Story (Currently untiltled) -

[b]Author's Note: Any ideas for the title will be appreciated. I'm entering this in a contest, so any help for grammar and the like would also be appreciated. And as of this writing, it's imcomplete.

Enjoy.[/b]

He could feel it. A cold feeling crept down his spine the moment just before he got hit by that green car. It wasn’t a feeling of fear, but the icy stare of death. If there was anything that he wanted now, it was to not die. This couldn’t happen to him. Today was his day. Today was her day. Sadness coursed through him as he realized that he would most likely die on his wedding day.
With feelings of sorrow, fear, and anger mixed with the kiss of death, the would-be groom, Brian O’ Donnel, was murdered on his wedding day because of a drunk driver. This is not a story of how his bride, Stacy White, felt because of this, but a story of what was happening to him after his untimely death.

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“Ugh…” Brian mumbled as picked himself up from the dirty asphalt of a city road. He turned around to see his body being pulled out of his car by a group of paramedics. “What the hell is happening?”
“Well for starters, I would be acting a bit more pleased if I were you,” started a male voice. The man was cocky, which could be told by his tone of voice. “It’s lucky that you were given a second chance at living.”
Brian, who hadn’t even come to the realization that he was dead, until the nameless man had told him, could only say this: “I’m dead?”
“Well whose body do you think those paramedics are dragging from the burning wreckage of your car crash? Your long lost twin?” retorted the man’s voice.
“So I’m seriously dead,” Brian, who was facing the news of his own death surprisingly calmly, began to speak. “I assume you won’t mind if I ask questions.”
“Mind? I expect it. Every person who ends up in this state wants to ask questions,” replied the man. “So shoot.”
“For starters, what’s your name?” began Brian, “And what’s going on?”
“My name is Valens, a proctor of the Tournoi de la Undead, or the Tournament of the Undead in your own language, to answer your first question. As for your second, that’s a little bit harder. When somebody is killed in completely unfair circumstances, such as yours, it just so happens that if they’re nice enough they can actually become immortal. So, if you want to see your girlfriend again, I suggest you take advantage of that chance!” answered Valens.
“So my death is the ticket to immortality? Ironic,” grinned Brian, “But hurry up and tell me. I want to get married. I want to see Stacy.”
“Fine, fine. Here’s the deal: You’re going to have to take upon a task that few have ever been able to pass,” Valens decided to change the strangely light-hearted conversation about the death of Brian to a more serious tone.
“And that task would be?” Brian wanted answers. He didn’t particularly like not being able to get married.
“Kill the others who were chosen. It’s that simple,” Valens replied oddly calm for what the circumstances of revival were.
Brian never really liked killing, and he definitely hated physical movement. He wasn’t fat, in fact he was rather skinny, but that didn’t change his opinions on doing work. “So you’re telling me that I’m going to have to kill people – people who have never done anything to me – just to live again?”
“Well it’s not like they aren’t dead already. Mind you, they’re in the same situation as you are. This is their shot to get back the life that they lost,” Valens explained.
“When does the fighting begin then?” Brian asked, “I want to be prepared.”
“Honestly?” Valens began as a smile cracked on his face, “Now.”
Darkness began to swallow the inner city road where Brian met death. A cold chill took over the warm summer air, to Brian’s dismay, as he never really liked the cold.
Suddenly, a figure came out of the ground. “Is it a man?” Brian thought to himself, “No, it isn’t a man. Or at least, I think it isn’t. It’s the shape of one, but it’s just white. Like a giant lump of snow.”
The figure soon began to take color as it began to morph into a more defined shape. The figure turned out to be a middle-eastern looking man. Tall, and with a build that made him look like he belonged in a body building championship, Brian was horribly outmatched. The man, not wanting to let Brian get an advantage, began to charge through the dreary black landscape, right at Brian.
The man was closing in and fast, as his hand balled up in a fist. Brian was horribly intimidated at the very prospect of fighting somebody who appeared so ready to kill, was near frozen in his place.
“I have to move!” Brian thought. But his legs simply wouldn’t comply in time. A fierce blow struck his cheek and knocked him to the ground.
“Dammit!” cursed Brian. He looked back towards where he fell from and saw his opponent gearing up for another charge. Brian’s legs were definitely moving now.
Brian had an advantage in speed, thanks to good instructions in running form from his high school track coach, but the other man was obviously much more powerful. The battle was between a scrawny white boy against somebody who could very well have been trained to kill some of his friends that were overseas serving in Iraq.
“For now, just run,” Brian though to himself, “Just run until you can think of a way to defeat him.”
The ceaseless pattern of the lumbering foreigner charging and the small white boy dodging his attacks was having effects on both parties. Several minutes went by and neither of the two men were going to be able to keep up the game of cat and mouse for much longer.
That’s when in struck Brian. A plan, though it had many flaws, was probably his best – and only – bet. The man came charging once more, and Brian stood his ground. Counting the seconds that went by in his head, Brian jumped out of the way right before the other man hit him. Before the middle-easterner had a chance to turn around, Brian flung himself onto the former’s back and began to strangle the man.
Farsi curses echoed through the blank fighting arena as Brian hung on for dear life whilst the other man was swinging his body around in an attempt to prevent himself from being strangled.
In the end, all of the Farsi speaker’s efforts were in vain, as Brian slowly took the last drop of life from his body. He had never killed anybody before and his only consolation was Valens’ words that kept on echoing through his head: “Well it’s not like they aren’t dead already.”
The black surrounding turned back to where he was before. The scene of Brian’s accident was now surrounded by tow trucks instead of the Ambulances that were there before he had begun to fight. Strangely, the most familiar thing in this thing was Valens.
“I though you were a goner for sure,” joked Valens, “That man could’ve snapped your spine had you given him the chance.”
“Why are you joking with this? I just killed somebody!” Brian was nearly at tears, though he knew the truth. They were already dead as was he, and this was merely a contest to see who would earn the right to live once more.
“You want to see your would-be-wife again, don’t you?” started Valens, “This is your only shot at it.”
Brian, who hadn’t even though of Stacy lately, began to cry at the though of what she might be going through. He was causing so many people pain! What must have happened to that middle-eastern man to make him achieve the same chance that he had, Brian did not know. All he did know was that he was hurting people right now, and though unintentional this was what was happening. And he didn’t like it one bit.
“You have two hours to rest,” explained Valens, “And after that you fight again. If you lose, you’re gone forever. If you win, well you get to be immortal.”
“And how many fights will it take for me to win?” asked Brian.
“Well, you’ve already won one. So that leaves about another four,” informed Valens.
“Ugh…” Brian mumbled a string of curses under his breath. “I don’t really like fighting.”
“Think of it this way – you’re fending off the living dead!” Valens tried to cheer Brian up, but to no avail.
“What, the living dead fighting the living dead?” Brian joked, “Makes so much sense!”
“Whoever said that this made sense?” questioned the proctor, “Mind you, you’re pretty much breaking the laws of the universe right now so I wouldn’t be too picky if I were you.”
Brian sighed, “Well, do you have any food?”
“Follow me,” commanded Valens.
The pair began to venture towards the inside of the city. They arrived at what looked like the type of old, beaten-up warehouses where Drug Dealers meet at in movies. The inside was no different. Graffiti was everywhere and the only thing that could possibly be its saving grace was the fact that it had food, and Brian was hungry after his fight.
The food was a bit out of place for where it was being cooked however. The smell of fish and steak meat was obviously being cooked with the combatants of the Tournoi de la Undead in mind.