Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Task 6 - Dolce Nettare (CC)

QUARTER-FINALS

Grass is something that should tickle and brush the ankles of a traveler, not cut them. Trees should offer the relief of shade, not bring someone afraid of the dark to the verge of dropping in the fetal position. Bushes, those were meant to hold bountiful fruits, juices that satisfy and delight, not play tricks meant to lure animals into sinking their teeth into sacks of poison. The sun? At that, Corradhin said "hah," for even that had abandoned him. He felt as though he could relate to the dimming sky. Their lights were burning out - but, like everyday, it'd be back full swing by morning. 

All I can do is hope my face doesn't swing up there, too. The anthem would be playing soon, and when it did, Corradhin considered screaming again. It was more relieving than he thought it'd end up being. He was just curious if it'd have the same effect this time, seeing since the day before it was an "unplanned" event.

Then again, hallucinations of a long lost friend hadn't been scheduled, either. None of it was real. I didn't kill him. Cadelon just wanted to throw me off guard, that's all...so I'd leave that Allium girl alone. A knot twisted in his chest and he clutched at his shirt, which stuck to his skin with a thick layer of sweat. Whenever he thought of stabbing the girl's eyes out, Beckett always managed to wiggle back into the picture. Except, that wasn't him. I know my Beck, and that wasn't him. Corradhin just wished his most recent memory of him hadn't been associated with such an event.

The boy was manipulated into something he was not. And that's all Corradhin needed to force his legs to move a few extra steps, further from the body of a mutilated Allium. Sure, maybe it hadn't been the best idea to go all bat-shit crazy on her corpse after the hallucinations left him alone, but hey, better he go off on something dead than something alive, right?

His stomach curled in on itself, and Corradhin was forced to stop. That henbane remedy is not doing good things to me right now. A palm found his stomach. Off came sweat along with it, unsurprising. It's been like walking through an oven since I got here. "Mind cranking down the heat?" He directed it at the sky, in hopes someone would have mercy on him.

He swore the temperature went up ten degrees.

"Yeah, okay, I'll quit complaining," he said. My circumstances are so desirable, how dare a lowly peasant such as I whine about the heat? A scowl meant to cross his face, but instead it became a wince, pain spiking in his gut. Expectations of vomit had been toying with him all day, and it was frustrating him to no end. Earlier, he'd attempted to purge up whatever was left of the remedy in his system, to no avail. It was rooted inside, clutching to the walls of his stomach with its teeth, and that's where it would stay until the acid broke it away and sent it through his digestive tract. Sounds lovely.

A sudden sense of restlessness washed over him, and he picked up his pace, ripping the grass from its place at times in order to get to the top of the hill he'd been climbing as soon as possible. He needed to move, or he'd be sick. And I know just how gross it is to watch a tribute throw up. Those ones usually die pretty soon afterwards. Let's not be one of 'em.

It was when the most pleasurable scent he'd ever experienced hinted beneath his nose that he forced himself to pause.

He took a moment just to drink it in, breathing deeply. Although it was obviously far off, it was strong, and begged him to come closer. He nearly did, before the small voice in the back of his head reappeared, logic held tightly in its little fingers. Don't go, it whispered, it's a trap. Don't fall for such wondrous things. Look around! Where are you?