The arena roars to live, their encourage and excitement deafening.
I am strapped to the bone, once again, wrapped in skin tight light blue leather, standing atop a podium along with six others and as I peer into the crystals zeroing in on each of our faces, to the people's utmost delight, I feel a nauseating churn in my stomach.
I don't even want to be here.
The rest raise their hands and chins, waving. And every now and then, the people take their names, changing with a crippling madness. Surprisingly, I hear mine. I just wished I had it in me to smile at them. Or acknowledge it. Or share even the tiniest modicum of their faith.
Because I didn't have any zeal in me to win. Exhausted is all I am.
