Short Stories

The Arena

The night is cold. The branches lashing in my face, wet with snow, tangle in my hair. Everyone is falling behind. Even my brother, the fastest of us all, is struggling to keep up.

“Keep running!” bellows Joseph, glancing back at everyone. “Keep going and don’t look back!”

I can’t help but look. Through the darkness, I can see the Estate growing smaller in the distance. My sister and the little ones are running next to my dad; Emily has her youngest, Amelia, wrapped tight in her arms as she wades through the fallen trees. Mum, dad and Joseph are neck to neck in the woods; two of my nephews and niece scurrying at their heels.

My oldest nephew, Jackson, is at the hilt of our escape. Holding the Fallen Book, he maps the directions we are to follow. His hand trembles as he points to the left, where the trees seem to end; leading to the next barrier.

Everyone follows. We run, exhausted and debilitated, until we see the trenches in the clearing. Although we know that it offers little safety, we still run like it’s our only hope.

Scrambling by me, mum and Emily are clenching Amelia and the twins. I stand panting against the frozen tree, glancing about myself, looking for them, and see Little Jackie falling further behind.

My little brother *never* falls behind. Something’s wrong.

Instinctively I run towards him. I ignore Joseph’s bellowing. I ignore my mum’s protests. We knew what we were signing up to as soon as the book was posted through Jackson’s door. Well, we didn’t quite know that every day we’d be fighting for our lives, but we knew the rules. If you fell behind, you were left behind. Simple as that. No-one was to run back for you. You were to make sure you kept up, and didn’t get caught by the villagers.

I know how the God damn game’s played – but it’s still my brother!

I reach Jackie in the nick of time. Some yards behind, the villagers are gaining in on us. An edge of their rusted scythe pokes out my brother’s rib, blood gushing down his torn t-shirt. I wrap my arm around him, gratitude bursting in his eyes, and we try our best to run away from them.

But the villagers are fast. They squeal in the darkness; their presence resonating from every inch of the forest.

It’s okay, it’s okay . . . I try to calm myself, but it’s not exactly easy when you know your life’s on the line. But I won’t let them get us. I can’t let them get us!

“Almost there, Little Jackie,” I say, even though my voice crackles with uncertainty.

We toggle through the woods. Each step laced with a desperation I never thought I’d ever experience in my life.

“That’s ... that’s it,” my brother pants. “It’s over … over there!”

The trenches, for once, are a welcomed sight. I grip tighter at Jackie. The villagers squeal and laugh behind us.

They could’ve caught us miles back. They’re simply playing with us. We know that.

I feel the grass, no longer laden with snow, brush my soiled flesh. Jackie limps by my side. Then suddenly he stops still in his tracks. Stops moving. Stops Panting. He just stops. I look into his eyes – though now, one has been replaced with a spear. Another through his neck.

“Jah-Jac –”

I can’t even say his name.

“He’s gone, Tara – just let him go!”

“NO!” I scream at Joseph, though I know my stupidity will only see me killed. Without even realising it, I abandon my brother’s body and fall face first into the nearest trench. The mud is thick and wet, and seems to drag me further down when I plummet into it.