Black Friday

The radiators were on, but inside I felt cold. We took the stairs down to the money floor as they
creaked and moaned under the weight of our bodies. There was no lift to stop the proles from
escaping. Through the dust covered window, a barren, desolate world could be seen. Nothing
existed outside on the very building I stood in.
The first throw was always the most expensive; we watched along as the proles clambered over each
other, often choosing death, rather than brawl everyone over paper notes that were known as
shouls. We looked over the railing down onto the bottom floor and cheered as we watched them
slaughter each other for money and the chance to join us at the top.
I never cheered. I was once one of them. Every month, a prole moves up to live with the aristocrats.
We all vote for who we want to move up; most people vote for the strongest fighter or the smartest
person, but I always voted for Clyde, he got me to the place I am in now.
It was Tuesday, three days away from the voting day. I gently crept out of my apartment on the top
floor and made my way down the corridor. The thick carpet softened my steps making it easier to
leave. I could hear the other aristocrats socialising at the bar. I made my way down the steps as they
cried out for help and made my way to the bottom floor. To the proles. They should all be asleep by
now, except one. I walked across the blood covered floor from last Friday and into the halls of the
proles; there were two halls, female, and male. Clyde stood outside the male halls waiting. His face
had scars and fresh cuts scattered all over, his clothes were ripped and so dirty the original colour
was almost non-existent. His hair was overgrown and his face unshaved. His feet were bare on the
cold, tiled floor. Bumps and cracks were dispersed across the wall. Inside the halls, people were
spread across the floor on hard mats. Thin sheets were shared amongst them. The smell from the
toilets hung in the air. Food was splattered on the floor and walls and blood trickled down from
peoples cuts and stained their sheets. There was no exit out of the building, and no one could escape
from this place which was equivalent to hell. People were forced to reproduce to keep our race alive
and their children would be forced to fight for money from the age of five. People carved weapons
out of anything they can find to give them an advantage every Friday. People were so desperate to
leave this hell hole that they found many innovative ways of killing and catching more money. The
richest prole could bribe the aristocrats to vote for him meaning that he would escape the bottom
floor and live a life full of luxury and freedom. If you were lucky enough to be born into rich, you
would never even travel to the bottom floor, you wouldn’t know what’s it like to work for luxury.
Clyde and I crept up the whimpering stairs and made our way to my apartment. If anyone found out
that I helped him, I would be shot and so would he. I gave him a knife for protection and to give him
an advantage. It would probably be stolen before Friday or used by someone to end their own life.
Clyde left after finishing his food and I was left alone.
I walked to the bar ten minutes after him leaving and saw Charles and Daniel. They were sitting on
two leather armchairs drinking gin in black, ceramic glasses. I sat on the bar stool and ordered a gin.
“Brennon”
I swivelled on the stool and turned to face them. Their threatening eyes were somewhat welcoming.
I picked up my gin and felt the coldness seep into my fingertips. My body sank into the armchair as I
sipped my gin.
“Who are you voting for this”
“Number 45.” I shouldn’t have said that. They were starting to catch on. Jovi was considered the
most important person; he was the leader. Jovi pushed himself of the armchair. His shirt untucked
and his blaver creased. His hair fell below his ears and his legs dragged along the floor. I was left
alone to my thoughts. I took another sip of my gin. The taste bitter but satisfying. On the table
beside me a cigarette packet lay next to me. I reached in and felt the roughness of it on my hand. I
reached into my pocket for a lighter and watched as the cigarette begin to light. I took a puff, and
the warm smoke filled my mouth. I exhaled and watched the smoke float into the air, disappearing a
few seconds later. I tilted my head back and had the last of my gin. The cigarette still in my hands I
stood up and the walked down the hallway to my apartment. One last puff of the cigarette. This
time I kept the smoke in my mouth for longer, appreciating the warmth in my mouth and the
tingling of my tongue. I tapped it on the ashtray and left it to burn. The door to my apartment
closed. My blazer slid of my shoulders and on to the hook and I undid my belt and pulled down my
trouser. My shirt was left on the floor, leaving it to crease. I put on my vest and sank into my
mattress. My eyes slowly shut as I drifted into my thoughts.
Friday had come. Jovi led the line down to the money floor. We lent over the railing and saw the
proles waiting. Some were already fighting, some dead. I looked around for Clyde. His hair stood out
in the crowd. Its golden tingle was easy to spot in the crowd. The first money was thrown. The
money floated down, somewhat gracefully. Noise erupted in the building. Screams of pain, anger,
and desperation echoed of the walls. The second money drop. The aristocrats cheered as more
screams erupted. I saw Clyde was still doing well. He had the knife in his hand and was stuffing his
pockets with shouls. The third and final drop was done. Only a few people stood. Most had rushed
into their halls and the tiled floor began to show. Blood was splattered across the floor and the
bodies of the dead lay, motionless. The fighting had died down and we made our way back up the
stairs and into the bar for the vote. Twenty of us each sat in leather armchairs began to vote. We
wrote down on a piece of paper which number we wanted to move up. I stared at the blank piece of
paper. I picked up my pen and help the piece of paper in the palm of my hand. I scribbled down 45,
folded it, and put it into the hat. Jovi picked up the hat and began to order the pieces of paper into
piles. I saw 45. The pile began to build up and I watched intensively as the number 45 was beginning
to show more and more. The voting was over. There were two piles that looked equal. 45 and 36. Jovi
began to count. The room was in silence as Jovi put one pile down and picked up the other. The
smell of smoke hung in the air as the second pile was placed down onto the table. Jovi stood up and
began to talk.
“After today’s vote, we have decided that number 36 is going to join the aristocrats”
The taste of gin filled my throat as I leaned my head back in my armchair and stared at the ceiling.