(OLD) Forever Desires

Chapter Seventeen

Seventeen

Waking up in chains, rusty and bloody, and with the sounds of cheers, loud and excited, could only worry you to a dangerously unhealthy extent. My eyes reluctantly flipped open, as the high noon sunshine seared the flesh off my eyes. What I saw was horrendous. Keypads rested on laps of several audience members, drink holders bearing beverages and trays with small bowls of soup and plates of pastries lay still beside them. I started to worry if I was about to be prosecuted. If only I had a knife nearby, then I could tear this hellhole down.

"The Emag, the newest form of the Bloody Desires," The woman with a short red bob announced, her voice booming through speakers, drowning out the cries of excitement. Was that what this game was called? The Bloody Desires? How horribly uncreative. I tried not to roll my eyes and sputter laughter, as the woman continued down the stage, babbling on about useless shit. "Freedom will be served once one has received The Game. Once the holder of The Game, you shall be granted freedom and security for a lifetime."

Freedom.

The word stuck out like bold letters and a bright sign of hope. A smile fixed on my face, the rusty chains shaking as I thought more about my exciting, devious plan to destroy The Born. A smirk overlapped the smile, as the woman annoyingly paced down the small, hovering, black stage.

"There shall only be one setting that lay behind me," The woman continued, running her fair fingers through her soft red hair. "a garden. Therefore, it is no longer the world's greatest arena known to man, it is now known as the largest, most technically advanced garden known to man." Fantastic. And here, I thought life would have suddenly gotten simple and easy. "I present to you, The Gardens." They needed to hire someone to create titles for these creations; there was simply no creativity in these names. "The Emag," Except that one. That one was highly creative and unusual. Twisting my wrists in discomfort and scanning the perimeter for my team — hopefully Sail, who I'm begging, isn't dead — or at least a sighting of someone familiar. A sigh softly escaped my lips, suddenly feeling my wall rumble. The chains shook, skinning my wrists, leaving them raw and bloody. My eyes danced everywhere having no sense of what the fuck was going on. Suddenly, feel a sharp pain enter my thigh, I watched as the woman spun around with a devious smile. "has begun." 

The stage flew away, leaving static dancing in the air. The walls rose, vines, roses and grapes all sewn on to the sandy bricks delicately. My legs were freed, the metal pulling away flesh. My heart beating calmly, trying not to kick painfully in my chest. I collapsed to the ground as the chains dismissed my wrists. Groaning, I staggered to my knees, my wrists covered in blood and soft, fresh dew grass. There were birds that sung and the animate clouds that swirled around. 

I checked my waist, checking for my belt. There was a belt, but it certainly wasn't my belt. The unfamiliar guns and knives lay close to my thighs as I stumbled to my toes. 

Pulling the surprisingly heavy gun from my belt, I aimed it silently towards the delicate birds chirping. Watching the birds smash against the ground in a slow silence, brought a ginger step forward towards the small black body. Slowly pulling a fairly small knife with a thin blade from my belt, I pierced through the feathers of its chest. The blood slowly spilling out, no white substance intertwined. My heart calmed as I slowly collected the birds and hide them in a small flower bush. 

"In the center of The Gardens, lay your bags and belts. Don't rush, or death will near." The woman's voice, that same bitch with red hair, spoke through the speakers, my ears ringing in pain as I set myself near a tree. Waiting for the voice to echo away, I heard a soft rustle of leaves near. The ominous clouds streaked the setting sky as feathers began to swirl down, resting on my thin grey pants. "Beware." A hiss was echoed, my heart leaping my throat. Apparently, loitering around and trying to straighten your incomprehensible thoughts, counted as rushing to the center. Staggering to my feet, I stumbled forward, my palm pressed against my gun.