piece of those. It could come here now.
Running away from it, I find another one, and I keep running. I hear its roars. I think it is nearer than before.
Have I built a trap for myself with that dress?
I duck and stay put, breathing as slowly as possible. In my headpiece, everything I do is magnified seventy million times. Every time I hold my breath, seventy million people hold it with me. Whenever I feel fear, whenever I pant, whenever I am surprised, I have seventy million bored humans on my back, feeling the same as me. And their emotions somehow strike back at me and magnify my feelings, which is so not cool.
What have I done to myself, wearing this ClairVo?
Should I take it off? But I haven’t poured honey under it. I will be exposed. And how am I going to communicate with the Summit? How can they know I have killed Carnivore?
“Shut up,” I whisper softly, without parting my teeth. I hear the audience wondering whom I am talking to. “I am talking to you, annoying watchers,” I say to them as soft as I can, still ducking. They don’t seem to be insulted. They are amazed by the experience. That it’s not just them seeing through my eyes, but that their voices have an effect on me too.
Why didn’t I take yoga lessons, to learn how not to listen to people when they keep talking in my ears?
I make sure I don’t hear Carnivore close enough around me and stand up, but then a thought hits me. Why should I expect it to be such an animal? Maybe it will start playing sly with me, sneaking slowly, until it slashes its paws at me.
The idea sends a shiver down my spine. A shiver I feel magnified by the audience. Some ClairVo, that is.
Unable to hear Carnivore’s roaring anymore, I take a deep breath to calm down. Where is it? Why is it silent? Did it expose the red dress trick? Is it starting to play sneaky?
I feel paralyzed, and suddenly cold, which reminds me that I am naked, wearing white sand on my skin. I wonder if that will make a bestselling fashion dress tomorrow in Faya. Women walking naked, and dressed in white sticky sands. Boys, be happy. The age of disguised nudity is knocking on your doors. Honey sellers will become millionaires by tomorrow. Kids, don’t wait for that pocket money your parents give you. Just go sell some white sand.
Another deep breath to calm myself. Seventy million take a deep breath with me. There must be no air in the world now.
I breathe out, expecting a world disaster or a hurricane. Seventy million people breathe out at the same time, and nothing happens?
Carnivore roars. That’s a good sign. It is still dumb and animalistic, not hiding somewhere.
“Operation Sand Woman, run,” I whisper to myself, and start running again. The audience laughs. I was just trying to get myself in a video game mood, like when I watch my brother Jack play. Just to forget about the horror of my situation. My dad used to have another operation: Operation Mom is Coming.
Suddenly, I notice that when I run, my backpack shuffles, and makes those sounds. What? Those sounds are audible in the deafening silence. Carnivore could get me any second now.
I remember I extra-stuffed everything inside with cloth, so it shouldn’t make noises like that.
As I take off the backpack, I tremble with the thought that Carnivore might have heard this. Then I feel dizzy with the thought that my upper back is visible, now that I have lifted the backpack.
Stay focused.
Wanting to zip the backpack open, I can’t see the zipper since it’s white. Blindly, I run my shivering fingers over it, and pull it open. The sound of it zzzipping open hurts. It’s so loud and so zzzz, like when Timmy loses it. Another mistake on my behalf, to give Carnivore an excuse to come and get me. If I keep being clumsy like that, I might as well send it a telegram, inviting it over to kill me.
The color of things inside my backpack worries me too. Carnivore could see it. I rummage through and stuff everything tighter, close the bag and…
Carnivore roars, so close. I think it is somewhere behind me, not that far.
I dig fast like a cat, and bury the bag in the dune I am standing on, turn around and stretch on my back, allowing the weight of my body to sink into the dune.
To my surprise, its voice is so near. It might be only strides away.
Where is it?
With my back sinking into the white sloping dune, my head can see at an almost vertical level, although I don’t know which is which now. The only thing I am sure of is that the sky is above me, far away, a pale blue.
I am glad they don’t have Artificial Sky in the Monsterium, or Timmy would have let it rain down on me.
Carnivore roars again. I see its open mouth in front of my eyes.
What am I going to do?
I think the best strategy is to do nothing. I just keep on sinking into the sand, hoping that it won’t cover my mouth, so I can still breathe.
The fear buzzing from the audience in my ears is unbearable; like a loud, cacophonic song that somehow has reached the top of the charts and is played repeatedly, while I hate its guts. So unbearable that I’d rather take off the ClairVo, and throw myself into the arms of Carnivore. I hope that tiny voice in my ears won’t leak and be heard by Carnivore.
I watch it approach slowly and cautiously, which means it doesn’t see me. That’s not a bad start.
But why is it coming in my direction?
Can it smell me? What’s so distinct about me to smell? Do tigers have extra senses of smell like dogs? Is it the honey all over my body? It has a strong flavor, I have to admit. What is it?
Since it is not roaring, and his single one big eye above his nose in the middle of its head is turned white, I can’t see it. But I can see something else. The shifts of its weight on the sand. I can see the marks its paws leave on the sand before the sand huddles again. The paw-prints in the sand don’t stick since the sand is soft and shifts easily, but it tells me it is walking toward me, so sly, so slow.