Outside the dangerous streets, soft dark curly brown hair flows in the moonlight mixed with street lamps which seem to illuminate strong stern features. Thick denim jacket with the bright glimmer of silver hidden inside. A shade of crystal clear gre...
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The gentle breeze rattled the large window pane in the tiny coffee shop. The aroma of coffee beans calming me down before the dark events I know will occur, in the next few hours. My stomach churns at the thought. The bench seat beneath me squeaks everytime I reposition myself to get comfy, waiting patiently I peer outside. The hustle of people buying simple supplies such as tin food and water, are displayed before my eyes. Yet there is always that rare silver shine that reflects in the warm sun causing my eyes to dart away. A gun.
Twirling my fingers together placing them on the clean table in front, I huff a breath of air forcing it out of my constricted lungs. I never liked the idea of guns and the right to bear arms. I haven't felt safe in my whole seventeen years of life. Picking up the salt in the middle of the table, I pour a bit out and begin to make patterns with my finger. The salt soothingly creating a trail behind my movements.
The bell chimes again alerting the staff that another customer has entered the shop to grab what could be considered their last meal. Peering up under my long lashes, my green eyes widen catching the sight of three men in completely blacked-out outfits. Not only were they dressed the part for tonight's starting events, but the backpacks did little to nothing to hide what was being carried inside. The zip of one was slightly open concealing a silver automatic machine gun. Shivers instantly run up and down my arched spine.
Diverting my alerted eyes away from the dangerous weapon, my brows furrow together hating the idea of death hand the blood shed that happens every year. The government shouldn't have to resort to this. It's simply inhuman, everyone's sanity thrown out their own window for hours upon end. Staring at the small white clock, it seems time is ticking by quickly when I don't want it to pass by at all. Yet when I need time to speed up, especially tonight, it'll seem as if the next ice age has begun, freezing time.
"Your coffee Miss," a soft voice says beside me.
I lock my eyes on the steaming hot drink she delicately holds under a small light plate. The pleasant smell of coffee swarming my senses instantly. I smile at her and read her name tag, 'Samantha' which is clipped on her brown apron. My smile slowly vanishes as I ponder over the thought, whether she'll be alive the next time I visit. Or maybe it'll be me who won't visit my favourite local coffee shop.
As she places the warm mug on my tiny table I give her a sad smile saying "thank you," to the lovely old woman.
I hate the whole idea of this 'game' the government forces us to play. In the end if you're not the winner, your failure is just worth your life. It's your death that becomes the punishment of losing. Not just hearing the torment the winner dishes out bragging about the win of the game. All you hear is silence and all you feel is pain before your complete and utter end. Dark, dark death.
