Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Task 8 ~ Garlic is Mad Here

-Posting this because the host has gone inactive, and it's undetermined whether or not he'll be finishing the games.-

WONDERLAND - FINALS

Glenn Wrisham, once upon a time, had been a learner. Over time he'd given up books and memorization and all those things that were pointless to him in reality, but he'd always harbored a special want for knowledge, a thirst that he could never satiate. So he let it boil and fester inside, that desire, he let it get buried under mounds of shoveled dirt and a stone slab that labelled it as Uselessness. He knew he'd buried it alive, but after a long while, the need suffocated, it was smothered by mud that only continued to fall down its throat with every cry for acknowledgement.

The body of desire had decayed, but the bones were still there.

Fingers dug into his skin, biting at the dirtied flesh with a reserved vigor, as if the one pulling him forward were trying very hard not to give in to all temptations and dig into a hearty meal before it even made it to the dinner table. Glenn was no less guilty than whoever dragged him along, whether it be one person or two dozen clinging to his body with the hope of never giving into the starvation that haunted them day and night. Starvation had always been his excuse, so he assumed it went the same for everyone.

His toes scraped the ground as he was jerked hastily to the side, and his head lay drooped between his shoulders. He never cracked open his eyes, but not because he was tired: they were swollen to a close and, frankly, he had no desire to see where he was being taken, no interest. His mind was blanketed in a sweet fog, one that curled about the lobes of his brain and trickled into the smallest of crannies. The result was a dreamlike state, one that made Glenn feel more at home walking through the streets of Six than being lugged around by rough hands he couldn't fight against.

He preferred the dreamland; there, he could support his own and then some.

Walls with shadows sloppily splashed over the surface melted into a street, buildings ablaze with light and life on either side of him. He pulled the ratty hoodie closer to his body, shivering from the cold but smiling all the same. His shoes slapped concrete as he ran, desperate to see Jane's awestruck expression at the play that was just about to begin. "She'll love it," he whispered, picking up his pace, "and I'll be there to remember it."

As he drew closer to his destination, someone suddenly stepped out from a building, one he recognized as the local den in which people went to drown their sorrows in alcohol. The man that stood before him obviously didn't harbor a single bit of sadness in his body, evident by the lazy smile thrown across his lipstick-smudged lips. The man squinted down at the boy, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. What caught Glenn's attention the most, though, was the flouncy pink feather boa delicately settled over his shoulders.

Glenn cleared his throat. "Excuse me." He made to step around the man, but he was blocked off, a hand landing on his chest and never leaving. Those smudged lips turned up cockily, spreading more wrinkles over his face.

"Not so fast, child," he breathed. The scent of his breath blasted the boy in the face, rich with the bitterness of alcohol and sweetness of grapes. He nodded his head in the direction of the play. "You won't find that little girl over there."

A frown tugged at Glenn's lips. "Then where is she?"

Like a cat with no boundaries on his mouth, the man's smile stretched. "Try the forest."

Glenn's head snapped up, a special pain rolling through his neck as soon as he did so. A groan left him, and he lifted his arms to the back of his head - well, tried to lift them, anyways. He tried again, a harsh tug that dug into his wrists. Curiouser and curiouser, he thought, for he was keenly aware of how he'd awoken standing firmly on two feet, with his arms limp at his sides. The fog on his senses was still thick, and he wasn't really certain of where he was or what was happening, only that he'd been trapped in a similar fashion not too long ago.