The Mentor

The Day Before The End

I'm running through the forest. Behind me, there is the sound of footsteps. Someone is hot on my heels. I don't dare turn around.

It's autumn. The leaves crunch beneath my feet, and the pinecones drop from the trees. Usually, I'd welcome the sound, but it gives me away now. My heart pounds in my chest, and finally, a scream tears from my throat as a rough hand grabs my shoulder and pulls me towards the figure-

My eyes snap open. I'm trembling all over. The sheets are cold, and the air in my room is refreshing. I take deep breaths to calm myself. I'm in my bed. I'm safe.

I flick on the night light and sit up, looking around my room. On the left is my window. The blue curtains cover it, and on the windowsill are two things I love: a worn photo of my father in an old frame, and the rose bracelet that I wear to school every day. I clamp down the urge to run my fingers along its beads, then look to my right. The origami I made last year is still standing proud on top of my desk, along with the jewelry I like to make, and my white blouse and green skirt swish lightly on the hanger when the wind manages to get through the tiny crack beneath my window. I look at the floor and see the pile of clothes that I took off last night. I forgot to put them away. I wince and slowly get out of bed. Agh, my back! I'm only sixteen. Why am I already in pain? I'm gonna die early, I think.

I shake my head, then pick up my clothes and stuff them into the wardrobe, in a heap at the bottom.

Rays of sunlight manage to struggle past my curtains and illuminate my bedroom. I look at the clock. 6am. Time to get ready for school. I wash myself, then get changed. I open my wardrobe. My pink dress hangs there. I give it an uneasy glance, then remember my outfit is already ready. Hurriedly, I close the door, but it slams loudly, alerting my mother.

"Ayla Oaklyn, come down now! You're gonna be late!"

It's like with that shout, the district springs to life - I can suddenly hear people walking outside and chatting; heavy footsteps as lumbers drag themselves to their day's work, and the rumbling of carts over gravelly ground. I throw on my blouse and skirt, and rush downstairs. My mother throws a box at me, and I catch it. It's my lunch: a beef, cheese and apple sandwich with thinly sliced fried potatoes. She then forces my breakfast into my other hand - two oat bars. "Where'd you get these?" I ask.

"Go, go!" she says. "You'll be late!"
I can't help protesting as she pushes me out the door: "But school isn't that-"
The door slams.
"-far." I purse my lips. My mother and I live ten minutes away from the school. She knows this. Maybe she forgot again, I think as I begin to stuff my oat bars in my mouth. I nearly choke on the dryness, but after I finish them, I'm good. Shaking my head for the second time today, I make my way to my friend Rowan's place. It's small but hearty. Rowan's father makes good money with his cooking. It's popular amongst workmen, who might purchase them for the day ahead.

The shop says open, which feels odd, even though it's usually open at this time. The smell of fresh food hits my nose immediately. Rowan's father smiles at me. "Ah, Ayla," he greets. He's a bit subdued today, but I know why: the Reaping is tomorrow, and Rowan's mother died in childbirth. He doesn't want to lose the only person he has left.

Said person comes running down the stairs. "Alright Ayla?" she asks. Rowan's dressed in a green top and dark brown trousers. I know somewhere, her trusty slingshot is hidden on her. Her father doesn't know that, though. She smiles at me. "Ready for school?"
"Uh, yeah? It's in - " I check the clock. "An hour?" I then groan, pinching my nose. I'm too early, for the third time this week. Rowan's father chuckles, then passes me a small paper bag. "Here," he says. I glimpse the savoury pastry inside. I look at him, surprised, then hug him. He smiles and hugs back, then ruffles my hair, making me yelp in surprise. "Off you go. Don't be late."