Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Task 1 + The First Choice (NEF)

MAYBE, MAYBE NOT - 1

Reality often felt like a dream to a boy built from old tales.

Towering glass buildings and blurs of green out of train windows had never felt real to him, nor did the rush of people around him as they set about perfecting every little bit of his body. Much of his travels had consisted of staring off into space, whispering to himself, being around others that didn't know what to make of him. Even volunteering had taken its toll on him - too many cheers, too many objections.

He'd been detached, but when the mirror slid in front of his body and he saw himself for the first time in days, everything came rushing back, and the full gravity of what he was getting into slammed into his chest like the woman smacking at the front of his costume to knock away dust.

Nefyn smiled.

Voices whirled around him, striking the backs of his ears but never fully processing. Outlandish people ran hands over his shoulders, waist, legs - he didn't mind too much, for human contact had always been a homely sort of comfort to him, as were those who didn't look real.

Dyed faces and glittering eyes told him that nothing about these people was real.

As he stared on at himself, he thought he was just one step closer to fantastical things - shimmering scales of green and blue ran over his chest like armour, popping up around the shoulder blades on the back. Striking purples intertwined down his arms until they came to his fingers, opening up to something like webbed sleeves about his fingers. Basically, he was in some District Four getup like every year, and he assumed those of their own respective districts would be decked out in something equally as unreal.

The one difference between Nefyn and the rest was that he could most definitely pull off bizarre.

Sharp as a blade with an ass of steel.

Sounded like it hurt, yes, and it was true - the metallic material covering his rear end was quite painful, more so there than in other areas, but he wasn't up to complaining.

He wouldn't be sitting anyhow. After learning by word of mouth that the training sessions were getting kicked from the games that year, he'd basically hiked up his confidence and made it a clearly known fact - to himself only - that he'd be scoring definite elevens. A banquet was present for one reason and one reason only, and it was to define himself as one capable of giving a show. That's what the games were, when you cancelled out the mourning families and kids-bleeding-to-death aspects. A show.

And maybe I'm just overthinking things, but I am ninety percent sure that I'll be stuck in some sort of morbid crossfire at some point. He shrugged. Great fun, great fun.

Reality had disappeared for quite some time as he thought to himself, and the next place he found himself was hall, an elvish-looking escort on either side of him. As he constantly related his life to fairytales, he could most definitely place his life in that of a story an old fisherman had once told him - Nefyn even looked the part, scales and all.

At age fifteen, the greasy man had said, little sea creatures ventured somewhere new to fully understand what the rest of the world was like: something to be afraid of, he'd said.

Nefyn had become the creature and was still swimming his way to the surface to catch a glimpse of what everyone said was so "scary."

Through the doors to the banquet he burst, cracking the surface, and finally sweeping his eyes over what had to be rocky land.

Now, Nefyn had never truly taken what the greasy fisherman had said to heart, but something came back up in his memory at the sight, and he couldn't help but agree.