Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Task 2 - When the Screams are Here (RQ)

So nice of the Gamemakers to give us flowers before we end up dead at the bottom of the ocean. Reed twirled a thriving rose in between his fingers, smiling softly as he ran his fingers over the delicate petals. Thorns pricked his fingers, but he paid no mind to the sting or blood dotting his skin. The flower seemed to shiver at his touch, petals folding in on themselves, shrinking.

Reed frowned. "Aw, don't be like that." When the rose failed to comply, he sighed, and gently placed the flower next to his leg. Guess I'm too cold for it to bear. Hey! Maybe it's like a superpower where everything I touch turns to ice! Filled with excitement, he placed his palms on the glass encasing him, practically bouncing on his knees. The rush of water passed on the other side, calm, but also pressing down against it. Like passive aggressiveness.

When nothing happened, Reed screwed up his face, pressing even harder, trying to force the magic out of his palms. C'mon, be like in the storybooks. Squinting, groaning, trembling arms. C'mon!

After a few more minutes of this, his arms fell slack to his side, and his face loosened up again. Disappointment settled in his gut. "Guess it's just not in me. Literally." He sighed, rubbing more sleep from his eyes, yawning. Since when was I so tired?

Something beside him let out a high-pitched whistle, like a kettle screaming for attention, and he leaned over to scoop the abandoned rose in his palm. The scream continued, and Reed winced. Shut up already! Look at me, am I whining like you? No, I'm not. I should be a role model, you naughty little flower. He poked and prodded at the flower, trying to urge it into stopping, or maybe get it to focus on something other than deafening him. But to no avail. Each second, frustration grew, until he was the kettle, and the top was blown off, tea blasting through the spout, hot, boiling.

Reed slammed the rose to the bed and crushed it with his foot, grinding it into the glowing white. The whistle quieted, but still continued. "Rargh!" he screamed, cutting it into pieces with his heel.

The assault on his ears ended, but a siege on his nose began. Garbage, feces, and skunk-spray all mixed into one intermixed with the air, so stinky he could physically see the smell, a green cloud bouncing against the glass bubble, ricocheting right back to him. He wanted badly to throw up, it was the most overwhelming feeling in his system, but he swallowed back the acidic bile. Coughs wracked his body as he leaned away from the stench. But he was trapped, and the disgust was trapped with him.

Oxygen was fading fast, and dizziness swirled in Reed's skull, rolling from one side of his brain to the other. He groaned again, pressing his forehead to the glass. "Get me out of here..." he squeaked.

He didn't expect a response.

To his right, he heard a shatter, like the shatter of glass. Hope flickered in his system. Could he be freed of this horrible stench, this glass coffin? Squinting through the darkness, he managed to catch sight of a figure being flung through the water by an invisible force, shards and shreds of fabric following his path. It was rudely interrupted by a rock wall.

Reed needed to break the glass. The thing was, he wasn't strong enough. Not to mention, he didn't know how to swim. I'm not the knight in shining armor anymore, he thought, a frown finding his face.

That's when something peculiar happened. A face emerged from the darkness of the waters, cheeks blown up like a puffer-fish, bushy brows furrowed in concentration. Reed scrunched his nose once he identified the tribute. I think I'd rather die in this stinky bubble.

Jack came in fast, gave a brief wave, and settled near the bottom of Reed's platform just outside the glass. The caterpillar grew an inch. Yikes. As Reed watched, he saw the tribute from Three wedge his fingers under an edge of the glass, a ledge of sorts. A latch? Yes, several latches were undone. Then, another hiss, much like the rose when it'd been crushed, and the bubbling of water filling the dome. Reed shrieked, scrambling back, only for his hands to splash into growing puddles. No, no, no, I can't swim!