Achlys Skylark: Day 1

The sky seems to be spinning in large, swooping circles. But I will not faint here. No. That would make me a target--Not to mention the fact that I'd probably be blown sky-high from the land mines scattered around beneath my feet.

Twenty seconds.

I look to the Cornucopia, shining brightly in the sunlight. It seems to pull me in, so many weapons, so much food, so many blankets and sleeping bags... That could keep me set for weeks. But no. I must resist it. If I dive into that, I will surely die.

Ten seconds.

I take in my surroundings--The mountain range, the wasteland of ice.

Ice... But wouldn't that mean many quiet, bloodless deaths? There must be more than just this.


I decide on a bluish backpack. I hope that it contains what I need.



The gong rings out and I take off, grabbing the backpack and slinging it around my shoulder. I turn just in time to see a sword whiz by my head, and I dodge it. I shouldn't be much to care about. I got a seven in training, same as any other Career. But I'm not a Career. I'd just like to make sure of that.

I'm running, trying to get a good grip on the slippery ice. Just before the foothills of the mountains begin, there are small excuses for trees. I decide that the small, scruffy bushes and twisted wooden trunks of dead trees is where I will make my home. I hide as best as I can and look into my pack, which has surprisingly good results.

It contains two, large water bottles already filled. A pack of dried fruit, dried beef, crackers, and a sleeping bag. Extra socks and a scarf. Two packs of matches. Wire.

I sigh in relief. Some years, all the backpacks were empty, or filled to the brim with rocks to make you seem like you had something. The only downside was that I had no weapon.

I settle down in my sleeping bag, and listen to the cannon. I lose track of the number of deaths because a silver parachute flies past me.

I untangle myself from my sleeping bag, and scramble to get my gift. A gift! For me! My first gift from a sponsor!

I take the parachute and look at what it brings me. A knife. It's about eight inches long and razor sharp. I smile to myself. This could do me good.

I resettle into my bag, and dream of my last day at home.

The End

233 comments about this exercise Feed