Young Writers Society

___ Once upon a time, in a land of danger and despair, there were twenty four young tributes, who had been ordered by the grand king of the realm to battle to their deaths. Among these cursed souls was a handsome prince by the name of me.
___ The king was a very cruel and evil man, and had not provided the chosen warriors with any proper weapons to aid in the slaughter of one another, and instead had bestowed upon the tributes a choice of one of five magical items.
___ These items were; a small piece of rope, no longer than the foot of a very large man; a cloak of invisibility whose powers were revealed beneath the shimmering moon; a magical lamp, rumoured to grant the wish of a person's most foodly desires; renowned entertainers from around the lands, who were to encourage a tribute; and a mighty hound with the power to sense dangerous potions.
___ Now, in woe this prince fretted over what he should pick, a canine beast would not turn so loyal when it was hungry, and the jesters seemed not to provide much aid. But time was running short, and if he wished to survive even a moment longer he had to grab the closest magical artefact he could see, which in this case, was the mysterious jinn lamp. He gathered it up and hurried away into the wilderness of the enclosed arena, leaving some of the other warriors to fight amongst one another to the death.
___ But not every one of the tributes chose to give their lives such a brief end. Many of the others too, fled toward the great unknown edges of the area, preparing themselves for the hunt and the fear of being hunted.
___ Upon growing tired and his young legs weary, the prince collapsed across a clearing in the dense forest. He was not only tired but also lost, with no idea of which direction was which. The forest was dark and lonely, and was home to many birds and other tributes. Feeling completely forlorn he took the jinn lamp up to the light and gazed upon its sheen, wondering what he could ever do with it in order to survive.
___ The prince knew that if he waited around and took no action he would surely be finished, but what use would a simple meal bestow him? Sighing heavily he rubbed the lamp and it began to shine brightly before a thin whisper of red smoke rose from its end. The smoke curled and twisted, spiralling around the princes head until it formed into the shape of a face.
___ "What food do you desire?" It asked with its wispy tongue.
___ "Oh great Jinn!" He cried to the magical being. "Is it true that you can grant me any request of food that I ask of you?"
___ "Aye that is correct, young tribute." The jinn confirmed. "But you get one wish and only one."
___ "Well...." The choice was difficult, and there was only one to be made. But it must be made quickly before it was too late.
___ "I wish.... For a life sized sweet gingerbread house that has that has the ability to capture suspecting and unsuspecting children!" The prince sang, leaping up with new found fervour. The jinn bowed his head before swirling and swirling up and around. The prince was astonished at the sight before him, as a magical cottage constructed entirely out of edible sweets materialized itself between the trees. The grass was made of icing sugar, and the walls of solid ginger bread. The eves were rimmed with colourful lollies and the door made of dark chocolate biscuit.
___ Jumping for joy, the prince raced into the house, laughing at the achievement before him. He got to work right away, preparing the house to lure in any tributes that may wander his way.
___ They will either be too scared to enter, or they will walk right into my trap! He thought. He got to work preparing the rock candy oven, and the cane cages, laughing under his breath. As soon as a child wandered into the proximity, he would feast like a king! Like a king! He would eat every one of the other tributes until he was crowned the true king of the arena, Hunger Tournament!!
___
___

There it is. That’s the cornucopia—a giant, golden bell that looks like it had been detached from an equally humongous French Horn. There are tons of goodies inside, but it’d be impossible to pick one. Or get anywhere near it for that matter.

As I glance at the other tributes, my stomach growls. Urgh. And now they’re laughing at me! In order to cover up that embarrassing moment, I try visually sifting through the cornucopia’s gaping mouth. Some of the things seem useless, really. A foot-long rope? What is anyone supposed to do with that? And that Aladdin-ish lamp at the top of the pile looks too rusty to hold anything of value.

The clock keeps ticking; twenty seconds left until I probably die. How lovely that I should depart on an empty stomach. It’s almost worth not even trying for the cornucopia. Well, it would be if it weren’t for the gross-looking swamp environment. There’s so much humidity that the water vapor itself could probably render all the electronics of district three unusable. Not to mention that bogs lack tasty things to eat; if there’s food in the “horn of plenty” I probably want some. Of course, there’s still the blood and death part...

There are five seconds left. Four… urgh, gotta make up my mind. To go, or not to go? That is the question.

A thundering, bass crash pulses under my feet, and not a moment later, the harsh sound of a gong fills my ears. Time to decide. I hurtle towards the cornucopia, willing to risk it all.

Of course, I’m not fast enough to get first pick. Blood spatters on my new tribute uniform from every direction, filling my nose with the scent of metal. Lovely smell if we’re talking computers, but oh-so-gross out here.

Even with all the braining nearby, I manage to clamber into the cornucopia’s mouth. Surprisingly enough, the floors aren’t slippery.

There isn’t much left. As my gaze darts between the remaining prizes and the other tributes, I try to pick the best of the lot. There is a Shih-Tzu puppy, which seems like an entirely useless thing to have—a white elephant gift, I suppose. The spare foot of rope I had spotted still lay on the ground nearby, and if I had to guess, it was probably from the puppy’s makeshift leash. A package labeled ‘invisibility cloak’ that is damp with something other than blood is also left here. There’s got to be a reason for that though, and the puppy’s fake, innocent stare makes me wonder if… eww. I shouldn’t think about that.

Lastly, and not really to my surprise, the lamp-thing is still here. The side is covered in blood, which covers any etchings that might provide clues to what's inside, but I pick it up anyways and flee as other tributes’ projectile weapons fly mere inches away from my body. I wonder if coming to the cornucopia was worth it; what if this lamp turns out as useless as a Shih-Tzu puppy? Or as gross as an invisibility cloak that had been peed on by said puppy?

Well, what’s done is done. I have to keep running, if only to stave off death a little longer.

Once I’ve worn myself out—believe me, running through mud is hard—I find a mostly dry log to sit on while I examine my prize. Made of unpolished brass, it is fairly malleable, and not good for hitting people. The lid is stuck, so I sniff the pipe opening to figure out what’s inside, and pungent spices tickle my nose. I’m not sure whether that’s yummy or disgusting.

The blood on the sides still bother me though, and even if they help camouflage the brass, it’s still the inhibiting factor between me and knowledge of what’s inside this lamp. With a corner of my uniform, I start wiping it off, completely unaware of the little, humanoid hologram that pops out of the lid.

“Hello,” says a distinctly feminine voice. I do not pay attention. “Hello? Excuse me, are you there?” I keep rubbing the lamp. “Alright, I really don’t want to do this, since it will bring other tributes to your location, but, Hello!”

Finally, I look up, confused by the sudden yelling. Where is the tribute who was yelling at me? Why aren’t I dead yet?

“Down here, please!”

I look down and immediately drop the lamp, holding in a scream. Why would anyone in their right mind put a hologram in an old-fashioned oil lamp? Beyond crazy, really.

“Now then, since I have alerted you to my existence, what is your wish? I can grant any wish relating to food, but only one. Then, my purpose as a food genie will be fulfilled.” I’m not sure how, but the blue-ish hologram has moved itself to project from the bloody side. There must be an accelerometer inside.

“May I ask for more wishes?” Of course that is the first thing out of my mouth. The more food, the better.

“No.”

I shrug. “Eh, didn’t expect I could. I don’t have to make the wish now, right?” There are so many great possibilities in my mind, like flooding a group of people with a river of curry, or setting traps to lure people in. Thinking about it just makes me giddy! Not to mention they all involve food that can still be eaten later. Probably.

The hologram nods. “Of course you may rain-check the wish. Good day then.”

I grin, watching as my food genie flickers away. This is going to be fun.

Abigail rubbed her blisters, biting her lip as she wrapped her legs around a tree branch. She hoped to God that the game masters weren't annoyed by her tactics, and that some beast wouldn't come and kill her in on her perch.

Something rustled beneath her and she jumped. Carefully, she wrapped the cloak around her emaciated frame. Laughing darkly, she peaked out as someone passed under her tree. If they had really wanted her to be invisible only at night, the cloak should have been a gaudy red or magenta, and not the colour of tree leaves.

Shaking in the heat, she huddled into herself closer, waiting to slip into a dehydration-induced trance. Her exposed ribs rattled as she held in her cough. A sleepy smile crossed her lips as the molecules in her puffy eyelids swelled and expanded, forcing themselves to slide down until she was enveloped in darkness.

~~~~~~~


Abigail moaned, attempting to stretch her stiff limbs, nearly forgetting that she was entwined precariously with splinter-filled branches. With a squeak, she regained her balance and let out a puff of hot air. She pushed her mass of damp, dark hair from her face, raking it with her broken fingernails. Untangling herself from her nest, she let her bare feet dangle in the artificial moonlight. Feeling with her fingers and toes, she slowly moved down the tree, making sure that any noise she made would be considered harmless. With a light thud, she fell onto the crinkling leaves at the roots of her tree and shook off her sleepy heaviness. Needles and objects that couldn't be discerned in the darkness poked into the hardening soles of her small feet, but she shrugged it off. No one could hear her barefoot. She wrapped the cloak strategically, making sure she was covered and nothing dragged on the ground, making it's tell-tale slushing sound. The healing scars on her legs ached as a painful reminder to never make that mistake again.

She sniffed, expelling mucus from her nose in a very unladylike way. But it wasn't like anyone could see her. She slipped through the woods, her even-slighter-than-before frame nearly weightless as she followed the stale smell of smoke into a clearing. A mass of sleeping tributes surrounded a pile of necessities, as though their flailed, unconscious limbs would protect the hard bread and packets of dried meat. With the soft grass padding her footsteps, she walked through their makeshift camp. Pocketing enough food and water for a couple days, she started to leave before a glint caught her eye. Impulsively, she slipped a short sword into the folds of her fabric and left.

As she was about to re-enter the woods, she stopped with a start. A figure yelled out in her direction, charging. In a panic, she pulled out her weapon and stabbed it in the stomach. It fell with a wail and she ran, thankful beyond belief that no one could see her sob. That would be bad for her ratings.