World Beyblade Organization by Fighting Spirits Inc.

The lights were dim, but bright enough to reflect off the polished marble floor. White walls, medicine smell, and horrible food; what else do you expect from a hospital? This had been the second month my mom had been here. Day by day, her face paled and her state grew worse. Countless times had the doctors asked me if I had anyone to take care of me, only to hear my ‘no’. Mom couldn’t… die. Not yet, no.
It had been the same exact routine today: wake up, get dressed, and go straight to the hospital. I would eat breakfast there, and usually all they had were dusty-dry eggs and too-burnt pancakes that my mom refused to eat. But I’d usually sneak in some bread rolls for her, because they wouldn’t allow me to bring them.
I clicked the button on the remote, and the small television set hanging above the bed came to life. Same old boring news cast that reported to the fifteen old people lying on their couches with nothing better to do. And with that, I changed the channel, scouting for cartoons or a movie. For a flicker of a second, I could see two spinning tops clashing against each other in an oversized bowl. But it left as quickly as it came, leaving a taint of nostalgia behind.
6 months; half a year ago. That’s the last time I could remember playing with those. It wasn’t hard to adapt to the change of lifestyle I was forced to make. In with the new, out with the old, I guess. It’s not like it matters anyways, right?
So I continued browsing through the 80 or so channels they had available, stopping at an old western themed movie. The quality was grainy and the protagonist was a stupidly dressed cowboy riding a horse. While I watched the surprisingly interesting movie, my mom made a raspy cough, followed by more. Soon, the attentions of the nurses were drawn to the room. About two nurses and a doctor crowded her bed, talking to her soothingly.
The screen next to her bed made longer ‘beeps’ with every second that passed, and the green line grew flatter. My heart sank at the feeling that crept up to my brain. What if, what if mom died? Dad’s nowhere to be found, with the possibility of him being dead, and I’m only 14. What’ll I do if she does die?
I shook my head. I need to stop thinking about it; I’ll only get more stressed. I tried to look at her face, tears welling up in my eyes from her paling face. Maybe it was time. Breathing heavily, I choked up some words.
“Mom… I-I love you,” I finally said, as she just barely smiled at me. The doctors continued to examine her, trying to help her live. The green line on the monitor was nearly flat now. She tried to say something, but a long ‘beep’ interrupted. And she slumped into her bed, unmoving and still.
“Mom?” I said, tears flowing into my mouth. Why was I even asking? She was gone, no matter how many times I cried or begged. How would I live, or pay for a home? I’d lost my mother, and everything I had.
And then suddenly, and idea struck me; a crazy, idiotic idea. What if, what if I could find dad? But… how? I could barely think straight with the rush of emotions and tears. And it hit me. Get on national television, and he’ll be sure to see me. Plus, I’d get money from advertising or some sort of prize. Now only to think of how.
* * *
The bus ride home was a tear-filled, thought-provoking one. While my shirt was getting soaked with emotion, my brain made a list on how to get myself on TV. I didn’t possess any skills that could do the job, and my goal started to seem unrealistic and impossible.
I walked to the front of the house, and opened the front door. The house seemed so… empty. I walked across the hallway to my room to get some supplies, and I could see Koko trailing behind me. I turned around to pet him on the head, his thick coat of fur going in between my fingers. It looked like he was chewing on something, and I was proven right when he dropped something on my shoes. I picked it up using the bottom of my shirt, careful not to get dog-saliva on my hands. It was a top, a Beyblade to be specific. I tried to make out the parts; but it was difficult. The metal was scratched, the clear wheel so chewed up you couldn’t tell what it was, the track too small to measure, and the bottom halfway broken. But, it was something.
Something to get me on television. Even if I had to force myself to do it, I would. One step closer to dad.
“Come on, Koko,” I said, my heart ablaze with joy. “It’s settled; we’re going to become Beyblade champions.”

The opposition stared at me, I didn’t blame them. I gave myself that exact same look. That look which was backed up by a sandwich of embarrassment, self-empathy and that manipulative attitude. Each contact between beys flew past my eyes unmercifully. The destruction from one little girl occurred in my brain at an inapprehensible manner. Thrusting yet another blow to my head, not even self-harm could wake me up from this utter domination. Touch after touch, special techniques shattered beys that previously stood arrogantly. How many more hearts must be slashed before my opportunity may be revealed?

I turned away, to wipe away the substance that separates oneself in a social group. The hundreds of slaved bladers here all shared the same pain, but without the shame. Their losses here wasn’t a peculiar one, their losses here was in fact so standard, it was the social group. A sound vibrated against the muscle in my ear, it was a new one, similar to that of metal wheel snapping, but not quite as sinister. Mimicking the owl, my eyes traced the launcher grip that bounced concrete.

“Pathetic. Why am I still waiting for round two?” came in a whine from one little brat. The response came as everyone expected it, in a stutter:

“My lady, the paralysed bodies are too much for the local hospitals. A short pause is necessary for training to continue,” announced Butler.

Little girl Izzy let another yelp rip. The covering roof was going to come down at this untameable rate.

Number seventy-three in the queue to battle Izzy dropped. Fainting before inevitable defeat wasn’t peculiar in this stadium. However, I caught sight of a stream of blood wiggle down the side of the queue before being engulfed in the shadows. Seventy-three was physically attacked. I examined the boy, only to find one rusty iron bolt indented in his scalp. The stadium’s crumbling was as inevitable as the children’s dreams being utterly crushed.

Three weeks ago Izzy allowed something unthinkable to happen; bladers of Otusima village were to be forced to battle her, in order to find one that could match her alienated blading technique. If no soul were to reveal an aptitude like so, the bladers of Otusima were to all drop to their feet in the city’s stadium. Izzy promised the fate of all the bladers if it were not to attend. I did attend. I questioned the timing to approach her, and as I tapped my temples for an answer, yet another bolt dropped on yet another blader.

The cape that clinched onto my neck brushed passed all those I hacked in front in the queue. She was still in a tantrum, and I was going to wait for her to calm: “Pick up your launcher you fool”. The stare she gave me was the same, it hadn’t changed for three years – The same “how dare you, I am the queen!”

“Who do you think you are? Actually, let me tell you – You are a man who isn’t qualified to approach me with such vocabulary” she grunted like a non-surrendered prisoner. “Guards, remove this scum from my atmosphere”.

“Sister, you haven’t changed the slightest, your bi-polar attitude continues even when father has guided you in the right direction?” My words came out in sync with yet another teardrop. Her expression changed completely, as her brother, she still does not forgive me.

“You shut up! Brother, you will learn, I will do what I wish”, her gold-plated chunk of metal locked into position, this tug at the launcher had her true potential in it. However, her fate was loss, it has already been decided.

“Go Shoot!” we yelled... Three more bolts let go of its’ socket, three more civilians dropped, no more are to drop.