Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Task 2 - When Blood is Drawn (TB)

Terence was elated. His chest bubbled with excitement, with euphoria, with a sense of, "This is where I need to be, right here, this is where I belong." He had waited years for this very moment. He'd trained for years for this very moment. He'd put this very moment at the center of his world, it was his one goal. To enter the arena. Now he had a new one: to get out of it.

The pedestal rose at a painstakingly slow pace for him despite only taking seconds to make it to the top. As it ascended, he swung his arms back and forth, jogged in place. Bouncing, even. Lights flashed as he rose, each one representing a second having passed. One, two, three, four....

He tried to think. There was nothing else to do until the timer would begin, anyway. But he couldn't develop a coherent thought, not one. They were all thrown together in one giant jumble of words and ideas, tumbling over one another as they fought to make it to the surface of his mind. Focus, Terence, focus. This'll be a piece of cake.

Terence was so focused on focusing that he had sent himself into a trance, still bouncing, and didn't notice when his head rose above the rim, he didn't notice when his large frame was drenched entirely in sunlight. The platform jerked to a stop and an audible click locked it in place. He wasn't ready for this, and in the middle of a hop he stumbled. His body tipped forward and he instinctively put his arms in front of him to take the fall. Wait, no. I can't fall. I can't fall, I'll blow up!  He dropped to a crouch immediately, pulling his limbs closer to himself as best as he could. His fingers grabbed the sides of the pedestal in a last minute attempt to save himself.

A blade of grass tickled one of his knuckles. He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. There was a snicker to his right. "Some Careers we have this year," the owner of the snicker said.

Terence shot the person a hard look. He recognized the tribute as the girl from Eight. Ty, is it? A malicious grin crept onto his face. He refused to acknowledge the fact that he had to force it on. You're gonna be the first cannon, I guarantee.

As he continued to stare daggers at her, evaluating her, something behind her caught his eye. He furrowed his brows at a wooden barrier. A fence. Splinters stuck out all along it, and the planks of wood seemed to be held up by nothing but flimsy nails and other random things like screws and twine. He stood up straight and tried to get a look at what was hiding beyond it, but he saw nothing. Nothing but grass, grass, and more grass. Are we closed in?

He looked behind him. Fence. To the left, fence. To the right again, fence. But straight ahead...now that was where he was taken aback. He might've fallen had he not had the same breath-taking experience before.

A house, no, a mansion, stretched across the expanse of grass forty yards away. There was no shimmering golden horn. Terence's stomach dropped at the thought of entering the old building, which looked like it would collapse any second, the shingles hanging on by nothing, the windows coated in a layer of dust so thick he could see it from where he stood. There is no Cornucopia this year. That's where we need to go.

He certainly wasn't expecting something like this to hit him. He expected a clear place to go, a clear object to put his sights on. There was no way there wouldn't be any weapons, they would all be in the house for sure.

Terence would get a weapon.

He bent down, prepared to run, prepared to fight. His stomach rose again, along with his mood. I can do this. It's just a house. Get in, get a weapon, get in the game.

The gong rang out and he was off.

The tributes had turned into waves, and they rushed towards the house like tsunamis. Terence was in the center of the ocean of humans. The water was blue right now, but in a few moments it would be dyed a deep red, perhaps by his own hand. He smirked.