My feet carry me forward, up the ramp, and over the ledge. Below me are piles of razors and they all want something in common: My blood. Candidates run around me, some screaming, others enjoying the thrill of danger. The platform under my feet vibrates and it starts to fall apart. I jump and grab onto someone's back, feeling the sudden relief of being alive. All of us, each candidate, has been in front of death and survived. Only then, to be thrown into this underground Hell where we run from what gave us salvation.
Our razors.
People who want to give up and jump off the platform and into there doom, but others who want to live, like me, have to spend days running through the stadium, waiting for the next act to come up.
I've faced bullies.
I've faced razors and broken bottles and even empty pill bottles.
I will fight for my life and I will not give up. Just to my left a girl my age is taken down by a much larger boy. He slams her face into the ground and I cringe at the sound of her teeth shattering. I shake my head.
This is going to harder than I thought.