Author's Game Entries

Task 1: A Decision

 Willis had never felt so fidgety in his entire life, which if he was being honest with himself, was really something in itself. It took a noticeable amount of effort for him to keep his hands in his pockets, but the longer he had to stand here the sooner he knew the contents of said pockets was only going to grow.

T'was the morning of the Reaping, and having no television set of their own, the Dale family was in the town square with half the rest of the other residents, idly waiting amid the buzz of numerous excited conversations for the big screen in front of them to light up.

What an interesting choice of word, this 'Reaping', Willis had thought to himself when waking up this morning, the word made it sound as if they were being chosen to die. Which, he made an effort to console himself into thinking, was completely inaccurate. The king was simply reusing the name from the previous tradition, Willis was positive there was no correlation between this Reaping and the work of the Grim Reaper.

The longer the twitchy boy allowed himself to entertain these thoughts though the more his nervousness grew, and he was finding it growing harder and harder not to completely start panicking all together. To distract himself, Willis focuses his attention on his surroundings, taking in the appearance of the small cobblestone square and the inhabitants crammed into it with him.

Out of nowhere, a woman bumps into him from behind and Willis bites back a sharp gasp, jumping forward in surprise. Even after hearing her profuse apologies, he found it hard to calm his rapidly beating heart again. With this momentary adrenaline rush, Willis becomes abruptly aware of the fact that his family was not near him anymore, and that in his distraction, he must have lost them in the crowd.

Sighing, he scans the area once more, though what he finds was much less comforting. All around him were endless amounts of temptations; hair ties just barely tied tight enough to stay in, coin purses peeking out of back pockets, bags completely unwatched and left carelessly at peoples' feet.

Willis feels his throat constrict and his hands clench in his pockets. They were all so enticing, he could take any one of them and no one would notice. Just a slip of the hands or a flick of the finger and they would be his. He could feel the alluring temptation drawing him closer and closer, and he was finding it harder to ignore his want for the unattended items. They didn't need them... Right?

By then the screen had flickered to life, the projection blurry for just a moment before the image of King Harold I and his wife, Queen Isobel, standing among a miscellaneous group of other nobles, came into focus. Willis didn't notice though, completely in his own little world as the queen unrolled the scroll in her hand, reading off opening remarks with a warm smile.

By then Willis has already ignoring the objects already snuck into his pockets -a few stolen coins, a hair tie or two, pretty feathers, and even a taffy he had guiltily stolen from an unwatchful little brat of a child- and was instead now focused on the pocket of the man standing next to him. Fortunately enough for the thief, the man like everyone else was enraptured by the king and the queen's speech, and he did not notice Willis standing closer than most other people would.

Like a snake, Willis stealthily sneaks a hand to the man's side and slips it into his pocket, not having to reach far before he found what he was looking for. Pinching the edge of the coin pouch with his finger and thumb, he slowly starts to pull it out... When something unexpected happens.

"And our ninth tribute will be... Willis Dale!" The king's announcement abruptly pops Willis' bubble of concentration and he lets out an almighty yelp, stumbling back in surprise and falling back onto the hard cobblestone pavement.

Even more surprised was the man who had just been robbed, his coin pouch ever so clearly clutched in Willis' right hand. But the thief wasn't paying attention to him or the crowd's stares; he was lost in the fast rushing tide of his own thoughts. Him? Competing in the Game for the throne??

Willis couldn't believe it. Of course he knew there was a chance of him getting selected, as he had signed up for it himself after all, but he had never believed he'd actually get chosen! He hadn't been able to hear the king's last words on the subject, most likely congratulations or when and where the tributes were to be picked up to be taken to the castle.

Having looked back at the screen, Willis confirmed that the transmission had already ended like he'd presumed, but it didn't help the cold knot of horror starting to settle in the pit of his stomach. Abruptly stumbling to his feet, he shoves the stolen change purse back into the man's hands and bolts off, ignoring the shouts from behind him to stay.

All he wanted was to get away, he didn't know what he was going to do. He wasn't a competitive person, and definitely not to be considered a challenge for the other tributes fighting for the throne. Willis was faced with the sudden and hideous realization that he might not be making it back.

All the honor and money granted aside, he was feeling anything but joy and excitement at the moment. If anything, he felt a wretched dread starting to drag him down, filling his limbs with cold lead. Willis felt like he wanted to scream- or be sick- but he wasn't completely sure.

One thing was sure in his mind though, a thought that was just as morbid and macabre as it was hilarious; this really is a Reaping after all.