Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Task 2 - Pimbep Cottage

PANEMDEMIC - 2

How absolutely, painstakingly great was it that they were all caught between roads of cobblestone and shambles? I mean, really, things were outdid, outdone, outshining this year - they pushed over some pebbles and slapped some rusty oval in the center, probably dumped some spare sewer water through the spigots, and didn't even bother to pick out the little rodent remnants with their little legs artificially kicking from the natural ebb and flow that came with fountains.

Charming, really. A curtsy might've been in order had the cameras not been clicking and shifting and focusing at the back of my head. They, obviously, had no regard for personal privacy. The kid beside me adjusted his junk; if anything, they should've been aiming the cameras away.

Still, there was something satisfyingly distracting about listening to the chink and zoom of those lenses. If I strained hard enough, it became easy to let the flip of the numbers hovering above the fountain fade into the background. I really, really didn't want to place too much focus into this fresh start, into this beginning. Doing so would've only gotten me more into the experience, and the scent permeating the air was enough to keep me away from placing too much depth into this place.

It kept me from leaving behind too much hope, of which I already had little. It was Kaleo's job to carry that weight.

It was much easier to stand amongst obliviousness. I did not want to explore this arena, I did not want to see the human in the enemy, and I did not want to put up a fight, of that I'd been certain since the dreaded pull of my name from a bullshit glass bowl.

I wanted to go home. That was all.

The gong, however, only propelled a unanimous truth that said "your wish is not my command, and never will be."

I was one of the laggers, one of those that let the echo of the echo of the starting gun kindly finish before stepping off the pedestal. Vertigo slapped my feet silly, more due to the mindlessness I'd kept up beforehand than anything, and ultimately the regret of not taking things seriously began to settle. I moved forward at a stumble, and then I reversed, remembering exactly what happened the closer to the center one got. And, y'know, death was not a particularly strong aim of mine. Never had been, really, aside from times I'd taken my thumb and squashed torn-winged flies upon the kitchen table.

They'd never been a bother. I'd simply felt the need to squish them.

I let the remorse of being the fly-killer cling to my heels as they took me away from the Bloodbath, away from the weaponless fight. It might've been safe, it might've been one of the only arenas in which I'd have been in the clear to make a go for it, but I left anyways merely because of the negative connotation that came with reaching middles. No one liked the middle man.

No one liked mud-sladen walls either, but the Gamemakers seemed to not have gotten the memo; their arena was filled to the very brim with houses lining out across fields of stone and dirt. I didn't care much for examining the rest of the place. One glance was enough. It might've been smart to take off down the nearest road, but I didn't want to go it alone, not when the option to be paired was still on the table. I looked back; I saw Kaleo. He busied at the fountain, gathering up one of something from the edge, and then two.

He'd catch up, I figured, and I took off the way I'd been headed.

I was cut short, however, by a too-burly man with grease curling down every strand of hair. I hadn't seen him coming, but the feel of his calloused hand on my upper arm made cause for whirling. He stopped the turn halfway through, taking one of those rough hands and shoving my face forward, away from him. My neck jerked to the side before I brought it back up and, after quite a few seconds of processing, I realized that this was an attack, that this was an assault, that this was meant to kill me.