SWF - Trials of Fantasy

Chapter 1 – War

“Pencils down.”

Ms. Jana clicks her watch to stop its beeping. The thin, gold band sits tastefully around her caramel wrist. She slides her hands behind her back as she scans the room for anyone still attempting to answer questions.

My hand trembles as I lower my pencil beside the bubble sheet. I know most of my answers must be wrong. I have too many B’s in a row at the beginning, and that zigzag in the middle has to be wrong. My brain must have turned off and started bubbling in answers without me realizing. What if I skipped a question, and all my answers are meant for the bubble above it?

I press my hands to my head, digging my nails in until it hurts. I’m going to be a waitress for the rest of my life. A hand slips my paper from my desk, and I slowly lift my eyes to Ms. Jana.

She smiles softly, and winks. I know she’s trying to make me feel better, but it’s not going to work. I know I failed, and now there’s nothing more she can do to help me.

No more late-night study sessions. No more coming to the diner to quiz me while I work. No more resubmitting my essay five times. These answers are final.

She steps past my desk to collect the other tests.

“You can leave once I’ve collected your test.” She announces. “Grades will be posted once Finals have completed.”

I slide my pencil to the edge of the desk and exit into the crowded hall, hanging my head. Maybe I should’ve come early to study in the hall. Someone shakes my shoulder, and my pencil slips through my still trembling fingers. I bump heads with the stranger as I crouch to pick it up.

“How did you not notice me?” Lewis laughs.

His brown eyes crinkle in the corners from his wide smile, his blond hair gelled back, and undisturbed by the bump. I rub my head with my free hand.

“Because I wasn’t looking for you.”

“Even so.” he helps me to my feet before striking a quick pose and laughing it away. “So, how did it go?”

I groan and roll my eyes away from him.

“Come on Paige, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

“I forgot everything the second she started the timer.”

He laughs and swings his arm over my shoulder. “Well, at least we already know you’re a good waitress.”

It’s easier to get through the crowd with him fighting through for the both of us. People always seem to crowd after taking their finals. I don’t know if it’s because of the anxiety of having to wait for the results, or the relief of being done.

“So, have you been watching the SWF pre-game?” Lewis asks.

I groan again, and he laughs. He leads us out the cramped building and gives me some space. He spins to walk backwards. I can see his eyes flicker to the large image being projected against the wall. Each of the school’s buildings have been assigned a different section of the SWF.

Syfy. War. And Fantasy.

There’s something for everyone.

“Didn’t your brother win money the last War finale?” He asks.

“We both did.” I say.

“Really? The girl who despises the SWF places bets on it.”

“My brother’s obsessed. If anyone’s smart enough to pick-out the winner, it’s him.”

“So you were just trying to make some quick cash.”

“I want to help pay for his surgery.” I say, but my voice is drowned out by loud cheering.

Lewis stops and turns to watch the fight. The W in the corner of the screen isn’t needed for me to know I’m watching a War re-run.

Bullet’s fly all around a man as he carries his teammate to the flag in the center of the field. All he has to do is touch it, and he wins. The bullets will stop, and he’ll leave the void and come home. The image of him shrinks as the announcers are given dominance over the screen. They’re dressed in exaggerated soldier attire – probably for younger viewers.

“You remember this one, Rob?” one of the announcer’s asks.

“How could I forget? Family man enters the SWF to provide for his wife and kids and makes it all the way to the end of the games with a teammate still intact. That was a first in SWF history.”

The contestant groans, and the announcer’s shrink to the corner of the screen. Blood seeps from the center of his chest, and he falls to his knees. His teammate rolls onto his back as he’s dropped. People around me cheer as we watch a man slowly bleeds to death. There are no medics left on the field, and the other players won’t do anything to end his suffering. The SWF isn’t played with mercy in mind.

Lewis touches my shoulder and pulls me from the hypnosis of the large projection. I can’t hear the announcer’s words over the roaring cheers of my classmates. We all know the outcome, yet people still celebrate his death.

“Do you remember who won that year?” Lewis yells over the crowd.

I nod. “That was the year for team Grip. Only one survivor, like always.”

Lewis smiles with a scoff and nods his head to the side for us to walk. I follow closely behind him as he makes a path for us. The announcers talk overhead.

“Over twenty years ago, and it’s still so painful to watch.”

“It sure is Clint, but at least he was able to set his wife up for life with how much money he was sending home.”

“Didn’t she remarry a few years back?”

“She did, and her new husband ended up entering Syfy the following year and was ejected into space by his crewmates.”

“Wow, two husbands and they both enter the SWF. Makes me wonder what kind of a wife she is that they both risk death over staying with her.”

Their overbearing voices are quieted as I step through the front gate. The school does a good job of not disturbing anyone off campus, or in class with the brash speakers blasting unsympathetic words about a widow.

“I’m meeting Sarah for lunch, if you want to join.” Lewis says.

“I can’t, I promised my brother I’d watch the last of the pre-game with him.”

Lewis scoffs. “I don’t understand how you can hate it so much with how much you watch it.”

“The only good thing about the SWF is the time it allows me to spend with my brother.”

He rolls his eyes and turns. “Well, when the new games start make sure to pay close attention to who wins. He’s going to be a rich man when he gets out.” he claps once, and points at me. “He’ll make a perfect husband for you.”

“If you’re so impressed by money, maybe you should marry him.”

He breathes a laugh through his nose. “I doubt anyone who wins War will be my type.” he turns his back to me and waves. “Tell Kip I said hi.”

I wave back, despite knowing he can’t see me. I lower my hand and walk the other way. My dad has the car today, so it’s my turn to take the subway to the hospital. I slip my pencil into my pocket, and it pokes my thigh with each step.

Off campus, all I can hear are the loud announcements of the SWF playing all around. I don’t know why the school hushes it so much, I doubt anyone would care about the noise seeping onto the streets. The large screens, and projections against every flat surface are enough to outshine the sun.

I search for peace when I enter the station, but now the sound is concentrated and harder to ignore. At least it’s on a different channel than War. Kip will never forgive me if I watch too much without him.

I stand on the escalator, unable to walk through the crowd of people who want the stair-robot to do all the work. A small image follows the glass beside my head. I turn to watch the trial. I barely get a glimpse of the battle before it cuts to the intro.

I sigh. I don’t need an explanation on how all of this is possible. Everyone knows about the voids. We all know where they lead, and how they work. What I want is an explanation as to why we went along with them, rather than fighting for them to disappear?

“Ninety-nine years ago, portals appeared all over the world. Each city was offered three choices of worlds that were once only thought to exist in fiction.”

“Wars are manmade, genius.” I mumble a scoff.

“Brave explorers were chosen to investigate what had appeared in our world, and the first games were discovered.”

The glass flashes with the first men, and women to enter the voids, and my heart still races when I see the long, black ovals swallow each one. Who in their right mind would volunteer to enter something so alien? We should’ve sent cameras in first, rather than an actual person. What is wrong with the human-race that we see something impossible and think to ourselves ‘I’m gonna touch it’.

“Our first winners have set the trail for others to follow proudly in their footsteps every year.”

Images of past winner’s glide across the glass. It’s sad how little women appear with how many enter each year. I want to call the game sexist, but I can’t. For there to be more women, would mean men have been taking it easy on us.

Victorious music plays, and the logo of the games fills the center of the screen. The S has a red laser soothing through its curves while the S itself is a purple tentacle. The W is colored in with the Canadian flag to symbolize the home of the last winner. And the F is made of a long sword and two daggers.

It’s like the logo was drawn by a child – which it probably was. The companies who declared themselves the owners of the SWF will do anything to keep the younger generation watching. We’re the lifeblood of the program. Without us, there would be no one to keep it going.

Action jumps to the screen. Spaceships, lasers, aliens. It doesn’t take a genius to know I’m watching Syfy. I don’t know why the War games get so much attention with Syfy around. The S of the SWF is far more entertaining than the W.

I stumble when I reach the bottom of the robotic steps. I’d be embarrassed if I were the only one. The games have a way of sucking you in – no matter how much you dislike the bloodshed.

I follow the yellow line that leads to my train. I stare straight ahead as I’m bumped by everyone around. No one is paying attention. All they care about is keeping their eyes on a screen. The train whooshes by, and the speed blows my hair all around. I hold my hair out of my face and the loose strands tickle my hand.

I can’t see the faces of anyone inside the train; the screens keep them hidden from the outside world. My own reflection looks back at me. I didn’t realize how much of a mess I look. People might think I’m homeless with the lack of effort I put into my appearance today. Maybe this was my consciousness’s way of preparing me for my future after failing my final. My brown hair dances around my hand as the wind gradually slows, and the lack of emotion in my brown eyes make me look like I’ve just left a funeral. The only thing I have going for me is the natural glowing tan of my skin.

The doors hiss open, but I don’t step forward. I’m not in the mood to fight my way through everyone getting off. I shuffle back as shoulders bump mine. If only I were taller, people might have an easier time noticing me. I squish my way on the train, and quickly find a seat before one can be stolen from me. It doesn’t matter that I’m a woman, if a man finds the seat first, he’s not going to offer it to me. I don’t think this is the kind of equality feminists were fighting for in the past. Yes, I’m a woman and want to be treated as fairly as a man, but I still like the chivalry of a man offering his seat.

My pencil stabs my thigh, and I practically jump out of my seat. I yank it from my pocket and shake it as if it can understand my silent scolding. I lower into my seat. The thin car quickly fills to the brim with bodies, and I’m left touching someone no matter how tightly I squeeze into the corner. We can invent a cure for practically everything, but we can’t come up with an easier way for people to travel.

A group of men laugh loudly as they fight their way deeper into the cart. They look old enough to go to school with me but based off their clothes it’s probably a better school. No community college for any of them.

“I’m telling you, man, I would kill in the War games.”

One of them says. He crouches to sit. I can’t open my mouth in time to stop him. He sits in my lap, and my pencil stabs into the back of his leg. He hisses a curse I can’t make out, as he jumps to his feet. His friends point, and laugh, and I’m guilty of a chuckle of my own. He turns to me. His curly blond hair bounces at the force of his turn. I can’t pull the smile from my face in time. He glares at me with his dark brown eyes.

“What is wrong with you?” he spits.

“Excuse me? I’m not the one who just tried to sit on someone.”

“You slipped in before I could.”

I look away with a disbelieving scoff. “Is your head so far up your own ass that you couldn’t see me sitting here?”

His friends taunt him with a unison of oh. I can see the anger harden his face to something more heated than an average glare. I tighten my grip on my pencil. I doubt I have the strength to fight back if he does decide to pull me from my seat, but I can still make it harder for him.

The train starts, and he shuffles a step to his side, but keeps his eyes on me. A baby cries a few seats from us, and I turn. A woman bounces her baby with one arm as she struggles to hold the support above her head. The seats around her are filled. No one pays attention to her, as if they can’t hear the loud screaming of her child over their phones.

“Get up.” the man hisses.

I lift my eyes back to him. “Not for you.” I hover over the seat. “Ma’am, ma’am. You can have my seat.” I call.

Her eyes jump to me, and her shocked expression makes my cheeks burn. She hesitates but doesn’t stop once she takes the first step. No one moves to make the journey easier. The group of men are no different, and the woman fights through them. My heart sinks when I see she’s very visibly pregnant. I push out of my seat and stumble into the man’s chest as I find my footing. He shoves me to the side. I can feel the heat of his glare, but I pretend not to notice. I turn to the woman and watch the relief hit her face as she sits with her toddler son on her lap.

“This bitch thinks she’s better than me.” the man says with a scoff.

Heat travels down my spine, and I bite my tongue.

“Excuse me, what did you just call her?” the woman says.

I jump, and my eyes jump between her, and the man. He’s watching her now, with the glare meant for me.

“Mind your business”

“I will not mind my business when you think you can talk just about her like that.”

“Don’t do it man. It’s not worth it.” one of his friends warns.

He touches his shoulder, and the man shoves him off.

“She stabbed me.” he points at me.

“You stabbed yourself when you tried to sit on me.” I defend.

His hate jumps to me where it belongs. The woman laughs into her hand, and he turns back to her.

“What’s so funny?” he says through his teeth.

“Just that you’re letting such a small girl get you so angry.”

The train slows to a stop, and everyone sways. Station six-two-six travels across the window in red letters. I look down at the woman and wonder if I should stay. Who’s going to protect her when I’m gone? I bite my lip. I can always get off at the next station and walk. It’s only a mile or two away from the hospital.

“I think this is your stop.” The woman says, probably reading my face.

She winks and sways her hand for me to go. The doors open, and I clap my hands.

“Well, I wish I could say it’s been fun.” I turn, but his friends block me in.

“Let her go.” the man says.

I look over my shoulder at him.

“When I win the next War games, people like her will be begging for my attention.”

“Oh yes, because your bubbly personality hasn’t already done enough to swoon me.”

I regret my words the second they leave my lips, and I struggle to keep my anxiety from surfacing. I’ve been given an out and, instead of taking it, I thought it would be better to throw it back at him.

He breathes a heated laugh and waves at his friends to move. I slowly turn away and step through the small space his friends make. My heart races as I step forward. I can hear them scoff and snicker at my struggle to get off before the doors close. I make it through, and the doors hiss behind me. I turn to watch the man, and his friends through the window. They’re talking to each other, but the main man isn’t participating. He glares at me through the glass until the projection of an F covers most of his face for a second before the image of Fantasy covers the rest of him.