BETWEEN FOUR JUNCTIONS

joined in until the guards blew their whistles, signalling for silence. “Welcome,” said the guard with the longest and thickest moustache of all. “Welcome to Trial 19, a very special Trial indeed.”

Silence. Gasps of disbelief broke out from the front rows of children as they saw the competitors. Lucy pushed her way through the sea of green and, finally reaching the front, stopped dead in her tracks. The sun beat down on the scene, bouncing off the old metallic lights that used to be used for sport at night and now cast a shimmering sea of glitter over the courts.

Annie and one of the guards, Lucy recognised him but didn’t know his name, stood with chains shackled around their ankles and their hands tied together with thick rope. The skin under the metal was raw and bleeding and the rest of their bodies were bruised, especially Annie’s, where there were many dark rings around her thin arms and around the top of her thighs. Lucy thought she saw the guard lightly brushing Annie’s hand, comforting her, but the glinting light made it impossible to tell as it shone an array of light in every direction, distorting the scene.

“The Trial,” began the big moustached man, “shall commence in twenty seconds. Everyone stand behind the line to allow the best view for all”. The chains on Annie’s and the guard’s hands and feet were unlocked and they were led to the start line of a 100m track. It had been painted onto the ground with precision in a deep red paint that had already started to melt away in the heat like rivers of blood. Lucy’s heart was pounding, her throat dry as she tried to work out the Trial. There was a trap about three quarters of the way down the track that was clear and obvious as an obstacle. They jump over that Lucy thought, but then what was the Trial? She started to feel sick.

The start gun was fired and Annie and the guard began to run. Silence. Not even the younger children drew a breath. All that could be heard was the padding of bare feet on the track. Everyone watched as they neared the trap and jumped over it, clearing it easily. Lucy drew a breath of relief. Then the ground opened. Two spears sprung out like angry figurines and pierced through Annie and the guard, catching them mid movement. They dropped to the floor, their blood joining the melting track in an indistinguishable puddle, spreading rapidly over the evergreen floor. The spears sank back into the ground and the hole closed over like nothing had ever happened.

Jackson

The evening haze hung in the air, humid and still. The sky was rose pink with splashes of red that splayed pretty patterns everywhere, capturing the Centre in a picturesque summer evening scene. Jackson sat alone, scanning the playground for Lucy. He hadn’t seen her since the Trial. He pictured her tiny, heart-shaped face and huge eyes that were too young to have seen half the things she had, eyes that bore all her emotions when her little face was trying desperately to stay strong. Those two had been like sisters, and Jackson felt an uncontrollable anger build up inside him that they had taken Annie from her. Their situation was getting desperate, and even the guards seemed to realise it. He looked around, taking in the remains of the orchard that now hung limp and decayed, the baked orange ground and the dried out river bed that the children played in, oblivious of its previous life. It felt like time was running out. He caught sight of the two guards that never seemed to be far away, watching him intently from across the mass of childish games. Night fell over the Centre in a sleepy slumber, draining the heat and colour like a vacuum. Jackson wondered what time it was; the moon hung high in the sky, just a distant speck in the corner of his barred window. Jamie snored softly in the bunk below with quick, heavy breaths escaping ever so often as his dreams took the form of excitement, or maybe terror. A group of owls start hooting, creating a sinister, night-time symphony. The smell of cigarette smoke from the guards below wafted up into his cell.

Jackson must have fallen asleep because he awoke to the faint smell of pyromoxine, a gas commissioned for the Third Wars. It was an unmistakable smell and one that he would never forget, having undergone tedious drills every week at his school where they were exposed to the smell, its colour when in the light, its effects, and how to survive best without a gas mask. The cries began imminently as the children’s lungs filled with gas. Their cries soon turned to screams as the gas slowly deteriorated each cell individually, melting them away like acid. Jackson quickly took off his top and tied it around his mouth like the teachers had shown him to, leaving just enough fabric for small breaths of air, but filtering out some of the gas as it got stuck in between the particles of clothing. Despite this, with each breath, he felt the coarseness of chemicals lightly blaze the inside of his throat and lungs. He woke Jamie, who was still snoozing obliviously on the bottom bunk, and did the same for him, tying it more tightly than his own and pushing him under the bed to get underneath the gas. The sound of vomiting ricocheted around the walls.