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.