The Great Game (2019)

13

"Mr Woods, do you have anything to say for yourself, in defence to the allegations that have been made against you?"

The gates are crawling with reporters. White, flashing saucers wink at me by the iron wrought fence and I bring my hands over my eyes to shield from the blinding lights.

"Do you have anything to say?" The reporter's demands grow increasingly loud as I push my way past. The eight other contestants push by, ducking their heads from the dizzying glares of the cameras. Though none of them say a word, I can tell that they don't enjoy being in my presence. A girl inches away from me as we cross the border separating the spectators' facilities and our shared one.

Once safely out of the reporter's hearing range, I let the words aching at the base of my chest leave.

"I didn't do it." My declaration is met with surprised stares. I feel my face go scarlet.

"We know." One of the boys say, but his eyes are wide and unblinking, almost scared that I might pounce if he closes his eyes for a second.

"I swear, I didn't kill him." I say, my voice cracking slightly. The eight of them look at me like they don't know what to say. The silence holds steady for a second, a lilting note in the hum of the surroundings.

"What even happened in there?" Another girl breaks the silence. Her eyes blaze with curiosity and another emotion I can't quite detect. I feel my mouth going dry as the other's stares grow more intense.

"I was just... facing my obstacles, you know? Kent came out of nowhere and attempted to attack me." Everybody's faces distort in discomfort at Kent's name.

"Then?" The same girl from before prompts. Her hands are now positioned by her hips in a sign of aggression and I find myself taking a step back.

"I- I don't know. Things escalated quickly- I tried to defend myself and I swear I didn't hurt him at all-" I raise my hands, a protective shield against their accusing stares.

"You're saying he died? Just like that?" Another boy demands.

Irritation tunnels through my veins. "Yeah, that's what I'm saying. Do you honestly think I would kill the competition?"

The boy shrugs in reply. "I don't know, man. You could be a murderer, for all we know."

"I'm not." I snap, a little too forcefully. The eight of them begin to drift away, moths jerking away from a dangerous flame too late.

I roll my eyes, trying to contain my frustration and stomp off in the opposite direction. Choosing to ignore their accusive stance against me, I decide to explore the area instead. Even though I'm in no mood, there are still areas to be explored within the compounds, and to wonder about.

The sky overhead is beginning to darken into a crisp black, diluting the milky grey of the earlier rain. The smell of the downpour is still tangible, though. It feels like ink, seeping through the light air and infiltrating every passage.

Decorative street lamps stand in allignment with the pavement and the pathway is scrawled over with patches of moisture. The soles of my shoes squeak, angered by the filth and mud collecting along the sides.

The compounds are so beautiful, it's hard to remember that this is the Medium, sometimes. A place where trapped souls find no empathy, where we linger in bunkers and grey areas until the sun sets and wait until the sun rises to do it all again. Everything feels so different ever since the games have begun. The Medium feels like a distant memory, fading out and this new location- one where banners fly, where people scream and cheer for their favourite contestants- it's blurring out what I used to know.