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When your mother drops you off in the middle of the underworld and say kick their butts, you think of the crazy term: lunatic. Instead think of an image of a skinny, red eyed, I am so shy girl and her mother. The girl knows that this bleak, bitter and cold area around her is called many names, but only one name suits it: The Devil’s Game. A game of sorrow and sadness.
The mother leaves the girl and goes to the light side. The side of friendship, love and humanity, but yet leaves her for the devil. Facing the fact she is alone, she goes deeper in the deadly darkness. Deeper, deeper, deeper into the pitch black she walks. Sweat falling from her brow like a milk spill. Then she finally saw the beings of darkness. Demons.
They had black scales that shined like shiny pieces of metal you leave on a hot humid Texas summer day. Their claws hooked over to look like fangs, as their smell was like rotten gym socks. Their eyes were red like glow sticks as they looked at another group with the thought of kill. Of course she was one of them to. If she looked in a mirror she of course had the killing instinct in her eyes. She has tried to hide it, get rid of it, but it always stayed like a stain. She wished that the stain was gone, but it grew bigger and more blood filed that stain that day.
“TWEET!” The loud lingering bell sound rand as she covered her ears. “LINE UP ON THE LINE!” The tan muscular man with the deafening bell yelled at us ‘demons’ as we ran to the line. The line was the boundary of the underworld. To me it looked like the man, no the head demon, was just torturing us with the light side in front of us.
Tempting it was to cross it you couldn’t, you would either get griped at or even the worst punishment in humankind. Getting grounded. Yeah I said grounded, but I was ten so deal with it! We all lined up on the line, ready for the ref with that annoying whistle to call out our names. When the ref finally came he called each of our numbers we had on our shirts, but to my perspective it was an I.D number to a prison.
“Is 19 here?” The ref looked over his clipboard while he checked some people off. “Yes sir! My name is Ariel sir!” I yelled back briskly before I would get into trouble. “Alright then, is number 25 here?” He continued on. I would have paid attention, but the sea of red eyes was targeting me out of my team for a second. In a blink of an eye it shifted to my teammates. In my head I knew what was going on; the enemy team was checking to see who was a threat. They saw me as the weak and scrawny brown haired girl that was shy, but in the game I was really a killer.
I then noticed that one person was staring me down. I looked at the person who was watching me and saw that it was the one person I despised in the world. Jasmine Yeal. Picture a snake wearing lipstick with a bully of the month award and you got Jasmine. She had black frizzy hair with a mischievous smile she wore. Midnight blue eyes that held the word kill, with a tan shade of skin that looked like she was a prankster. You could say I hated her, but in my religion I can’t say hate, so how about dislike.
When the ref was done checking us off we headed to the demon known as coach. The shallow shadow color of his eyes told you to win or else. He made sure that we knew our strategy of attack, the attack of blood. His broad expression would strike fear into to the heart, if you had one. When he was talking I noticed his shadow behind him seemed to get bigger and glow! With a shocked thought to in my mind I see that all of our shadows were shadows of anger, pain, sorrow and misery.
The clouds were cloudy and demonic, as the whistle blew again with a tweet tweet tweet. Singling the players to get onto the field and into their positions, but before I even stepped onto the field my heart and body stopped. If I stepped onto that cursed field all of the agony I has faced would increase ten-fold! Most importantly of all I would have to rely on that killer instinct and fight to the death in this smaller version of the Roman Coliseum.
I took the fields of misery with courage. I hoped that I would not snap and the ‘thing’ that every person does when you step on the demon game field eventually does, but is hard to keep inside. I ran with my 3 other teammates to the outside right defensive spot in front of the goalie keeper in the goal. Then the whistling whistle rang as the soccer ball went across the field with burning intensity. Left and right people were passing, shooting and running like mad.
Jasmine then came up to Mica, my defensive teammate and elbowed her with a swift kick to her foot. She fell like a pegged fly with a bang bang CRASH! The ref called a foul, but for the other team! That was illegal and non-sportsmanship like. I could see that Mica was badly hurt when she cried softly.
This always happened when Jasmine that humanity losing demon does to the people she thinks are weak. She loves seeing the broken shells of what was crumble to dust with pain. That was just what this devil’s game was. A game to the watchers was just a friendly game for fun, but in reality it wasn’t. To the players it was to see wins, to break their bones, see them cry, watch them crumble; suffer, to lose all emotion of happiness, to turn into a demon and to fuel their desire of blood red in their eyes.
As the game went on Jasmine kept on cheating and knocking us down. That sneaky snake slithering her way to victory by fouling in foul play was wrong, but Jasmine was stronger, faster, and ice cold than anybody else I knew. She was not a human, but a demon on the field.
I called for the ball when I ran up the line wide open. My teammate saw my call and passed it with a swift kick dodging a fatal mistake. I ran dribbling a ball down field with a brisk pace looking and thinking of a strategy of attack. If only I passed or didn’t call it at all none of this would have happened.
I heard a cry of here to my left open, but when about to hit Jasmine appeared preparing to attack me. I dodged her by rolling the ball with the top of my right soccer cleat to the right catching her by surprise. I ran more to the goal when Jasmine ran in front of me and pinned me in the corner of the box near the corner kick flag. I tried my best to defend the ball in the corner yelling for the help of my teammates when Jasmine decided she had enough of me guarding. Jasmine eyes turned from her usual shade of midnight blue into red eyes, as her roundhouse kicked me in my kneecap.
I heard something in my knee shatter as I screamed in my head. Agony and pain swept through my body feeling the mighty throb of the kick. My teammates saw this and were shocked that Jasmine did something so low like that. Then I heard a chain breaking in my head covering the only thoughts I had into the demon that lied in my very being.
The demon inside me I have tried for years to keep under lock and key broke through the chain and barrier. I smirked with a devilish smile as I ignored the probably sprained left knee or worse. I turned around with the ball and rammed into Jasmine. Jabbing her side with my elbow hard and sweeping her off her feet with my right leg hearing her take a hard thud.
My eyes were blood red filled with anger and rage. I truly had lost my humanity and finally had the eyes of a demon. I felt hatred from her hurting Mica; always teasing me thinking I was weak, but not anymore! The human shell of my former self was gone! It was replaced with the burning intensity, thought to kill. I was now one of the beings in the game. A real demon on this cursed devil’s game.
Jasmine was shocked with surprise of what she comprehended. She realized that I had won the battle as she cried like the people she shattered. From that moment I knew that she was fragile in this forsaken game, as the color in her eyes drained to a shattered broken human color. She was not a true demon, I was.
Everyone was shocked at what just happened. People thought that I was the shy girl always getting picked on from the herd, but now some of my teammates shuddered with cold hard fear. They took the shattered Jasmine and me off the field to the benches.
When I sat down the game picked up again, but not with much enthusiasm. It dawned on me what I had done with my anger. I didn’t know why I did it! It just came out like a wave of disobedience to my mother, my soul and me! I felt guilty that I gave in to the demon inside. I cried softly from the pain and rage that had consumed my eyes.
“Tweet tweet!” The whistle called the end game. I blinked once with regret in my eyes as I walked to the sideline. I felt so mortified when I walked while people were muttering and pointing at me with horror like I caused the Great London fire or something. I was mourning over my lost of humanity that vanished into thin air.
I shaked the other girls hands with annoyance that they had the nerve to foul us, but quaked in fear at the slightest touch of me. We lost the game because of one foul, but I didn’t care. I won the battle, but lost the war in the devil’s game arena. I was no longer a human when I crossed the line into the ‘light’. The light didn’t exist anymore for me. I wasn’t a human, but a genuine demon now. All there was now was the sin of my fault haunting me forever into my dreams and memory.
I couldn’t cry now or try to show any signs of depression, because I no longer had a heart of gold, but of a heart of cold. I might have left the devil’s game for now, but that place would never leave me. I remember a quote that has perfect meaning of my suffering. The quote was, “When something is truly lost, you can never get it back.”