Beauty In Death [DreamNotFound]

chapter one

As if his heart was merely a damp cloth, it twisted, oozing carmine icor from the seams.

George was exactly where he didn't want to be.

Precisely 24 hours and 45 minutes ago, George had been counting, was when his heart sank down to his toes with fear after upon hearing those treacherous words escape the dry lips of the prime minister. He had walked in with his head of black, silk hair held high so that others would not notice the exhilarating trepidation gnawing at his bones. After all, he had not expected his name to be the one that was called.

Any sort of preparation in advance for the slim possibility that he could have been chosen, was not nearly enough to prepare for the fact that he was, as of right now, ripping himself out of his subconscious to scramble hold of any senses that were tingling in his over stressed frame of a body to recognise that he was, in fact, standing with his feet planted in the arena.

Stripped of everything besides his clothes, which consisted of a black t-shirt with sleeves that cut off just bellow the shoulders, tight fitted combat trousers, paired with fitted midnight boots and fingerless gloves wrapped around his precipitated hands, George had nothing but what remained of his sanity and natural instincts to hold onto.

And as a loud voice sounded over head, as if sliding past his ear drums and coiling inside his brain, he was reminded just of that. The need to survive, to eat, to drink, to find shelter, that's what would help him get through, that's what he needed to survive. George just hoped that was enough. This loud sound only agitated him more as it resounded across his consciousness as he gripped onto every word they said, trying to make sense of the situation.

"You have been selected by your district to take place in a once in a life time event" only then did George notice the other worried faces that surrounded him, each standing on circular platforms, like his own, all lined up in a ring facing a metal contraption in the centre of the dew'd grass, littered with weapons of sorts surrounding it. George's eyes widened as if he was staring at a golden ticket into willy wonkas chocolate factory. He tuned back into the loud speaker, "You are being watched by all four corners of the earth as you face a fearless battle of survival. In front of you are some resources we have provided, the rest you will have to work out by yourself. May the odds be ever in your favour and let the games... begin."

A heart beat had merely the time to pump through George's body before he was on his feet pounding towards the centre like a hurd of elephants, his shoes squeaking on the damp grass. His vision faltered at the sight of blurred dark figures running beside him all desperate to reach the middle as if their lives depended on it, and in fact, they did.

The screeches of other contestants cries dragged their nails down chalk boards as George reached the centre, hands fumbling with the pocket knife he managed to get his hands on, leaning over boxes of crates frantically searching for anything else. Out of the corner of his eye George noticed a figure coming towards him as he rapidly twisted his position to stare into two emerald green eyes before a blade painted with red blood sliced down where he was previously standing. Adrenaline corsing through his veins he pushed off from the crater and started running, running as far away as possible from the snake eyed man with the sword.

His boots thuded across the land, the soles gripping on for dear life as he tried to remain balanced, if only he could reach the forest and loose him in the trees. However he was hot on his heels. Arms flapping at his sides grasping for anything, anything at all, cupping at the wind if that would help to heave himself forwards and towards the sanctuary of the trees. He twisted his head to check over his shoulder to see the man chasing after him, his foot falls creating a rhythmatic pattern in the ground which sounded more like a macabre death march than a lullaby. As he continued to run he imagined he was sewing together his exodus, each step a thread and needle, stitching his demise.