Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Task 4 ~ Imogen's Amazing Race (IX)

WONDERLAND - 4

Wasted paint, flaked away. Splintered boards, battered. Shards of glass, they rained down with the anger of a deceived army. A warzone, they called it. A girl sat with her arms tied behind her back, awaiting the crimson to spill over the horizon to paint the sky red with those that had wronged her. The clash of swords and screams of agony drifted to her place at the bottom of the river, and although she should've been filled with fear - she smiled.

Imogen narrowed her eyes as she stared on at those around her. A dozen of the other tributes, she estimated, rolled about on their stomachs, groaning as they tossed up whatever food was left in their systems as the rock of the ship rolled their insides around. To those unaffected by the steady bob, they growled and cursed when their efforts to pull the ropes apart with their own sheer strength alone failed to work. Any plans of her own failed to break through the wall of frustration in her mind.

Yeah, yeah, keep grunting, Cinnamon boy. I'm sure that'll make the ropes loosen just to get away from you.

Oh, Elijah, tugging your hands behind your back won't make your god-like body useful.

Poor Mel. If only your tears were acidic.

Garlic. Sitting there and staring off into space won't accomplish anything. How aren't you fucking dead yet?

Imogen was in no better place, so her internal insults meant nothing - oh wait, but she was in a better place! How silly of her to forget! So why, if her hands weren't tied behind her back, did she hold them right atop where the tag of her pants should've been instead of running off?

Footsteps. She was free, yes, and freedom did wild things to the minds of those afraid. However, it just so happened that the constant skittering of steps across the deck struck more fear into her than false confinement. If she were caught, she'd actually be tied up, actually confined, actually helpless. And with helplessness, there always came desperation, and that was something she wanted to avoid at all costs. Everyone around me is desperate. It's pretty pathetic, if I'm being honest here.

A rough cough that could not belong to any of the young children around her broke through the hubbub of whimpers and grunts. It was a wet cough, and just the sound of it made the surrounding area smell deeply of cigarette smoke. Imogen wrinkled her nose, holding her breath when she could and releasing it when her chest began to burn. The hell kinda tobacco have they been using? It's like they went off to smoke flesh and weed.

Ew.

The cries of those around her died down as the footsteps grew louder. They were heavy, and thunked one after the other on the deck - not one pair, but two. Soon everyone's attention was focused on a wooden staircase that led down to the captain's quarters. A bulbous stomach appeared first, and then a chubby hand, four of them, along with thick, hard faces covered in graying stubble. Imogen's eyes squinted on in disgust, especially at the stomach at one of them; their shirt had ridden up far above the man's bellybutton, and all she could see were blue and purple veins crisscrossing beneath the sickly white skin that seemed to shift with every step, like something crawled beneath the skin.

The other man was almost identical to the one beside him, however, he had sense enough to wear a shirt that actually fit his surprisingly less thick form. He was still husky, but the term "husky" meant something much more pleasing to the eyes than the light-bulb figure of the other twin. Oh man. If he explodes - and we all know that's possible, since the damn Gamemakers probably made him eat a bomb or some shit - he better not get his blood and guts on me. I feel dirty enough as it is.