By the end of week three, I was starting to suspect the people who designed this place were either watching me for amusement... or genuinely didn't know what humans needed to survive. Or maybe both.
The Box came up again this morning—same loud grind of gears, same hiss of metal. At this point, I'd trained myself not to get hopeful. But still, like some desperate raccoon, I practically dove at it the second I heard it lock into place. And inside?
Supplies. Food, water, bandages. The usual. Plus...
A goat.
I stared at it. It stared at me.
It blinked.
"Okay," I said slowly, crouching down to get a better look at the poor creature. "I mean. Sure. Why not. A goat. You know what? At least I got something living that isn't covered in spikes and murder."
The goat let out a tiny bleat. Bark barked once and then promptly retreated behind a pile of crates like the useless little coward he was. Traitor.
"What am I supposed to do with you?" I muttered, heaving the grain sack out of the box and setting it down beside the goat, who was already investigating the edges of my shirt with very questionable intent.
I started hauling out the rest—soap, more towels, a handful of clothing in grey and khaki tones (was colour outlawed here?). A replacement toothbrush. A couple cans of beans. Bandages. An axe, which made me pause for a second. No note, no explanation. Just a shiny new axe tucked neatly beside a bar of soap.
Nothing suspicious about that at all.
By the time I got everything sorted into their various shelves, buckets, and cubbyholes, the sun had climbed high enough to toast the tops of the walls. My sweat was sweating.
The goat, who I had now begrudgingly named Susan, was munching on a corner of a cardboard box like she'd lived here her whole life. Bark gave him a suspicious side-eye from beneath the shade of a tarp.
Once the box was empty, I did my usual thing: grabbed the crumpled-up paper I'd kept in a tin, crossed out the items I'd gotten (a depressing number of zeroes), and scribbled out a new list:
Duct tape
Coffee
A mug that doesn't say "World's Okayest Survivor"
Books. Fiction, please. Preferably with a happy ending.
Something to write with that doesn't run out every 3 seconds
Dog treats (for Bark, so he stops glaring at the goat)
A mirror (because I don't know what I look like anymore and it's starting to get existential)
Coffee (yes, again)
A pillow that doesn't crunch when I lie on it
A new spine (mine hurts)
A flamethrower (optional. mostly.)
I folded the note and tucked it neatly into the small, rusting tray I'd figured out they used for returns or messages or... whatever system this place ran on.
Leaning against the edge of the Box, I let out a long breath and stared up at the slice of sky visible between the maze walls. It was cloudless, the kind of blue that felt fake. Like a ceiling painted in a dentist's office.
"Three weeks," I said aloud. "Three whole weeks. And now I have a goat."
Cheese bleated again. Bark gave me another look like, This is the hill we die on, huh?
YOU ARE READING
The First Runner
Fanfiction!!!Under going editing!!! What if the first person sent into the maze trials was a girl? What if that girl had sold her life away for a better cause? Jess woke up and found herself in a place she didn't recognize, surrounded by towering walls and n...
