Author Games: Superhuman {Closed}

Finals :: Justin Connor Entry

MAY reach first place

"Asher!" I wake up, gasping, sweat pouring down my face, only to find myself in an air-conditioned room.

"Looks like somebody had a bad dream," coos Darius, smirking at me. He's obviously returned to his sarcastic ways, now that his cat is alive and the memories are over. I wonder what memories he must have had, but decide not to probe his mind. He looks normal and I wonder how he managed to regain composure so quickly, or if he even had any memories at all. His face is cold and hard, his eyes holding the same bitterness compared to when I first saw him. The Games hasn't changed him much.

Marissa, on the other hand, looks pale, sweat pouring down her forehead. Her hands are trembling and I get the feeling that her memory hadn't been a pleasant one like mine. She looks completely traumatized.

This is when a strange mist engulfs the entire room. The outline of obstacles begin to pop up. They are still beginning to form when a silhouette appears in the mist. I squint my eyes as it becomes clearer. With a click on a remote, he clears the mist around him but not around the obstacles, such that it hangs around them like a curtain of dread.

So this is one of the Gamemakers. He has the most eccentric look which may pass for somewhat evil. His hair is a striking ice-pale blue, standing up as if he has just been electrocuted. His eyes do not match - one that is orange and smaller than the black. The black, like the orange, does not go unnoticeable. It is dark and empty, as if all the life had been dug out of it ages ago. His orange eye crackles with fire like there is a flame burning within. I realize what the color of his eyes symbolize: one coal and the other flame. He is tall with broad shoulders with a face too mature for someone so young, like he has seen too much in his life. Yet his mouth curves into a smile, so sly that even I can't tell if it is supposed to be an evil one or not.

Even his mind is confusing - it's so hard to read. His mind is like mist, difficult to grasp. I find myself flailing to catch hold of its slippery surface. When I finally do, it's like stepping on red-hot coals. I gasp and withdraw, pressing my hands to my temples. I feel as if I have been ripped of my ability to mind-read as the world swims around me. I stagger back, leaning against the glass wall for support.

This is when he his eyes rest on me and we lock gazes. His eyes are just as piercing as his mind and unnerving to look at. I look away. I can almost feel his gaze drilling through my body, reading my thoughts and emotions. He makes me feel... exposed. I shudder, wondering if he is a mind-reader too.

Slowly, as if controlled, his mind opens up to me. It's just a flash and nothing more, but the message he is trying to convey is quite apparent. I wonder where he picked up the skills from. Perhaps I can take lessons from him once this is over.

Don't ever try that again, or you'll regret it.

Along with it I don't see what I expect to see. I don't see the obstacles that he is conjuring. What he is thinking are many different things at the same time, but nothing about what is going on now. His mind is a blur of activities (or memories, rather), that all mix together to form a glaring blob of light brighter than the sun. That's what I saw in the flash, and nothing more. I couldn't have separated the memories even if I wanted to. The strands are so tangled together in the most complicated knots that haven't even been invented yet that there's no way to untangle them all, even using a scissors. More memories just keep piling on as the time passes.

I look at him in fear and awe, wondering what it must have taken to achieve such skill. He stares at me for a little longer, then turns his head, his eyes sweeping across three of us tributes one by one.