The Games

The Day of the Games

The world is decaying, and the only way to save it lies in the Games.

Every decade, the Games take place, each more grueling than the last. My city is enclosed by a towering 20-foot wall. No one enters, no one leaves-except for the guards and whoever they serve.

I was still tangled in sleep when my curtains were suddenly flung open. My dad stood there, grinning down at me. "Good morning, sunshine!" he teased, laughing as my face scrunched in irritation. I groaned, rolling over and burying my head beneath a pillow, my body aching from last night's intense training session.

"Nope, no hiding," he declared, yanking the pillow away and whacking me with it. "Time to get up. We've got more training to do before the selection ceremony."

"Dad, we trained harder last night than we ever have," I complained, sitting up to glare at him.

"That's true," he admitted, sitting down on my bed with a sad smile. "But I just want to be cautious... just in case they pick you."

I nudged him with my shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine. I've had the best teacher."

He sighed, standing up. "Fine, but don't get too comfortable. There'll be random challenges throughout the day-just for fun," he added with a grin before leaving my room, chuckling softly to himself.

Reluctantly, I got out of bed, took a quick shower, and pulled on my favorite jeans, hoodie, and, of course, my boots. My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn't eaten since training last night, so I headed downstairs to get breakfast.

I found my mom at the stove, humming as she cooked. Sneaking up behind her, I swiped a piece of bacon. "Morning, Mama," I greeted her with a sly smile.

"Morning, Kennedy," she replied with a knowing look. She'd seen the bacon theft. "Keep your hands out of the food, young lady," she scolded, swatting my hand with her spatula.

I winced, rubbing my hand as I went to sit with Dad at the table. He was waving another piece of stolen bacon at me in a mock victory. I rolled my eyes as he handed me a glass of orange juice with a smirk, kissing the top of my head.

But as I lifted the glass to drink, I paused. Something smelled off. The juice looked a little discolored, and I realized with growing suspicion what had happened.

"Dad... did you poison my orange juice?" I glared at him accusingly.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "You never know when someone might try it, Sarah," he said to my mom as she turned, raising an eyebrow at him. "She's been trained to detect poisons and make antidotes since she could walk. She's our daughter."

Mom hurled her spatula at him, hitting him squarely in the forehead. We all burst out laughing at his exaggerated expression of defeat.

"Now, tell me what poison it is and how to fix it," Dad said, rolling his eyes but clearly proud of himself.

I sniffed the juice again. Lavender. There was only one poison I knew with that scent. "Lavender venom," I said confidently. I scanned the kitchen, gathering the ingredients I needed for the antidote. Orange juice-Dad had already provided that. I plucked an aloe leaf from the plant nearby, grabbed some rosemary and ginger from Mom's spice rack, and mixed them together.

"You need orange juice, aloe leaf, rosemary, and ginger to make the antidote for lavender venom," I explained, and Dad nodded approvingly.

"Well done, Kens," he said, handing me a fresh glass of juice. The three of us sat down to eat, laughing and enjoying the morning as if today wasn't the day everything could change.

For the rest of the day, Dad tested me with surprise attacks and challenges, keeping me on my toes. But now, the moment had arrived. I stood in my room, staring into the mirror, nerves gnawing at me.

"Kens, are you ready?" Mom's voice called from downstairs.

"Yeah, I'm coming," I answered, pulling on my tight black leggings, a fitted black shirt, and, of course, my boots. Dad always said tighter clothes meant fewer things for someone to grab onto in a fight.

As I descended the stairs, reality hit me hard. This could be the last time I walk down these stairs. The last time I see my parents. The last time I hug them.

Sensing my anxiety, they both pulled me into a crushing hug. "You might get picked, Kens, but if you do, it'll be okay," Dad said, stepping back and holding my hand with a reassuring smile.

Mom wiped the tears from her eyes and forced a brave smile. "If you're picked, just know that we're rooting for you. You're strong, and you can survive anything they throw at you."

I nodded, trying to push down my fear as we headed to the ceremony. The entire city was gathered, each person standing in line by age. With one last hug from my parents, I took my place.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the selection ceremony is about to begin," a voice announced over the speakers. The crowd fell silent, everyone waiting in tense anticipation.

"Welcome to the selection ceremony. This year, we're choosing four participants-two boys and two girls."

A ripple of shock surged through the crowd. Whispers and gasps filled the air. Four? It was supposed to be two!

The announcer continued, undeterred by the chaos. "Yes, this year is different, and the Games will be full of surprises. Now, let's begin."

I searched the crowd for my dad. He didn't seem surprised. And that's when it hit me. He knew. He knew the Games would be different, and that's why he trained me so intensely.

"The first girl is... Izzy White."

A girl with long blonde hair slowly stepped forward, tears streaming down her face. A wail of anguish came from the crowd-her parents.

"The first boy is... Max Witt."

A boy with brown hair walked forward, his face unreadable. His little brother screamed, "Don't take my brother!" Max turned, giving him a hard look, as if promising to return.

Two down, two to go. My heart pounded.

"The second boy is... Atticus Knight."

A man with black hair strode to the stage, his face stony, hiding his anger. No one called out for him.

"And the final girl is... Kennedy Black."

My stomach dropped. My breath caught in my throat as I forced my legs to move, keeping my face blank just like Dad had taught me. I reached the stage and scanned the crowd until I found my parents. My mom was sobbing in Dad's arms, and he gave me a sad, tear-filled smile.

"Ladies and gentlemen, these are this year's participants," the announcer declared.

Before I could process it, guards stepped forward, placing black hoods over our heads and leading us away.

The Games had begun.

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