After more agonizing walking, we entered another well-lit room with more black walls. A line of unusual looking guards lined up against the wall. These guards didn't have their usual uniform or equipment. They looked rather unequipped for violence. They wore a white apron and a black shirt. Their boots didn't look heavy, and the height of it didn't reach past the ankles. They each had a look of something unfamiliar. It wasn't the usual scorn. It wasn't disgust. They were stripped of the armor they normally had along with their ferocity. Their faces were just as solemn as the guards, yet some sadness clung to it. It was an odd feeling that bubbled in my chest.

  A door opened, and more of those guards barge in. They bring with them a large luxurious oak table and carefully set it in the room. They return to the door from which they came. A few moments of confusion remained before they returned with various dishes lined on their shoulders and arms.

  The smell alone made my mouth water. It was unusual to see warm food. There were a variety of different things on there, but I'm a bit familiar with what some of the foods were there on the table. They were the same food that was waved at me when some of the guards wanted to torture me by eating their food in front of me. It was grilled chicken, shredded beef, sandwiches, and blocks of cheese.

  There were various foods that I wasn't familiar with. There were other foods that were so exotic that I couldn't even describe them other than clouds sprinkled with red dust. It was like as if the heavens themselves were on the plates, as if the ones who got the privilege of eating it were favored by the gods themselves. A part of me wanted to partake in this feast — to get closer and to taste what it meant to be closer to one.

  My favorite out of every single thing here wasn't the expensive-looking hot meals or the one with clouds. My favorite was a sweet-smelling cup filled with a rainbow. My very first and only one was in the cell. One of the guards' lanterns spilled oil inside the cell. With the small amount of light, I saw something magical. It was one of the only times my mother genuinely smiled. There was a red fruit with a bright red stem that was stacked on top of the strange drink or dish. It shinnied brighter than anything on the table, even brighter than the silverware that was on the table. The shine and bright red made the fruit more appetizing than the rest of the food. I looked around and I knew there were others who wanted it, especially that one girl.

  A door swings open from the other side of the room. Expecting grander and better food, my mouth began to flood along with everyone else. To my disappointment and horror, that fantasy never came true. The normal guards pushed us to the corner of the room. It was barren as our cells with only the floor to sit. Bowls of the familiar brown and grey goo were brought to us. This is my usual one meal that I received growing up. It sloshed in my mouth and most days I had to force it down my throat. It was less preferable than the rats and insects that made their way to my cell.

  The "winners" from the chairs looked at the table as if they had already won. I suppose they saw the game, too. They stared at the guards and everyone else with such intensity, as if they were trained dogs eager to fight the second their masters to leave -- But their masters never left. In fact, they sat down at the luxurious table and ate the food there.

  They talked about their day. They groaned about their aches and horrible day they had with their boss. The party somehow erupted with laughter. They were laughing. None of the guards gave us a look, but everyone stared at them eat. As they greedily ate their food and drank their wine, none of us said a word. We just watched in silence with our stomachs speaking for us.

  My stomach was clawing at me. It was as if a beast were whispering in my ear:

  "That table. That dish... It deserves to be mine. That could be ours if we fight for it."

  If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  I look at the other people next to me. They're thinking the same thing I'd wager. I didn't need to hear the growls from their stomachs. I could see the desperation in their eyes. Hunger beckons them to action. It was a tense atmosphere that only few understood — The few who have only known hunger all their life and saw paradise in front of them.

  I see my favorite dish untouched. I prayed that it wouldn't be touched in the slightest. I wanted to know what that dish or drink tasted like. Seeing the glass sweat, it must be hot, but there isn't any steam coming out of it like the other dishes. Would it be cold then? How does that make sense? Perhaps it's because of the proximity of the drink to the other hot items.

  As if they read my mind, one of the guards grabbed the dish and a spoon. He scooped spoonfuls of the dish and ate it. With every bite, he licked the spoon clean until it shined brighter than the red fruit. Every bite the man took made me feel that much closer to despair.

  'That was mine,' I thought.

  I felt like this man did me more of a disservice than the old man with the whip.

  5. That's the number of scoops he took. And I will remember that.

  'I will watch him choke on his own blood first. I will make him know a hell,' I said in my mind to help cope with my misery.

  The kids next to me whisper to each other silently. I couldn't make out what they were saying. I looked down at my meal and tried to scarf down as much as I could stomach today. It felt like slime going down my throat. The taste was of concrete and rocks. It was bland and awful at the same time.

  As I gulp down my food, I couldn't help but feel a little bit more spiteful. It was nothing I could do but feel this way. I know I can't even act on it, but... I just can't help myself. What else am I supposed to feel after witnessing such a feast only to be fed this bowl of goo? Grateful? I may not own much, but my emotions, my feelings — It's all I have left.

  It wasn't long until one of them scooted closer to me. They tilted their head closer to my ear and whispered:

  "Hey, if we have to fight everyone else, do you want to fight with us? You won't be alone and whatever food you want will be yours."

  Seeing how there's only so much of that colorful dish still left after that man took most of it, I had to agree. It was the only choice. My mouth, stomach, heart, soul, mind, possibly even the ancestors of every generation before me, and any past life I had were all in agreement. It was an obvious choice that anyone would immediately say yes to. I gave the guards another look.

  The words that left me mouth stunned them, "No."

  Something feels off. Why would they want us to fight? To whose amusement? Was it for that? There wasn't another soul here, so what's the point of us fighting? For the entertainment of the guards? Looking at them and gauging them, they would want us locked up far away from them. We were the gum on their shoe, so why would they enjoy our suffering if they couldn't stand being in the same room as us?

  "I saw you sitting next to us. Your back must still be in pain. You are going to need help."

  "...I can't. I won't."

  "...Alright, but we are not sharing. Enjoy the slop in front of you."

  I continued eating my meal in silence. Did I make the wrong choice? Did I just choose to continue living this way just because I was scared? And scared of what?

  I don't know. I don't know and I just... What am I even hesitating for? Can't I just ask them one more time to take me with them? I can take back what I said. The drink or dish is still calling my name. I can get it if I just reach for their hand.

  Why am I so scared? I don't understand. I want to ask myself, but I don't have the answers. This is a no-brainer. Work with these guys and you'll have what you want. Am I scared of a catch?

  I'll watch them. I'll see how this plays out.

  The chatter stops on the other table. There wasn't another sound, not even silverware hitting the expensive plate. In the next moment, the chair's legs scrape the ground as the soldier stood up from the table. They wipe their faces and left everything that they didn't eat on the table. There was still more edible food than I had seen before today. They left platefuls of meals, and they even left my dish alone after those 5 bites.

  So why do I feel grateful that they left me that much? It's sickening, but...

  I had to have it. I must have it. This is my chance, right?

  The guards glanced over at us before they left the room. Just as the doors shut, a calm before the storm. No one moved. They each waited for one side to make the first move. We each exchanged a look of intense fury.

  Did they want us to kill each other?