text: “You built it right before... I did my best but-“ the cage swung softly from side to side. The men behind the wheels didn’t give the process a second thought. They lowered and raised cages, that was their job; what was in the cage was someone else’s job. Cleaning the cage was someone else’s job as well. Today under the blazing sun, I became what was in the cage and I prayed I wouldn’t be cleaned out of it. “The event will start once both cages hit the bottom of the pit,” the announcement echoed off the walls of the pit, followed by cheers from the lips of people who had nothing better to do with their day than to come to the market and watch a fool die. “Do you remember this? I finished it for you,” I whispered the words into existence and glanced at the opposite cage lowering beside my own. It held a man, which meant if people were betting, it would be for him. Women usually do not come out of the pit alive when they go in with men. He was glaring at me, ever since they closed the cage doors. I wonder what he saw. Was he scared? Maybe worried I was more than I appeared or was I just a fool standing between him and his prize. The cage touched the bottom of the pit and as he swung his door wide open I knew I would soon find out. “Come on out, don’t make this any harder,” He said. My fingers rested on the hot metal door and it squeaked as it slowly opened. His hand went out toward me and in another life I would think it was to help me, but I know why we’re here. I stepped out unassisted. “Do you have family?” he asked. “No, do you,” I replied and he gazed up at the top of the pit at a woman and two little boys. I took them in for a moment before the sight of zombies, with spray painted numbers on their chest, grabbed my attention as they were tossed in. He took a quick jab at my face. My head flung back. I stumbled for a moment. Cheers drowned out the sound of the zombies smacking into the ground. Some were still, killed on impact. Others crawled, spines shattered. And, then there were the ones that ran, unphased by the trauma. His boot connected with my gut and my body hurled back into the cage. The man grabbed me, like a butcher would a slab of meat, without care. He reached back and swung. Another jab to my face, there was blood, but from where I didn’t know. Another jab. More blood. He reached back once again preparing for another blow and then warm rain hit my face. I could see through my eye two fuzzy figures. “Oh God!” He shouted. I cleared the blood from my left eye. The right stung as I attempted to do the same. Only one of them was useful. It allowed me to see the zombie ripping into the man’s bloody arm. Flesh hung from its lips and instead of feasting on its victory, greed drove it to tear more. Grimy jagged teeth, with maggots jammed between them, ripped into the man’s open wound. They were huddled on each other, bent over the cage’s doorway. His fingers tightened around my shirt. I felt my body being dragged closer to the carnage, “Help!” He screamed. I touched the hot metal of the cage door, it was slick from the blood. I pulled it in as hard as I could, pinning them between the bars and the door. I stood up, shirt tearing underneath his grip and I slammed my boot down into the zombie’s neck. I raised my boot and slammed it. I raised it for a third time and then I felt it. The man’s bloody fingers warped around my ankle. “Please-“ So, I stomped down on him next. I kicked and stomped. Kicked and stomped until there was nothing but flesh and gore under my boots... and I kept stomping. It wasn’t until I felt arms pulling me from the cage that I realized they raised me to the top. There were cheers, boos from lost bets and tears from his family, but none of those things stood between me and my prize. People fought at the market table to buy supplies and zombies; some used them as pets, labor and slaves, “Well look at our little winner, so what do you want?” “I want a car and a zombie,” I said. “You get one prize for the pit,” he replied. “I killed a man and a zombie, that’s two deaths... one prize per death, those are the rules,” I said. “Zombies don’t count as a death,” he snapped back. “I just need an old car and an old zombie,” I said. The man combed his fingers through his thinning hair and sighed, “Alright, what kind of car? And, you can have one of the pit zombies.” “Don’t care what kind and I need number 87,” I said. “87? That’s a low number, I might not have it-“ “I went to four markets and they said you have the lowest numbers, can you check?” I pleaded. “Fine,” he said, “Just keep the collar on it or it’ll go rabid.” An hour later we were on the road. He said the car wouldn’t get me far but we didn’t have far to go. The tires rolled up the old driveway. I popped the truck to see you lying there, staring into nothingness. The bright green light blinking on your collar, keeping you simple and dull. It was one slow step after another until we were in the backyard. “You remember the birdhouse, Daddy? You were building it when...” I stopped and slowly loaded two bullets into the revolver, “ I finished it for you.