VOLATILE (I) : peter pan ouat

When Being Chosen Happened

After a few minutes standing in the tent alone, I walk outside and bump into a boy, with shaggy blonde hair. He wears a dark brown cloak and old-fashioned clothes like everyone else here. His hood covers his face, but beneath a huge scar shines out, one that is across his face.

"Watch where you are going." The boy scowls.

"Sorry," I muster. "I didn't mean-"

"Sorry?" He chuckles. "Nobody's ever..." He pauses looking me over. "Oh I get it, you must be some of the fresh meat that's been brought in."

My eyes widen, baffled by the boy's rambling. The boy who looks like he could slaughter me if I so much as breathed on him. Slaughter me with a simple look. His smile grows wider, a smile that means nothing but trouble. He turns around and walks away from me.

This boy is scary. Pan Flute is terrifying in the sense that he is on the verge of becoming a murderer. This boy is terrifying in the sense that he probably already is one.

I sigh and suddenly notice an object being whipped towards me. I catch it in my hand out of pure instinct, something that I've never done before. I look up at the grinning boy.

"Oh you're one of those aren't you?" He asks. "All bite and no bark? That's my favourite, you know? The silent killers, like Samuel. Are you a silent killer?"

"No," I feel the words pour out of my mouth, surprised that they've managed to find themselves. "My bite is good, but my bark is better."

He smiles at me, a little less crooked than before. "What do they call you?"

Charlotte. "Charlie."

"Well Charlie," the boy looks at me. "You have hereby been cordially invited to the Night Hunt. We leave now. Come on."

With that the boy storms off leaving me with no choice but to chase after him. He walks into the tent just beside the one with all the clothing. I enter in after him. The tent is much larger on the inside than on the out, like out of a Harry Potter movie. The walls of the tent are covered with swords, knives and bows. There are five or six separate rows of shelves filled with assorted weaponry. Comparing this tent to the one filled with clothing helps me understand the boys on this island's priorities; fighting.

"Your weapon of choice?" He asks.

I shrug my shoulders at him. I never had reason to touch anything remotely lethal. My mother owned a large sword that she use to keep on the mantel above the fireplace, she had wanted to teach us how to use it one day. I wish more than ever she had gotten the chance.

"Right, you're new. Just pick two."

I walk over to the wall and look around at all the assorted weaponry. I notice out of the corner of my eye a dagger that looks about the length of my forearm. It has a black shiny handle embroidered with silver. I pick it up and toss it in my hand.

"Oh hell yeah," I whisper to myself. I quickly look around, noticing the boy's growing impatience. I pick up a bow and a quiver of arrows that accompany it. I look over at the boy and nod, slinging the bow and arrows over onto my back. I stick the dagger into a pocket on the inside of my cloak, which proves difficult with the boy standing in front of me, as I could reveal myself at any second. He taps his fingers over the sword on his belt.

Impatient.

I follow him out of the tent anyway.

He begins to walk much faster, and I begin after him through the crowd of boys that has yet to die down at all. A never-ending party. He walks straight into the forest, cutting to a brown trail. He twists and turns about randomly until I've lost my sense of direction, which must've been difficult because I consider myself to have a great sense of direction. I follow him into a larger clearing with about fifteen boys in it. Pan Flute stands atop a rock towards the far end of the clearing. The boy I was with walks up next to Pan Flute but doesn't get up on the rock.