The Games

Confusion

        Jackson woke up wondering where he was, His head feeling as if someone had bashed it with a hammer. He tried to distract myself from the pain and began to have a look at his surroundings. He was in a small room, its only contents, a steel door, a small bed, and himself. He knew only his name, age and nothing else.

 

        “Jackson, Age 14.” He says to no one. Then sank down into the surprisingly soft covers of the small bed and closed his eyes. He tried his best to resurface old memories, but the only ones that came were only half there at best. As soon as one came into his head, it would slip away just as fast. He tried to continue his activity (if you could call it that), but he was exhausted. Then soon enough he drifted off to sleep.

 

        The next day he woke to the bang of the door opening, but by the time he had opened his eyes it had already closed. “Why am I here! What do you want with me!” He screamed, but of course, no reply. The only evidence that he wasn’t crazy and the door had opened was the small brown box on the floor. He quickly ran over to open it, slowly opening the lid in case of any sort of danger. After all, he had no idea who put him there or how they operated. He had discovered it was food, a sandwich, an apple and a glass of water. Happily surprised, he sat down and ate his food.

        Life continued like this, every day, three times a day. Always the same thing in the box. He had started to count the days with it. Jackson's curiosity had taken over from the start, he would always be watching the door for whoever would come. But he never saw. As soon as he would look away for the slightest second, the box would appear on the floor.

 

        It was now what he had counted to be the morning of the fifth day. He was slowly going insane and he knew it. What was left of his confusion was now pure rage. He laid on the bed and began to try to resurface more memories. He had so far been unsuccessful, but he had discovered that it helped calm him down.

 

        Suddenly a computerised voice rang throughout the room. “All tributes, please report to your stylists.” Tributes… he thought to himself. Then it happened, his eyes flew open, and the memory hit him like a brick. He knew exactly where he was. His body went numb. The rage he once had had subsided and was now replaced by the icy feeling of terrifying adrenaline.

He had been chosen for the hunger games...