The Pestilention

Chapter 7

"No way." I shook my head, staring in disgust at the dress resting limply on my bed. It had been hanging on my doorknob when I woke up and trust me, it wasn't love-at-first-sight. "I am not wearing this."

Stace rolled her eyes and slid her blonde hair away from her face. After a long, bitter argumen, I finally got a guard to let me use his phone. I immediately hologrammed Stace. If anyone could help me, it was her.

"Oh, come on, Kit-Kat." She was resting on her floor, a variety of colored nail polish littering her carpet. She plucked a lavender color from the ground and started covering a bare nail with it. "It's the Welcoming Ceremony. If you don't look nice, then you're going—"

"To have a better chance of getting killed, blah blah blah." I watched as her arm knocked over the open bottle of nail polish. "Great, now your mom is going to kill you before I die."

It took nearly an hour to calm Stace down when I had called her. Tears and mascara were falling down her frail face and she kept wanting me to tell her that it was a joke. I wanted to say to myself that this was all a joke, too. I wanted to believe that in a second everyone would be laughing and I would go back home.

"You're not going to die," Stace said firmly as if to little kid who was running with scissors. "And don't worry, I'll place a rug over it. It's not like my mom cleans my room, anyway."

Why did everyone have faith that I wasn't going to die? I was a high school girl that would try to get a locker next to my crush and doodle on my friend's notebook during class. Nothing in that description screamed survival-worthy. It seemed unlikely that I'd even make it halfway through the course.

"The ever so famous rug." The corners of my lips tugged.

"And you will be ever so famous soon, too." Stace blew on her fingernails as an attempt to dry them faster.

I nodded. "Yep, the girl from New York that died faster than the person who fainted right when it started." Four years ago in Mexico, a very unfortunate fellow got the record of dying in the first two seconds. As impressive as it was, Mexico wasn't too happy to hold the record of the quickest death. It wasn't exactly something to draw tourists in.

"Honey, you know that's impossible. Even for you." I couldn't help but crack a smile. I had the greatest friend in the world. I didn't know how I would survive a month without her.

I heard a knock on the door. I turned to Stace apologetically. "Sorry, I have to go."

"Awe, so soon?" She puckered her glossed lip. "Call me whenever you can."

I chuckled. "If I can't, then you'll see me on the screen."

Tears welled in her eyes. "Kat, please tell me it's not true. That this is all a cruel dream that we'll wake up from. We'll grab a cup of coffee together and laugh about this, right?"

"I wish," I whispered. The door rattled as a louder knock echoed through the room. "Goodbye, Stace." Thank you for being the greatest friend I've ever had.

"Bye-bye." I reluctantly pressed the red phone icon on the phone as tears began to pour down her cheeks. If I saw her cry for another second, I'd swear that I'd start losing it.

I hid the phone under my pillow before swinging the door open. A man with purple hair and casual black clothes leaned on the door. A black bag was slung over his left shoulder. He couldn't have been older than twenty-five. His face was pale with powder, hiding his wrinkles, age, and stress.

I nearly choked on his cheap perfume. I coughed into my hand. I could see a necklace with a gold chain and a blue rose dangling from it. It looked like it had just bloomed on a beautiful spring day. I coughed again as I stared, mesmerized.