T W E N T Y O N E
I stand there in shock, staring back at Ben, who looks like a deer in headlights. I don’t know how they could be so cruel. Of all the people they could pit me against, why did it have to be him?
The crowd seems to sense our connection—and they love it: they scream and holler as the cage slams shut with a bang. They place bets furiously, eager to see which one of us is willing to kill the other first.
Ben stands there looking so lost, so out of place. Our eyes lock, and we share a moment. His large blue eyes, so gentle, are tearing up. He looks like a lost little boy. I can already see that he would never lift a finger to harm me.
Before this moment, I was resigned to just go quietly to my grave. But now, seeing Ben here, caught in this same predicament, so helpless,
