Story-A-Day #188: Survival

SURVIVAL

Shaky alliances formed and the different sects fled into the wilderness. They said this year's tournament wouId be different, that major prizes would be awarded to the victors, but it's a simple game based on class. How different could it be?

The first to flee were the herbivores. Lean and nimble, they carried five discs, each representing one life. This did not make their lot the easiest though, not the extra lives, or the head start.

Next into the arena were the omnivores. They would seek out the herbivores after a five-minute period of grace. They carried three discs, and thereby three lives.

Three minutes later, the carnivores entered. They were the loudest of the groups, carried noisily forth by the arrogance that is bestowed to the top of the food chain. They have one life, but they can claim any that come before them with a simple tag.

Last into the arena is Man, a late addition to the game. Man can kill all on sight, just by calling out your name.

I am an herbivore, as always. We started out as a pack but once the undergrowth started to crackle with the heavy sound of pursuit, the weak were quickly left behind.

Our goal, all of our goals, is to find the hidden placards that represent water. We mark down the codes in quick scrawling scribbles, and quickly carry on.

I have gathered eight of the ten water codes. Two more to go, but i am alone now, with no one to watch my back.

I lost my team mate a while ago, just as the night settled in. She was a frail young girl with light blonde hair, a smattering of freckles, and a nervous disposition.

I felt protective of her, but I lost her in the failing light. As the darkness took hold, a pack of carnivores descended. She called out to me as she faltered through the thick brush, but it was already too late. They were upon her.

The game has never lasted this long before and I know that I am going to have to seek out a real source of water soon. My throat is dry from all the running and a dull ache has formed in my temples.

I hear man call out a name, see a bobbing thread of light piercing the trees. He is not far. The night explodes with a loud gunshot. A whimper of surprise and howl of pain follows.

Just like that, the game has changed. I quickly scramble up a nearby tree, hoping the foliage will obscure me from whatever madness has taken over below.

This is supposed to be a game, but it is all too real now. I see the flashlight beam approaching below and hope that I am hidden well enough, that my heavy breathing won't give me a way.

The game is called Survival, and that title has never been such an apt descriptor.

Man pauses at the base of my tree, listing intently for any telltale signs of life. Like a treed possum, I play dead. I pray that it is enough.

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