The contest was over and as the guards dragged Richard’s war torn body off the field, all we could do was to sit there in silence. He disappeared into the darkness, leaving a trail of blood that gushed from his wounds. I stared at the blood-spattered floor of the arena, while trying to take in what had just happened; I sat there for some time, thinking about my battered brother and how much pain he must have been in. I was oblivious to everything around me, until Maria finally got my attention by tugging on my arm and telling me that we were leaving.
The six of us were escorted from the arena still somewhat troubled by what we had just seen. Michael and I decided that we would check on Richard, since he had looked to be seriously wounded after his encounter with the two Unluckys and possibly needed our help. Even though he won the fight, the end result might not have been in his favor, and the way they took him off the field, it seemed that he would be tossed to the side once he was out of sight and left to die. The girls decided that instead of going with us to check on my brother, they would go back to their rooms. They went one way and we went downstairs to find the backstage area (assuming there was one).
Sometime later, we were wandering down a dark hallway that was somewhere in the back of the building, still trying to find an entrance to the backstage area, and by this time I was ready to admit that we were completely lost. It was a hard to see anything at times, since the only thing that gave off any form of light were the twenty-five watt bulbs that continued to flicker on and off.
The hallway we found ourselves in was huge; it was large enough that a semi-truck could easily pass down this hall. With each flicker of the light, it would temporarily illuminate the surrounding area, allowing us to see the old brick walls that comprised the hallway, and how it had been neglected for many years. The once white paint was peeling from the walls, but oddly enough the floors appeared to be freshly cleaned. It gave us a feeling that we were in an old psychiatric hospital from the 1950’s or 60’s.
We moved up through the eerie passageway for a few more minutes. At that point, I had begun to wonder if any form of life had passed along these passageways in the last decade or so. Michael eventually stopped dead in his tracks and questioned if I had any clue where we were heading.
I told him that I wasn’t sure, but I thought that we were heading in the right direction. He and I agreed that we would go up ahead, for a bit longer. If there were no signs of life, I’d head back in the direction from which we came.
Just when I was about to turn around and head back, I saw a figure that was nearly concealed in the shadows. He seemed to be mopping, but why would anyone be cleaning way out here? Michael and I moved on farther, until we came up to the person. He was an older man, dressed in a dingy grey jumpsuit. The worker was surprised to see us as we walked up to him.
I asked him where the backstage entrance was. The man paused for a moment and just stared at us. Eventually, he pointed us in the right direction—somehow we over shot it and walked right by without noticing the entrance door.
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