Battle Royale

Chapter One: They Kill the Pregnant Woman

A six months pregnant woman is standing next to her husband, parents and siblings. A group of soldiers tie their hands and feet. In my country, when someone breaks the rules, their relatives get punished too. Some decades ago, my family adopted the Kin Punishment. My grandfather is sitting, watching the show. His chair is made of gold and diamonds. My father is quiet, learning from him, as he was a boy writing down.

"People, this family broke the one-child policy. Since the Pain Olympics began, my ancestors forbid over one birth per family. These offenders had three children and hid them from the law. If we lose the Olympics this year, we would have to give water, food and oil to the winning nations, so we must take care of our natural resources. The punishment for their infringement is death," says my grandfather.

The people around the square cheer at his words, enjoying the show that is about to begin. I don't know when my country turned to be more violent than the Middle Eastern countries, the United States, North Korea or India. When I was a boy, women who broke the one-child policy had to have an abortion. These times are getting worse. Some men from the crowd are yelling hatred words, regarding the natural resources wasted for having over one child; blaming the woman and her husband.

"Grandfather is showing his bloody instinct after much time. Anyway, he is no longer the ruler he used to be. Our father must take the throne soon," my sister, Bentla, says, not showing emotions at the situation.

My mother is trying to cover my little brother's eyes. The pregnant woman is crying and begging for the life of her baby, not caring if she dies, just wants to save it. The women from the crowd suffer, seeing her sobbing, because they identify with her, but the fear is stronger than empathy. Some citizens are asking for blood. Nowadays, public executions are the most popular spectacle. Political traitors, army deserters and terrorists are the favorite victims. Some reporters arrive, ready to broadcast the bloody show. The Government Public Relations export the bloodiest executions to countries who enjoy watching misery and cruelty. An extra income for the country.

"War Minister, Enel, please quiet the prisoners. Get some tape or something to silent them," my father asks, as my grandfather watches him, proud.

Seconds later, one soldier puts tape on their mouths. I wish I could stop them. If I could make them slaves instead of killing them, but I am a coward who would never turn against his family and title. What a stupid thought. Slavery has been forbidden around the world since World War III. There is not anything else I could think of to save the woman and her relatives. Teardrops run down their faces, knowing they are already dead.

"It is time to end this. I've got not much time. War Minister, Enel, finish the punishment," says my grandfather, tired.

The maidens tie blindfolds on their heads, depriving their sight and increasing the fright. Maybe it is better for them, so they wouldn't notice the moment the soldiers shoot them. Then, two maiden undress the woman, but her underwear, showing her belly. Women from the crowd sigh, scared, asking the emperor forgiveness for her.

"People. This is a warning for everybody. If you break the rules, you may pay with your life. It doesn't matter if you are a pregnant woman. No mercy. Keep it in mind," says my grandfather. "Minister. Do it."

The soldiers get on the stage. They aim their rifles at the entire family. After hearing the signal from their boss, they shoot at the victims. A cloud of lead floats in the air after the metal rain ends. As the soldiers tied the family to a post, they didn't fall when they died. I see the blood running down their dead bodies from the holes of their limbs, heads, and body trunks. The only part they didn't shoot was her belly. Too late, the baby is dying soon. Her children will go to an orphanage. I wish my grandfather was dead instead of her.

"Take the corpses to the crematory and send the ashes to their relatives. Add two thousand euros per dead person," says my father to the soldiers.

If they killed the woman and her husband's parents and siblings, there are only a few relatives who would get the ashes. After the show, the soldiers keep killing other offenders. This is a circus for the people. It reminds me of the old coliseums in Roma. At least, the gladiators had the opportunity to defend themselves, unlike here.

"One day, you will be the emperor. Don't forget it. You must show the people who the boss is. Otherwise, they won't respect you," my father says, touching my shoulder.

He doesn't ask me for an answer, as he sees my worried face. Respect is not the same as fear. My grandfather is ruling with hate and horror. Perhaps my father will follow his example. I know that one day I will change it, showing the world that we can rule without pain. England, Spain, China, the United States, Japan, Nigeria and all the nations will follow my lead. No religion, no skin color, no sex. In the end, we all bleed the same color.