So I thought about what might happen if I threw a group of people into the arena for a game of hangman. You know the game. Someone puts a series of spaces for the words they're thinking of. The competitors have to guess which letters belong in the spaces, until they have a word.
I decided to adapt that for my competition, except with real life people fighting for survival. This is a small sample of what I came up with:
The audience wanted blood. I'll narrow it down a bit. They didn't want just anyone's blood. Don't be so daft. The blood they wanted? Mine, splattered across a kill-zone the size of a small village. The thing was if they sent me back in time to change what I did, I'd not make the mistake of trying to change the past. In White's arena, I was the main attraction, the loose cannon, the one with nothing left to lose. These people had no idea what they were up against.
"It's a damn shame," Clucky said. I called him Clucky for several different reasons. The first was that he looked like a bird. Not a bird of prey or anything elegant like that. Don't be silly. Imagine an ostrich with an elongated neck, pale skin and beady little eyes that did nothing for his figure. "A girl as pretty as you stuck here, wasted. I can think of much more fun things to do with such a prize."
I rolled my eyes. I ducked the first blow – right hook, not too shabby – and went under in a vain attempt to knock his legs out from underneath him. Needless to say while he was built like a bird, his strength rivalled that of a black bear, giving me no time to recover. He swung me around like a ragdoll at a speed I didn't think a human being capable of withstanding. I flew across the arena as a rocket ship to space. I fought the whole time to regain something of an upright position but instead found myself in a tangled mess of limbs. When I regained my senses I discovered I wasn't in such a nice place. By the seven hells, why couldn't Clucky have picked something more female friendly? I would have preferred to land on concrete, rather than a pile of old wood. I pulled myself into a sitting position and heard something snap. One deep, shuddering breath later and I was on my feet again. Pain shot through me at bullet pace, a blinding sensation that forced me to my knees.
"Shall we try the other shoulder?" Great. Clucky had a partner. Let's call him Fat Tony, for his size and general mafia-like demeanour. So if Clucky and Fat Tony were partners ... where were my allies?
I wasn't a naturally competitive person. In hind-sight I should have turn tail and run the moment I set eyes on this place. Turn back the clock and I'm in the market. The aroma of fresh bread fills my nostrils, fresh and inviting. My stomach rolls, nudging me closer. With every step I take I'm away from my target. My mouth waters, the saliva close to overflowing. I change coins with the shopkeeper, her eyes as bright as the Goddess in the morning.
"I'm sorry," the shopkeeper says. Her hands shake and her eyes dilate. It is like she isn't there anymore; she's simply a shell of who she's been. I'm not one to judge, but the words that were full of meaning suddenly had none. "Take it and go, senorita."
I side-step her stall and run straight into his arms. He's at least six foot and built like an ox. If I didn't know better I would call him out as a Spartan, but I know my history and keep my mouth shut. Spartans are vicious and they're not to be trifled with. His hands attach to my waist. I swing at him, claw him, scratching and biting like a wild thing. But it is no use. It's like trying to fight a wall. And to the best of my knowledge, walls are not broken unless they are attacked with a siege machine. I suddenly wish I had a trebuchet at my command.
I won't post the whole lot here. That's just asking for trouble if I want to sell it later. But I do like the idea of the flashback being in first person present tense. I've decided to do quite a few of those, as my MC slowly loses a battle she's not meant to win.
Cheers, Nyxix
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