The Selection Games

1.

[make it rain; ed sheeran]

I am at the stream behind my house, soaking my toes in the cool, flowing water, when I hear the scream.

It's thin and high pitched, ringing through the still morning air. A flock of birds flutter loudly out of a nearby tree, startled by the sound; and across the stream, I hear the loud crack of a breaking stick, followed by heavy, thumping footsteps I identify as a deer's, racing away from the scene.

The scream startles me, too. I leap to my feet, the early morning air slapping coldly on my wet, bare ankles. I glance around, trying to decide where the sound might have come from. It's not until I realize my own house is the source of it that I start feeling afraid.

I'm running back home in an instant. The long grass that surrounds my house sticks to my feet, and my hair whips into my eyes, but I don't stop until I'm bursting in the front door. "What happened?" I'm demanding, even before I see what's inside with my own eyes.

My mother sits in a chair, crying into her hands. She sobs in a helpless, fearful kind of way, and it makes a terrible, nauseated feeling swoop into my stomach. I have seen my mother cry before, but never like this.

As I stand there by the door, confused and frightened, Misa, my older sister, appears from another room. She takes in the scene, barely looking at me, and crosses over to my mother's side. She places a hand on each trembling shoulder, leans over, and speaks soothingly to her.

"Everything will be alright, Mom. We'll be just fine. We'll be fine."

My mother's sobs quiet, but as she dabs away tears, I see the fear and misery still in her face. I shift my gaze to Misa, whose calm, reassuring expression slips every so often, revealing a tense kind of look that seems to go far beyond just worry.

"What's the matter?" I ask, my chest tight.

My mother and sister both look up in a startled way, as though they hadn't realized I was standing there. At the sight of me, tears well up in Mom's eyes again, and she turns away.

I take an uneasy step forward, my eyes flickering to Misa. "What's happening?"

For several long moments, Misa stays absolutely still, avoiding my eyes. The tight feeling in my chest grows more intense as the minutes go by, until I'm finding it difficult to breathe. My mind is racing, jumping to a million different possibilities and explanations at once, each one more unpleasant than the last.

What seems like ages later, Misa finally speaks. "Morgan..." Her voice sounds barely more than a breath. "We'll tell you later."

"Later?" I repeat.

Misa flashes a cold look at me before her eyes dart meaningfully to our mother, who has started weeping again. "Yes, later," she says, in her familiar don't you dare argue with me tone of voice. The one I've heard more often in the course of my lifetime than I would want to.

I consider challenging her, forcing her to tell. I'm not a little kid, I want to snap. I can handle it. But then I take another glance at my mother, see the tears streaming down her face, see how fragile she looks, and bite my tongue. Now is not the time.

"Fine." My voice is husky, and however hard I try, I can't keep an irritated tone out of my voice. Misa glowers at me, hearing it.

"I'll take the little ones out." With all this noise, my younger siblings are bound to wake up at some point. Misa may be able to silence me, but I doubt she'll be able to do the same to them.

"Yes. Do that." She sounds relieved, glad to be rid of us.

I duck my head as I walk past them towards the bedrooms. My stomach is still fluttering nervously, and I can't get the sound of Mom's shrill, terrified shriek out of my head. Whatever is happening, it's bad. Very, very bad.