On the Eve of the Hunt - IV
16th March, Story #76/366
I aim to write these so that you can enjoy them as stand alone stories, or one after the other. If you'd like to do the latter (they're all very short):
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A thick, cream-coloured card sits folded tent-like beside my plate with my name looping across it. I've an urge to pick it up, feel its moneyed texture. But it's beyond me. I mustn't. The dress I'm wearing: I mustn't touch that either. I shrink inside it, my skin diffident.
How much less, then, can I eat the food they serve me? It's more meat than I'd normally eat in a week. Mother's watching from the gallery; I'm avoiding looking at her. Can't bear the look in her eyes, imploring me to try, to be brave darling. I hear her, plain as if she's sat here. You'll need your strength.
Was it five minutes, or five hours, before they clear it away? The music clangs in my ears, the smiles twirling around the room look fixed, inhuman. I stay seated, untrusting of my legs. The other Candidates stay, too. Without moving or speaking, it feels like we draw closer together, alone in this crowded Hall. Ghosts, maybe. Or the only real people in a sea of shadows. Bound by shared circumstance. Shared fate; less romantic than it sounds. In my head, I can see that fate. See us all, glassy-eyed, broken, charred.
The Queen carries a crystal bowl. It's empty, ready for our futures to swirl inside it. She collects our name cards, folding them back on themselves, dropping them into the bowl. She plucks mine from my fingers. I hadn't realised I'd been holding it, testing the sharpness of the corners on my fingertips.
Beside the King, she dips a hand in to stir the cards. Her fingers, talon-like, connected to puppet-strings that attach to our eyes. Select. Grasp. Unfold.
She reads out the name, and the boy sitting three places from me goes paler still. His Adam's apple bobs. There's a surge of cheering and applause, swelling and rising to the ceiling. In the corner of the sound, a keening wail, not quite drowned-out. The audible equivalent of a tiny pebble in a big shoe. I latch on to it, like it's the only real thing in a world of dreams and mist.
The boy lifts his chin and walks bravely to meet his fate.
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Word count (excluding notes): 366
Submitted on 14th March at 23.58
*Quick Author's Note*
First, and most importantly: thank you for reading!
Leave me a link to your own latest story, if I haven't already seen it!
If you enjoyed this story, the best compliment you can give me is to share it, or read another.
A Year of Stories: I'm writing a story every day this year. This one makes a 76 day streak. I'm also putting them in my Index post.
Thank you
Thank you again! I do my best to reciprocate all reads.
About the Creator
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Comments (8)
A "Hunger Games" scenario where no one seems to be hungry? Loving it!
Nice
The imagery in these is so good as is the narration! Marvelous storytelling!
Embarrassment and boldness. Best wishes for the story.
Oof. I feel sick for her. Excited to read what happens next.
Oh... I know the words seem like the boy has won... but I have a pit in my stomach that the boy just lost and whenever the next piece comes we will find it is such a horrible, miserable way... Can't wait for the next piece to this story LC!
Wow, you sure know how to build the tension in a story to just south of the breaking point. Can’t wait for the next one!
Our hero slipped the grasp this time, but sooner or later.... Keep them coming