Author Games: Pandora's Box

Task 6: Egan's Entry

Dust. There was dust. Orange dust, everywhere, swimming meaninglessly around his vision. A fine particle landed on the layer of mucous that glazed his left eye. It stung, but he blinked and the feeling was gone. Meaningless. The itching sensation of sand on his arms, face and back gave way to a frustrating but guiltily comforting realization. He was alive.

Not that he'd expected to die so easily in a Game so cruel. He had just been hoping, perhaps selfishly, that the eyes staring into his when he woke wouldn't have been who it was. That it would be someone easier to kill. But he should have known. He had said it himself, after all. Phoebe Beckham was strong.

A momentary happiness had filled him, when he felt the familiar warmth beside him. Jane was alive. He was alive. They were alive.

So what?

Just like that, within the split-second it took for him to think those two words, his happiness dissipated. Meaningless.

For one of them, their current state of being alive would be destroyed soon. Meaningless. For one of them, the struggle to survive up to this moment was going to become meaningless soon. Which one of them that would be, needed to be decided now.

"Where are we?"

Egan sat up, with a noise that sounded like a mix between a sigh and a groan. Where were they? Good question. He had no idea.

The cracked stone walls were colored with the same shade of rust as the soot that surrounded it. They rose in a circle around them, reaching so high that it was hard to tell where the orange of their new arena ended and the red of their new sky began. The structure they were trapped in resembled an ancient theatre. Rows and rows of seats started from near the top of the building, all the way down to just a few feet higher than they ring they sat in the middle of.

He was wearing something heavy. A bronze armor, shining under the glinting light, blending him into the rusted color of the arena. Phoebe was wearing the same thing. It was as if the Gamemakers had decided to put them in a costume. Looking up at the empty, stair-like sandstone seats, he felt like a performer, acting out a tragedy for the amusement of his invisible audience.

Despite himself, Egan chuckled. Jane shot him a weird look, but he only grinned.

"Where are we? Here, of course. This is our finale, Jane. The last act. There's only two of us left," he laughed, sounding mad even to himself. Her face paled, and she turned to look around, searching for others around them almost desperately.

His eyes fixed on the glinting sword lying beside him. Just an arm's reach away, at Phoebe's feet, was another sword. One for the each of them, though he could easily make it two for him while he had the chance; if he were brutal enough to increase the already obvious difference between his current strength and hers. Maybe it was just his mind making it seem hard to pierce a sword through Jane. Maybe it would be much easier to actually do it. He only had to try to find out.

"Egan, we aren't."

He blinked, looking back up. Jane was staring at a figure just meters away from them, rising slowly as if it'd just appeared out of thin air.

"We aren't the only ones," she mumbled, picking up her sword. She nearly dropped it when the figure stumbled closer, with the face of his district mate, Alyssa Cameron. He frowned, dragging the sword up with him as he stood.

"Egan? What..." the girl mumbled, sounding as confused as he was feeling. She was dead. He was sure of it. He'd seen her face light up the night sky on the very first day of the Games. The only way the dead could come back to life, was if the Gamemakers brought them back.