My brain begins to wake up as I feel the edge of my bed dip alerting me to a presence in my room. “I understand you have this well-thought-out intricate plan on how to handle the boy and this Grigoras mess, but does your plan have to involve me babysitting him while you’re off fighting the ultimate battle for survival?” I hear my grandpa huff. I turn my head away and dive my head under my pillow. What is with the people in this family always disrupting my sleep? “Alina, I’m speaking to you,” says grandpa in a hard voice as he pokes me in the back. “And I’m ignoring you. Take the hint,” I grumble. “I’m trying to speak to you young lady,” he scolds. “And I’m trying to sleep. What does everyone have against me sleeping?” I groan. I feel the bed shift as I feel my grandpa lay down beside me. “With everything you told us, you know they won’t stop trying to kill you just because you’re in The Tournament,” my grandpa says gravelly. I sigh. Deciding sleep is futile at this point, I lift
I spent all day getting dressed up for dinner, and I think it was well worth the effort because I look stunning. A dress seemed too expected, so I went for a gorgeous emerald and gold gemstone design full-length pantsuit. It has short sleeves with a plunging neckline and a collar and the sash around the waist really helps to accentuate my figure. I have masterfully accessorised with a gorgeous emerald, peridot and diamond encrusted necklace with matching earrings and have my hair up in a stylish and intricate low bun. Since I was not blessed with height, I paired this with 6” stilettos that are a beautiful beige to nude ombre and of course, I did my make-up. I wanted the whole look to have a theme so I went with gold lids, a subtle smokey eye with dark green corners and a wing teamed with a simple glossy nude lip. I even had time to do my nails. I keep my nails short for practical reasons, but I still like them to look pretty from time to time, so I painted them a matt emerald green a
I lay on my bed staring up at the chandelier hanging above me as I count each individual crystal. I only manage to make it to twenty or so crystals before I lose count and have to start again. I glance over at the clock by my bed and sigh when I see it’s time. I slowly sit up and take one final look around my room, as this might be the last time I ever see it. As I sit here mentally preparing myself to get up, I can’t help going over the last two weeks in my head and wondering if I used my time wisely. This happens every year. The dreaded time of departure arrives and suddenly every minute before then feels wasted. Like you had the chance to make what could be your final days worth it and you didn’t use them wisely. I know I’m being silly, it’s just where my mind goes every single time. With a deep breath, I steal my shoulders, get to my feet, and exit my room turning off the light and closing the door behind me, potentially closing the book on my life as I know it. As I make it down
As my brain becomes alert, I’m aware of the unpleasant pounding in my skull and the disgusting feeling of cottonmouth. I slowly sit up and try to move my tongue around hoping to get some saliva to appear and revive the dry state of my mouth that could give the Sahara a run for its money. While trying to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth I take in the lavish room I have woken up in. It’s even more exquisite than my room last year. Deep red satin king-size bed with a gold ornate bed frame. Royal blue walls with deeper blue velvet curtains. Opulent seating and an open closet, stunning silver-grey walls with gold detailing that compliment that stunning gold ornamental ceiling with expertly detailed cornices. I guess this is the treatment winners get. Works for me. I notice a glass of water by the bed and two pills, as expected. Same routine every year. Drugs to knock you out and then drugs to help with the after-effects. I quickly down the pills with the water and get up stret
Suddenly the chatter around us becomes silent as the sound of someone tapping against a glass gets our attention. I look towards the staircase to see our host for this shit show. To competitors and guests, he is known only as the Master of Ceremonies. I only became privy to his name – unsure if it’s real or not – after my third win. I guess surviving death so many times entitles you to certain benefits, such as being able to address the Master of Ceremonies as Hexton when in private. Though I have no proof, I have a strong suspicion his name really is Hexton. With the money and power at his disposal, I highly doubt he fears any of us coming for him in our off-season. To try would be suicide. Hexton is 6’2” looking to be in his late fifties with a deep olive complexion, with a sexy yet diabolical subtle smile permanently plastered on his face. He has thick, but short salt-and-pepper hair with salt-and-pepper stubble. He’s dressed in a charcoal grey three-piece suit with a black button
I just finished my lunch, and as I place the tray on the bedside table there’s a knock at the door. I open it to find a box placed in front of my door. There’s no note or instructions, so guess they think I’m seasoned enough to not need it. I take the box inside, place it on the bed and open it to find a full lycra spandex bodysuit with my codename printed on the back. The traditional uniform of The Tournament. Every competitor is required to wear these. We are completely covered from head to toe, concealing our identities from spectators. The only part of us that is visible are our eyes, and that’s only so we can see what we’re doing. I strip down to my bra and panties, tie my hair up in a bun and slip into the bodysuit. Once I have it pulled over my head, I reach behind me and zip myself in. I’ve considered investing in one of these for some of my jobs, but I just hate the way my head is covered, and I wouldn’t mind a pair of shoes. If you’re not used to it, this can be rather suffo
Sensory deprivation has been used as a torture technique for thousands of years. Most people require not only human interactions but the stimulation of their senses in order to function. Prolonged sensory deprivation has been known to lead to hallucinations, psychosis and in extreme cases, death. Temporary exposure can just cause disorientation, which is the whole point of us being put in these cells. I’m currently sitting in a 10x10 cell, painted red with a red light and just a simple cot also in the colour red. Another psychological tactic. Scientific studies show red stimulates the adrenal gland and neurons. While the colour is commonly associated with love and considered an invigorating colour, prolonged or extreme exposure to it has been known to cause stress, frustration, and provoke anger. It’s also known to stimulate the heartbeat and breathing. So locking us in solitary confinement in a soundproof room doused in a colour designed to trigger stress and anger, is all part of t
Never have I been so grateful for all my parent's tedious training sessions. As quick as I can, I take the grip of the gun, feel for the hammer along the top, and push it flat as I slide the square peg into the square hole as the muzzle softly clicks into place. I then slide the bolt back in and while I hold the bolt in place, I slide the pin back up until it clicks into the bolt. Now comes the tricky part, and boy am I glad I had my dad teach me this. Before I completely lock the pin back into the grip, I face the gun upwards, load the magazine in, hold the trigger down and then push the rest of the lever of the pin up into the grip. I then release the trigger, drop the magazine, and click the lever fully into place. I release the bolt and it snaps right back into place. Now with the gun assembled, I load the bullets into the magazine and load it into the gun. The second it’s in and ready to go the blindfold is pulled off of my head using the fishing wire. I take the gun and point a