We're being dragged by our our sleeves into some boxes (it smells like artisanal Coong bakery goods were carried in here before, mmm, smells good.) We are utterly confined. We slide back and forth as the helicopter swoops up into the unknown. I whimper. Unfortunately the poop caked in the ridges of my sneaks infuses the Coong bakery foods for a while. We missed our dessert.
We smell what's left of that nice residual cake/muffin as an hour or so passes. I whisper to Nate. "Nate, are you okay in there?"
Nate sniffs.
I slam my sneakers on the walls of the box in frustration. Are they going to...exterminate us? I stare into the shadows.
We surrender as the helicopter lands with a thud. We're dragged out and find ourselves in an unforgiving jungle, a snake shooting up my ankle. Nate grabs it and chucks it at the tree. It flaps around and looks kind of happy nestled there now, and begins eating a mutant bird's egg.
We woefully see other contestants being dragged tearfaced onto the field.
"We thought we'd start early, didn't we?" A man snarled.
"Sorry." I muttered.
Fliss screams and Tommy hugs her. She instantly grins.
We are manhandled up onto ivy covered podiums, the contestants eyeing each other angrily.
A large dragon lizard swooped by, and if it weren't for the poop to come, be would have been a true specimen, an illustrious creature.
One of the greasy surprisingly young men stood in the middle, and made swift hand gestures. Airplane instructions. Lol.
"There are three toilets here, here and here," came the voice of the male game hostess. "Fight for them as you wish, but two of them are traps. You'll have to find the rest for yourself." He paused for effect. "There are three rules." Yep, at least one of them wasn't on that map at the Capitol.
The second greasy man was doing sign language parallely. I mean they could, they were being a bit try hard with the immaculateness.
Rule 1: If someone is in the toilet for longer than 1 minute, they will not be able to go to the toilet for the next 3 days even after eating the native Baked Bean Root that would be a large part of available groceries in the jungles. Groceries, were his word not mine.
I hear someones stomach rumble. We all looked down at our shoes, mine poop caked.
The man puffs his chest out, and he rams his staff down into the pink-dyed soil, swooped his arm dramatically. "If anyone dares poop when the time is not come, there will be consequences, and they will be out of competition". He looks me in the eye intensely, letting the vile words sink in to the poop.
The third rule, "if someone else enters the toilet while another person is in there, both are disqualified."
Fourth, but not least, anyone who does not find the maze door (makeshift jungle technology seems to be top notch) they will be left for another 6 months, in the middle of the animal poop room, a room filled with something only rats and cats could do. The maze door will open on the day before the competition ends.
I had strengthened my bowel big time, and despite my FoxPoop ways I was going to try to maximise my retention.
Everyone gasped as a referee guy came center stage.
"The Coong (Also Known As The Poop Games) Starts In 3...2...1". He slid out of the way, so we could run.
I was up within a split second, and swooped past Boona, grabbed one bag of berries and Nathaniel joined me. The grass crunched underneath.
