The Writers' Games: The Phoenix

Round 8 - Final Three Entries: Amberlynn Dynlain

Final Three - Amberlynn Dynlain 

The first thing I feel is warmth. Extreme warmth. The kind that has me squirming, wanting to get away. The kind that has beads of sweat running down my forehead. The kind that reminds me where I am.  

The Games are still going, yet for some reason, everything is black. My head is throbbing and it feels like coils are doing an exotic dance in the pit of my stomach. I want to throw up, yet the heat has made my throat unbearably dry.   

My hands run over the smooth tiles I am lying on and I inhale a sharp breath. Tiles? Since when did the Games have tiles?

I force one of my eyes open, and at first nothing changes. Everything is still black. Then shapes begin to form. I can see a lump – no, a person – lying opposite me, twitching every so often. My first thought it to grab my knife and defend myself, but my body feels too heavy. It’s not co-operating the way I want it to.

It’s as if all of a sudden I’m made of stone, glued to the tiled floor. My head lolls back at an awkward angle and I wonder if I’m dying, if I’ve lost the Games. I try to recall what happened, but nothing comes to mind. It’s just black, a lot like the world around me at the moment.

I blink rapidly, desperately trying to clear my sight. It begins to work. The person opposite me comes into focus. It’s Mailee. She seems to be unconscious. 

I can see the black and white tiles I’m lying on, and at first I wonder if instead of the Phoenix Games, I’m in a game of chess. I run my hands over the tiles again, making sure they’re there.

They feel so warm, and yet I’m not sure why. That’s when I notice the smoke bellowing above me. I cover my mouth, yet I can’t hold in the coughs. 

Rolling onto my stomach, I reach for my knife. My fingertip glide over the metal tip and I wince. I quickly pull my fingers away and examine them. The tips are bright red.

I reach for my knife again, this time much more hesitant. I take hold of the hilt and pull it from its sheath. The knife weighs a ton in my hand. It’s as though in a matter of seconds, the forces of gravity have turned against me and are trapping me against the tiles by the weight of my knife. 

It takes far too much effort for me to lift the knife, and when I manage to do so it drains all my energy. My vision is blurring again. I can’t control anything. 

I raise my head, only to fall back onto the palms of my hands. The knife slides away in front of me. I struggle to remain pushing myself up. My arms are shaking violently and all I want is to collapse back down. 

Sudden coughing comes from my left. I struggle to turn my head, my neck feeling stiff. Eventually I manage to see Mailee, twisting back and forth as she is overcome by coughs. 

“Damn!” A hoarse voice shouts from in front of me. I hear the high pitched sound of something sliding across the tiles, creating friction. Then there’s a loud crash and a groan. 

I think it’s Ashley, though due to the clouds of smoke, I cannot see to be certain. She seems to be struggling just as much as I am with standing up. 

Mailee has stopped coughing, and when I turned to look at her, I understand why. A wild wind is whipping the smoke back and forth, slowly clearing it.

The wind swirls around me, saving me from the smoke. I give in to the urge and fall back against the tiles. I swiftly grab my knife before the wind can toss it further away. 

As the wind clears the smoke, I am able to see Mailee and Ashley in more detail. Mailee is on her back, both hands on her chest as she takes several deep breaths. Her eyes are wide as she stares upwards. She looks scared, her impassive shield having dropped now she thinks no one is looking.