Battle Scars

Chapter 2: Dodge Ball with Fictional Horrors

Chapter two: Dodge Ball with Fictional Horrors
My father, Sam Hernandez, passed away when I was fourteen, leaving my mother, sister, and I to run a horse ranch with a hundred head of cattle, a large herd of range horses, and two hundred sheep. I won't say much about my father, except for this: he was one of a kind. Unfortunately, his kind are short lived, and we had to learn to run a large ranch on our own. Whilst my mother ran the office and managed cattle herders and shepherds, I managed the horses myself, partly because I loved the task, but partly because we couldn't afford any more stable hands than we had. Emily kept the house and the rest of the ranch in order. She's twenty one, and already made her decision to stay in Australia. For her it was easy.
We live in the South west of Australia. Australia, the once beautiful country of so many different landscapes was now almost entirely green, rolling hills, perfect for breeding livestock. Which works out well, because that's the task we were given by President Shard. In fact, he had his engineers doctor the landscape to make it this way, so there's plenty of cows to feed him and his country of vegetables.
Shard is the current ruler of this world. I say current, because presidents have a tendency to be assassinated fairly quickly these days. Em calculated once that the average life expectancy of the soviet's presidents on the throne was about a year. They're a jealous bunch up the top there.

Jealousy, however much it may cause divisions amongst the soviet, certainly does not break the unity they have in dominating the world. In school we used to learn about how after World War Three, The Soviet gained domination of the world. They announced to the remaining population that since many of their fiction authors from before the war had 'mocked' at a post apocalyptic world, with stories like the Hunger Games and Divergent, they would bring their horrors to a reality upon them.
And so they did. They split up the rest of the world into ten countries to be ruled by the soviet. They cut off any communications between countries, and assigned each country a specific task that they had to complete for the population of The Soviet, resulting in the people of The Soviet living in luxury and not working. Australia was assigned the task of rearing farm animals under the category 'Livestock.' This included cows, sheep, goats, and others, but a few lucky breeders gained the task of breeding horses for the use of The Soviet.
Not all the countries are farmers - in fact, it's really only Australia and Asia (now a single country thanks to The Soviet's geography books) who are farmers, which means there is really no shortage of food in our countries. Other places, such as Columbia (basically the old South America) mine coal and other elements. Food is a major problem for them, but the Soviet is content, as long as they continue to pump out enough fossil fuels to power their cities.
Canada is the only country where food is supplied to them from elsewhere. Canada is the sports and gaming country, the place where the Olympic Games for The Soviet are held, and the place I will go to live when I turn twenty if I choose to follow my career of gymnastics. If someone born in one country was better suited to a task assigned to another country, they were to move to the country when they turned twenty.

The situation has remained like this for almost 400 years. It was my great great grandparents who that fought and lost in the war against The Soviets, but like the Capitol in the nation of Panem they love to copy, The Soviets remind us each year of the power they wield over us. Just in case it isn't obvious enough in our daily lives.
Every year, on the anniversary of when The Soviets won the war, (1st July) they hold a celebration of some kind, in which the rest of the world is forced to participate. Usually it is a display of the fairest and best from each country showing what they could do. However, there is a special celebration every fifty years. During these times the situation comes a little closer to home for the people of each country - ten teenagers between twelve and nineteen years from each country had to go to Moscow, The Soviet's capital, to compete in competency trials. Across the ten teenagers from one particular country they had to attain an average of a pass in each trial. The trials involved mental capacity, intuition, and physical fitness, and their purpose was to ensure that all the people of the world were getting a good education and were not becoming unhealthy. (Never mind the vegetables in The Soviet, there's no education going on there.)
The ten teenagers were chosen at random, and if they put one foot out of line during their time in The Soviet they were killed instantly. It was a dangerous situation to be in, because if you take a strict school teacher and multiply her by one thousand, she still wouldn't be as evil minded as the assessors in the trials. I know because my mother was chosen for one. Luckily she escaped with her life. Each country was given a rank overall, and within each section of the trials. If the average the ten teenagers attained is below expected, the country is 'helped' in one way or another to increase the average.

But these trials were nothing compared to the almighty 100 year celebrations. For each 100 years since the war, a custom was started throughout the world that was repeated every year. A
boy and a girl between twelve years and nineteen years were sent to The Soviet to compete in a
televised event, in which only one victor could return.
We were drawing close to the 400th anniversary of the war - in fact, it would be announced that afternoon - meaning there would be four celebrations repeated every year - one in January for 100 years, one in April for 200 years, one in July for 300 years, and finally, one in October for 400 years.
For the 100 year celebrations, The Soviet started the Colosseum battles. One on one gladiator battles imitating ancient Romans, a custom occurring in January every year.
For the 200 year celebrations, it was Terrain Treks. A race for your life over a particular terrain, such as a Mountain, a desert, or even tundra. As with all the celebrations, one victor can finish, so after the first person has crossed the finish line, the others are left to die a slow death. These horrors occur in April every year.
For the 300 year celebrations, the Maze Runs were put in place, occurring in July every year. A giant maze is built with all kinds of horrors within it, perhaps a take off of the Maze Runner series written many years before the war, or perhaps a take off of the myth of the Minotaur in the maze. Only one person can escape it and become the victor.
Fortunately, the 400 year celebrations will be the last custom that is initiated into our messed up world. Unfortunately, nobody has any idea what the last horror will be, and being seventeen years old I am fully legible to be chosen. Emily escaped. My mother escaped. Even my father in his teen years never was chosen. How long can our family dodge The Soviet?