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The Four [Alice]

She'd just wanted to go back to camp. She wanted to go back and pretend that she could be safe for just a few more hours. She wanted to pretend that eventually, she wouldn't have to die or turn on her ally. She didn't want to fight anymore. She was tired. She was so damn tired.

But no one cared much what Alice wanted. Almost the entire country wanted her dead, whether it be for entertainment, justice for her slaying another tribute, or because they wanted their own tribute home. Or, for three others, because they wanted to go home. And really, she didn't blame them for that. She didn't particularly want them dead but, their deaths were the ends to a mean. She wanted to go home. And they were her ticket out.

So of course, the second she turned her back on the cornocopia, they were there. Mortag was beside her and maybe, a few days ago, that would have made her feel more safe. He was loyal, they both were, it was the very basis of their alliance. She knew, at least then, that he wouldn't turn on her before it was necessary. And vice versa. But now, with their only two competitors standing in front of them, it wouldn't be too hard for him to kill the three of them then and there. Or for one of the others. She was the last standing female tribute. And she was a lot smaller than any of them, less strong. A couple of good blows and she'd be dead.

But being small hadn't stopped her before and it wasn't going to stop her now. She gave a small nod to Mortag. He'd take on one, she'd take on the other. And then...well...if they both made it, they had their arrangement. If not, then it would be easier. But she still couldn't wish ill will upon him, he had after all been the one who came back for her when she was injured, cared for her when he could have killed her with his bare hands. So instead, she turned to her opponent.

She believed his name was Mason, for a moment, she felt pity for him. There was a glint in his eyes. Madness. He hadn't made it through this intact. At least not as well as the rest of them. And she couldn't blame him for it. Definitely not. She pulled out her dagger, and raised her buckler in defense. She could do this. She could win.

It was over sooner than she thought. Somehow she thought that them being so close to the end, that they'd all be more vicious than before, desperate to win. But more it seemed they had grown weary, tired. The boy in front of her didn't even seem to notice when her blade pierced his chest. He seemed very confused by it all as he crumpled to the ground and she almost felt sick. Because she'd killed him, he was dying, and he didn't even seem to know.

"I'm sorry." She whispered quietly. "I'm so sorry."

And then there was a noise, when she thought about it later, she considered that she might have been as far gone as Mason, that she didn't notice it sooner until Loden's blade was so close to her, if she'd turned at the wrong moment, he would have slit her throat. But as soon as it had happened, he was gone. A deafening shout of pain and then nothing, but a smirk little noise from her ally.

That was when she turned. And she was more scared than she had ever been. Because now it was just the two of them, and her stomach continued to churn at the eery thought of 'it's him or me'. She looked up at him, and he didn't seem phased at all. It was to be expected. Neither of them had been particularly friendly. Quiet, keeping to themselves. Only really speaking about strategy or supplies.

She put away her weapons, as a sign of a temporary truce to their now shattered alliance. She didn't think it would ever actually come down to this. Or maybe she did and just tried to delude herself into believing it wouldn't. Did their deal still stand? It had to. She had to believe that he would remain honorable, especially now. But really, who would?

She clenched her fists a little and internally sighed. Alice was many things, but not weak. Never weak. And she wanted to go home. It had never really hit her but now there was an ache in her chest and she wanted to be at home with her family and away from this place, a broken city coloured with blood, she wanted to be safe again. To sleep in her bed. To have someone to talk to without fearing weakness.

And goddamn it, she was going to go home.

"So this is it, huh?"

'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.' Her mind whispered. 'I'm sorry that one of us has to die. But mostly, I'm sorry it's going to be you.'

She unclenched her fist and almost smiled. Because, while she was sorry for almost everything, their situation, the people she'd killed, the people she hadn't saved, the person she would kill. She wasn't sorry for the most important thing.

Alice wasn't sorry that she was going to win.

#Task #Alice #submission

Mortag Odair, The Four

"Alice,” he hissed. “Remember our arrangement.” And with a final glance at her, he charged at the pair, war hammer held high.

He sprinted to the oncoming duo, his gauntlets cinched tightly onto his hands, the hammer looped around his wrist. With a roar of frustration and anger, he swung the weapon at Mason, striking him in the stomach as he rushed past. He spun, hurling his lone spear at the boy, not looking to see if he had landed the shot. Loden stood in front of him, his battle axe held loosely at his side. "So, " Mortag snarled. "The time has finally come for you to die." He looked to the sky once, hoping to catch a camera for Joss's sake. He mouthed "Remember me.", returning his attention to the boy in front of him. Loosing a bellow of anguish, he rushed the smaller Tribute, ready to end the boy's life.

Sweat stung his eyes, and he spit out blood. He had been locked in battle for what felt like hours, his hammer against Loden's axe. Mason lay dead on the ground, Alice sitting on top of the corpse, her hands around his neck. A single spear stuck out of the boy's stomach, courtesy of Mortag. Gritting his teeth, Mortag, yanked his mighty hammer back, sweeping it towards Loden's legs, sending it crashing down on his left kneecap. The boy fell, and that was all the opening he needed. Leaping down upon the boy, he sent his hammer flying towards his skull, the impact shattering bone and exposing the tender brian underneath. Again and again the hammer fell, until Loden was nothing but a crimson stain upon the ground.

Mortag stood, for the first time noticing the kife sticking out of Loden's side. "Thanks, Alice." He murmured. "So. It's come down to us. I'll take Loden's axe, and leave you the rest." He hesitated. "Unless the Gamemakers intervene, I'll give you twenty four hours of peace, then I consider our alliance broken." He picked up the bloody axe, tucking it into his belt next to where the hammer hung. Crossing the short space between them, he knelt in front of the girl. "If you kill me, please. Remember my request." He bowed deeply before turning away from the coliseum, jogging away from the last Tribute. He made his way to the camp, scavenging the camp for his goods that he had scavenged and killed for. He left Alice's.

He took the gear and hauled it across the Arena, finding a new location deep in a wooded area, setting up his tent in between a natural rock wall. The camp formed a natural dead end, ensuring he could only be attacked from a single direction. He leaned back against a tree, his thoughts racing. "Joss, if you can hear me...I hope to see you soon." He closed his eyes, sleep finally coming to him.

I will not lose.

#Task #Mortag #submission

The Four

Mason was growing anxious in the Palatino. Voices whispered harsh words in the back of his head. Most voices were unrecognisable; but a few were distinct. Maud’s voice, unusually fragile and soft, ‘You saved me’. Mason cringed whenever he heard her; reminding him that he couldn’t save her again. The district two teen also heard his brother. Liam hissed, ‘You’re a murderer, Mason’, the sentence stung every fibre of his being. The loudest voice was Rose’s. He heard her so many times that his head was starting to hurt. “Mason, come home to me”. He wasn’t even sure that she had ever said that to him, but then again, Liam hadn’t called him a murderer either, had he?

He needed a distraction. Anything would suffice. Perhaps he should have taken more food from the feast. Despite all logic, Mason wanted to return. Nobody was there earlier. So perhaps nobody would be there now. He rubbed his palms together as he stood up and exited his home-like cottage. As he raced over to the archway near the Colosseo, he devised a strategy. Maud would not have liked his plan and Mason was slowly growing more apprehensive.

Mason slowly crept into the stadium. It looked empty. Relief rushed through his body, rinsing him of all previous doubt. He walked closer to the feast table, which seemed a little less full. Mason sucked in a breath between his teeth. Something was wrong; the voices were telling him so. Maud’s voice was quickly growing louder and louder, “Get out. Mason. GET OUT.” He held on tighter to Maud’s old sword, the weapon feeling heavier in his hands than usual. He neared the edge of the table. The voices were yelling at him now. He couldn’t make out what any of them were saying, but he got the basic message. Danger. He quickly turned around, only to be greeted by a fast moving blur.

Pain. Unimaginable, indescribable pain.

Mason was completely alone, of that he was sure. Even the voices were gone. He had kept his eyes closed, fear holding them like glue. Calling upon every ounce of courage that he had, he made his eyelids flutter open. He didn’t recognise the place he was lying in. It seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, yet at the same time, he was everywhere.

Finally returning from the daze he seemed to be in, his eyes focused on the two figures who were sitting across from him. Mason was certainly shocked. “Rose, Maud!” He cried, stumbling over himself to get to them. Once he reached their sides, he reached his gangly arms out and pulled them forcefully into his body. Both girls returned the gesture. Mason wasn’t sure how long they sat there, Not that he really cared. Finally, he released them from his death grip. He found them both to be tearing up. He hadn’t seen Maud cry. She had always been so strong, even in the face of death. He hastily brought his hand up to her face and brushed her tears away. He then turned and did the same to Rose.

“Don’t let the expression fool you; I’m actually extremely mad at you.” Rose spluttered, grabbing on to his arm. Mason raised his eyebrows at her. He then decided that this was a bad idea, as it had caused Rose to break into a fresh round of sobs. Mason pulled her closer to him, and she leant into his shoulder. He glanced over at Maud, who had seemed to have stopped crying for the moment, but was shaking like a leaf, as if she was trying to contain her hurt and pain. She was staring at her hands. Mason tentatively placed one of his hands on top of hers. Maud brought her head up to look at him. “You know, I was hoping that I wouldn’t see you again for a long, long time.” She told him. The beautiful girl attempted a small smile, but it instead broke her shaky demeanour. Mason soon had two blubbering girls that he cared for, weeping into each of his shoulders. He quickly came to the conclusion, that this was not as fun as it may have seemed. Hearing them in so much pain was physically hurting him.

Maud stood first, wiping at her red eyes. Rose pushed herself off his shoulder, but did not rise. Maud reached a hand out to Mason, who unthinkingly took it. He did not let go of her small hand once he was standing. He outstretched his own hand to Rose. She stared at him numbly for a few moments before weakly shaking her head, “I’m not coming with you.” Mason frowned at her, but let his hand fall loosely to his side. Why not? Did she not want to stay with him? Is that why she was crying? But then why was Maud crying?

Realisation dawned and Mason was not sure if it was a blessing or a curse. Maybe it was both. He felt his own eyes dampening. He held tight onto Maud’s hand. The air seemed to be harder to breathe. Rose was looking everywhere except at him. “Goodbye.” Mason said. Rose only cried silently.

The boy turned and, dragging Maud along behind him, walked away. His eyelashes clumped together with salty water, eyes shinier that usual and cheeks holding a slight pink shade. Mason didn’t let go of Maud. Not once. He had a feeling that they would hold on to each other for years to come. She was still his rock and he would still be her comforting arms. They would hold one another the same in death that they did in life, because for them, home was in the other’s arms. They were far safer here; they could laugh and smile. They weren’t going to be watched on television screens and they wouldn’t be forced to murder. They were freed from their prison and they had managed to hold on to each other. And so went the tale of the Hunger Games First Power Duo, Maudason.

#Task #Mason #death post #submission

Task 11 is now up

sorry

#notes

The Feast [Alice]

The longer the games went on, the more anxious Alice became. The source of most of it, in the last few days, or hours, or weeks (Time had been slipping away from her) was her alliance with Mortag. They had to be the last standing alliance in the arena, and probably for good reason. Because the longer it went on, the more Alice began to fear being betrayed. Maybe it was unjustified. But really, she was just a paranoid sort of person. If it were any other circumstances, maybe she would have made more of an effort to speak to him. But their limited interactions seemed to be working out fine. Regardless, the more she thought, the more uneasy she became. Until she was thrown from her thoughts by a loud booming voice. “Good morning tributes~ You’re getting a special treat today! There will be a feast at the Cornucopia at noon, and I’m sure you’ll all want to come very, very much…There will be much food, and - of course - you’ll get to postpone your inevitable death just that much longer.” She was already sitting up, reaching for her weapons and bag. They were doing pretty well in terms of supplies, even if they did split up. But more food or another weapon couldn’t hurt, right? Besides, it could be a chance for them to see what condition their enemies were in. They got there well before noon, just waiting. But the moment it struck twelve, they were both running. She froze a few steps away from the table. The food was piled sky high and it looked so good, her mouth was watering. And then there were the boxes. Four boxes. Each marked with a name. She was still staring at all the food when Mortag held out the box with ALICE written on it very clearly. She took it, looking at it like it might eat her fingers or something equally horrible. But instead she found a buckler. It wasn’t very large, but useful enough. She strapped it to her left forearm, getting used to the weight of it. She looked over at her ally, who was sporting metal gauntlets. How many sponsors did he have? Those things were worth more than her house! And for a second, all she could picture was him smashing her head in with them. The arena really was playing with her mind, she decided as she scooped up as much food as she could, ready to head back to camp. But of course, they just had to run into the other two tributes. Mortag hissed at her, remember our arrangement, he said. Like she’d forget. Fortunately, none of the four of them wanted a fight. Not now. Alice was glad, really. She didn’t want to fight. And she didn’t want the Capitol to get what they wanted out of the Feast. When the final battle between them took place, it would be on their terms, Alice would make sure of that. Because really, they weren’t the enemy. And in the end, they deserved a lot more respect than the bastard’s on the other side of the cameras.

#Task #Alice #submission

Task 12 - Loden (District 8)

Patches of sunlight peeked through the leaves of the bushes revealed Loden’s feeble figure curled underneath, a canopy of green above him. The sharp pain that had stabbed him throughout the night had subsided into a dull throbbing. An aching beat that originated at his lower rib. Through the bandages he wrapped tight round his middle, he could feel it swelling.

“Good morning tributes,” A voice echoed above him, like the loud speakers in the factories. The ones that dictated their orders. “You’re getting a special treat today! There will be a feast at the cornucopia at noon, and I’m sure you’ll all want to come very, very much…There will be much food. . .”

Food, there was going to be food. He had already exhausted the loaf of bread he received the night before. The dry food had stuck to his tongue making it hard to swallow. A feast, he thought. Loden imagined the food he had in the Capitol, rich and moist with tall glasses of refreshing ice water. His lip seemed to dry within a moment sticking to each other and splitting as he pulled them apart.

He had to go, he had to eat something good- something with substance.

Tenderly he rose, pressing his hand to his left side. With the axe hanging limply from his left hand, he walked towards the colossal structure. Towards the round tomb.

#Task #Loden #submission

Mortag Odair, The Feast

The morning came with an unusual crispness to it, the air feeling like a bowstring ready to be let go, the tense Arena seemingly even more dangerous than before. It made Mortag nervous. He stepped out of the tent, rolling his shoulders to work out the kinks from the short amount of sleep he had managed to get. After a quick perimeter sweep, ensuring that the pair was safe, he cast his eyes upon Alice. Small, sleeping, brilliant. The girl was more than capable of taking care of herself, yet she allowed him to join her in the only remaining alliance. It had been a rough time, the respites rare, and the fights deadly. He had managed to survive this long, and he knew he was more than able enough to win. As he walked the campgrounds, a parachute fell, beeping quietly as it landed at his feel. Attached was a magnificent warhammer, its handle leather-wrapped oak, with a gilded steel head. Smiling, he picked it up, marveling at its feel. “Thanks, whoever you are.” He swung it a few times, getting a feel for his new toy. A voice boomed out overhead. “Good morning tributes~ You’re getting a special treat today! There will be a feast at the Cornucopia at noon, and I’m sure you’ll all want to come very, very much…There will be much food, and - of course - you’ll get to postpone your inevitable death just that much longer.” His eyes snapped to the tent, where he saw Alice sitting up, already nodding her head. He buckled his claymore on, tucking his new hammer into his belt. Lifting his trusty harpoon, he set off towards the Cornucopia, Alice close behind him. Soon, they were just outside the Coliseum, well before noon. After a brief conference, Mortag and Alice sprinted across the clearing, quickly reaching the table set up there. It was covered in food; mountains of meat, bowls of potatoes, and fruit covering every inch of the surface. But that wasn’t the focus of the pair. On each of the four chairs, a box with a single name on it was waiting, almost too easy to take. With a look of apprehension towards Alice, Mortag stepped forward, picking his and her boxes up and jogging back to his partner. “Looks safe. Here, take yours.” He knelt down, making quick work of opening his. Inside was a pair of metal gauntlets, made of the same material as his warhammer. He slipped on the leather gloves included with them first, then strapped on the deadly mitts. He flexed his fingers, eager to find a target for them. Oddly enough, at the bottom of the box, a single leaf of what he recognized to be ochseed lay, a powerful healing plant. He carefully folded it into his thigh pocket, not wanting it to be harmed. Happy with the gifts, he turned to Alice, wanting to see what she had received. She was holding a small metal buckler, reveling in its strength. It suits her. “Let’s get going. Grab some food and we’ll head back.” He jogged back to the table, scooping up what he could fit into his pack, bread, smoked and dried meats, a few fruits. He waited until Alice had done the same, and then nodded to her, ready to return to camp. He never made it. As they turned around, they saw the other two tributes coming towards them from the direction they had entered, leaving them no choice but to raise their weapons, hoping for the best. “Alice,” he hissed. “Remember our arrangement.” And with a final glance at her, he charged at the pair, war hammer held high.

#Task #Mortag #submission

The Feast

Mason sat silently in the shadows inside of the Palatino. His head was in his hands and his clothes were torn and stained with blood. The loss of his ally, Maud, had destroyed him. Before the games began, Mason vowed to himself that he would win, no matter what it cost; but as the games progressed, he had put Maud’s safety before his own. He wanted to deny it, but he knew that if Maud and he came to be the final two, he would’ve given her the victory. He would’ve died for her, even if that meant he would have never seen his family again. Or Rose. Rose. Mason ached at the thought of her. He wanted to see her again. What would she think of him now? That he was a murderous creature? Or would she understand? Mason prayed for the latter. He couldn’t lose anyone else; not after Maud. Mason pulled his legs towards his chest and rested his head on his knees. He wouldn’t leave the Palatino today. He wouldn’t see any more death. Not today.

“Good Morning Tributes,” Mason leapt to his feet at the unexpected noise, dagger in hand. “You’re getting a special treat today!” Realising that it was the Gamemaker speaking, he relaxed his stance but grew more anxious. He was sure that this couldn’t be good. “There will be a feast at the cornucopia at noon, and I’m sure you’ll all want to come very, very much…. There will be much food, and – of course – you’ll get to postpone your inevitable death just that much longer.” Mason shuddered and slumped back against the wall.

The Gamemakers were the cause of his entire misery in this arena, and they just sounded so damn cheerful. Mason hated them. Hated the Gamemakers. Hated the Capitol. Hated the whole lot of them. He had enough food. He did not need to go the feast, but the way they said the announcement made him think that they weren’t exactly giving him a choice. He would go. Hide. Then wait to see if anything was left after everybody was finished.

After packing his stuff into a backpack, placing his dagger into a loop on his belt, putting on his brass knuckles and gathering up Maud’s old sword, he decided he was all set. He left the small house and trudged towards the archway that had hidden Maud and him on the first day. He stuck to the shadows and kept his mind on the task ahead, to avoid any breakdowns in the middle of the forest. He reached the small archway and sat down. This was where he had hugged Maud for the first time. He missed her. He missed the safety that being in her arms brought. A single tear threatened to leak from his eye, but he quickly brushed it away.

He ran to the edge of the Colosseo and hid, crouched down in the shadow that the doorway created. He looked to the sky. Maud told him that if you were smart enough, you could tell the time by the position of the sun. After a few minutes contemplation, Mason figured that it must be very close to noon. Like clockwork, a table folded up from underneath the cornucopia. It was piled with plates of mouth-watering fruits and meats.

Mason waited in the shadows, licking his lips every time the wind swept the smell of the feast in his direction. Growing increasingly impatient, Mason looked to the sun, it appeared that over half an hour had passed, and still nothing.

Mason was not impatient; but the arena did stranger things to people. The heat clouded his judgement. His hunger drove his impatience. He could not wait any longer. He ran to the feast. Mason wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but the stony silence that greeted him was the last thing he thought would happen. He piled as much food into his backpack as he could, eyes watching the entrances to the stadium. The boy was about to turn and leave when something on the seat caught his attention.

The bag read ‘Mason’. Grabbing it, the district two boy fled from the Colosseo. He didn’t stop running. Paranoid was an understatement. It shouldn’t have been that easy, but he reached the Palatino with no problems. Mason smiled to himself as he entered the small refuge. Maud was still watching out for him from up above. He was sure of it.

After opening the small drawstring bag and peering inside it, Mason began to quietly laugh to himself. Brass Knuckles. He already had a pair.

He didn’t really care too much. They were nearing the end of the games. Soon he would see Rose. Or perhaps Maud. He was nearing the end.

#Task #Mason #submission

OMG! There are really only four left????? It went so fast, how many more rounds do you think are left?

I think...two, after this one.

#anonymous #All my bitches

How big are the feast items? The same size as in the movies? ALso, what/when is Mortag getting the bonus item, for answering the Remus/Romulus question right? Thanks.

The feast items are a literal feast; it's a large table with four chairs around it, and lots and lots of food on the table.

Also at each seat is a single, wrapped box labeled with the name of one of the surviving tributes. They contain:

Mason: Brass knuckles

Mortag: Metal gauntlets + a quick acting, healing plant (1 use)

Alice: A small shield

Loden: A length of chain

#mortagodair #All my bitches

Task 10 is up!

#notes

Hey everyone!

I just got back from my classes, and I'm home at last! I apologize for the wait, but I really just didn't have the time to put up the task this past week. It'll be up tonight, and thank you for waiting and dealing with your crazy gamemaker.

#notes

When will the next task be up?

Soon, I'm REALLY busy at the moment with summer classes, and I'm in the Capitol right now, so I'm busy visiting everything here, too.

I promise I'll have it up in the next day or so. :)

#anonymous #lolol I'm in the Capitol

brb being washed away by Maud and Mason feels. I'd like to gift him with some actual sustenance.

#anonymous #All my bitches

Everybody wrote so brilliantly this task... Maud's death made me cry. It was written so well from her and Masons point of view. and I loved everyones tasks this time. Good Work Tributes

#anonymous #All my bitches

#sponsor #omg awesome

Loden (D 8) - Task 11

The heat from the sun pressed against his back, causing an uncomfortable amount of perspiration to coat his skin. A few drops slid lazily off the tip of his nose and latched onto the crevices of his cracked lips. The salt stinging the raw skin.

‘Denisse and Kyler were-’ He swallowed hard attempting to rid the lump that began to creep its way back into his throat. He couldn’t even think the word let alone speak it. He was alone now.

Impress me. The scrawled writing flashed across his lids.

As alone as a boy with a phantom commander could be. He served as a mere puppet for the ghost hand. The sturdy wood clasped in a callused palm was his reminder. The tighter he held to it, the scrawled writing pressed further into his mind. Impress the phantom commander.

Loden’s shoulder scrapped against the rough edge of building, little bits of ivory painted material clung to the fibers of his clothes. The sound of softly running water trickled to him from a distance, and he could feel his tongue like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth. Quickening his pace, he saw it. White water that glistened from the sun gushed out of an ornate fountain and into a wide basin. Disregarding the cautionary voice that prickled in his ear, Loden launched into the courtyard. Repeatedly he plunged his hands into the water and brought it to his cracked lips. He ran handfuls through his hair and it trickled down his neck to be absorbed by the cloth of his shirt. Releasing a sigh, he slid down the outer fountain wall in the shade with the weight of the axe resting in his lap. The sound of water calmed him in a way, like the sound of his mother and siblings doing wash or carrying buckets back from the well with his brothers.

Get moving, boy. the phantom voice spoke. Get out of plain damn sight.

Loden shushed the nagging, and focused more on the soothing sounds the water made. Between the laps of water against the tiled the was a soft murmuring. Sounds like voices, he thought. The murmuring grew louder, though the lapping water ceased to change. Just the top of his head was visible from behind where he sat and as he twisted his head round he seemed to freeze. The girl from one and the boy from two were approaching the opposite side of the fountain hesitantly.

Told you to move, the voice spoke again.

Pinned like an animal, Loden fought to think as he pressed the wood harder in his grasp. If he ran they would follow and they would find him if he stayed. Either way he was dead, he was sure of it. Peering back over the top, he watched the girl set her pack down and reach towards the water while the boy ran his hand through the spout a quarter of the fountains length from her. As she bent down her eyes grazed over the top of the fountain wall, they seemed to double in size as she meet Loden’s bright green eyes peeking out from brown hair. With her mouth open in a scream, Loden launched towards her bringing his axe to slice through the air horizontally. He felt the blade resist slightly as end met flesh. Scarlet droplets cascaded into down into white water and flecked up the center stone statue.

“Maud!” The other boy shouted, as the girl stumbled her knees cracking against the stone.

Loden felt cold steel connect with the bridge of his nose, an ominous crack seemed to reverberate within his skull and hot liquid poured from his nostrils and into his slacked open mouth. Stumbling backwards, Loden sputtered on his own blood. The boy’s fist lashed out once again connecting with Loden’s left abdomen. Sharp pain shot through his body, even reaching to the tips of his fingers. Screaming from pain and any attempt to summon strength, Loden kicked out. He flung his fist and swung his axe in one hand. But shinning through each others attacks was the boys cold gleaming eyes locked on Loden. The hatred burning deep into his chest.

With Loden’s wild swinging motions the axe had turned on itself and as he swung it at the boys chest the think blunt end connected with his lower abdomen, stunning the boy long enough for Loden to get away from arms length. Long enough for him to run, to reach the cover of trees.

Pain shot through his chest at each deep inhale, sending a shock wave of agony yet Loden did not stop. The blood had began to dry and cling to his mouth and chin, it tightened his skins as he gasped for air. As he inhaled a final stab of pain brought him to collapse to his knees.

Get out of the open, boy. The phantom voice spoke.

Loden clawed at the earth, his under-nails filling with dirt as he crawled to a spot of shrubbery, the closest concealment. Fighting the urge to dry heave, he buried himself deeper into the bushes. He whimpered through the waves of pain that now coarse through his body.

A silver parachute entangled itself in the twigs above him, the package hanging within reach and attached to it was a small bit of paper that read in scrawled writing: You need to do better than that. I said impress me.

#Task #Loden #submission

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