Struck

Inside

Three days had passed, and I was sitting with my back against the side wall of my cell, staring at the colorless walls surrounding me. Michael had finally stopped chaining me up, so I could at least walk around the small room and not have to wake up with a crick in my neck. My stomach growled loudly, echoing off the walls. I pushed my tired, bruised body off the floor and attempted to run my hand through my tangled hair. They had ran so many tests on me, sticking me with needles, having me run mazes, and even making me take a course on why survivors were the inferior species. Everytime I openly opposed what they said, I recieved a whip across my back. It was like they were trying to make us think that anything to do with being a survivor was wrong, but for me it just proved it was right. After all, didn't they do something similar to Jesus and his followers? Not saying that I'm Jesus, but hey, maybe we're related...

Anyways, I may not be that tough physically, but mentally I'm like an Olympic gold-medalist. I have always been too stubborn, and when I truly believe something, you won't be able to change my mind. I'll say "survivors are an abomination" all they want without truly meaning it. No problem. As long as they don't figure out a way to read my thoughts, I'm good to go.

I picked at a string falling off my clothing, twirling it and untwirling it around my pinky. I felt like I was in a mental clinic, wearing the all white baggy clothes they'd given me. I'd been pacing back and forth around the room, shaking my head as I went, making me look and feel even more insane. Everything going on had finally gone to my head, and it seemed like way too much to grasp on to. There was no doubt in my mind that this was reality, because all the physical pain I'd gone through since I woke up in that cabin, was too much to be some figment of my imagination, but it still seemed crazy. It was like I was a character in a comic book. I had some sort of super powers, and--plot twist--the humans are the bad guys trying to take over the world. The only part that confused me in this story line was who I was trying to save. Who's the damsel in distress if there are only bad guys and good guys fighting it out?

Michael's laughter bounced off the walls and then, "I've got the perfect job for you, Private!" A flashlight shown on the floor not far away, getting closer and closer to my cell until it was in my cell. Michael had the flashlight in his mouth, the beam dancing around on the wall while he tried to fit the right key in the lock.

I squinted into the light, trying to make out the new guy, but all I could make out was a scrawny silhouette.

Finally, Michael swung the door inwards shoved the new kid inside ahead of himself. Inches away from my face stood the smelliest of Santa's elves. He came up to my shoulder with thin black hair that stuck to his forehead, and extremely pale white skin. He had a thick beard that almost hid the bottom half of us face, where a jagged scar hid. Underneath a black uniform and sunglasses, he looked like a trash bag with milk dripping from it.

"This," he said and grabbed my hair, "Is the new striker." He yanked me closer towards them and pulled me from side to side to allow the guy views from different angles. "Lousy choice, if you ask me; but it just makes things easier for us." He looked me up and down one last time before swinging me into the wall.

My hands prevented my head from banging against the wall as I collided, causing a sharp pain to shoot up my wrist and tingle through my finger tips. My shirt snagged on something as I slid across the wall, but the object didn't make contact with my skin. I sat upright and glared in their direction while rubbing my head tenderly in hopes to relieve the pain. My shoulder had hit the wall hard and was now throbbing, but I did my best to ignore it as I pushed myself to my feet.

The new private looked over at me, then back at Michael, "The last striker...?" His fairly high pitched voice sounded shocked.

"Dead. Unless pigs can fly and Hell has frozen over." He glanced one last time in my direction with a derisive snort before turning to walk away. "Train her, make her one of us."

I looked from Micheal's retreading figure back to the cadet in the baggy uniform. The man took a step towards me for every step Michael took away. His stench hit me before his words had, and I'd completely missed what he said.

I blinked, trying to hold in the gag reflex and watched his mouth move for a moment before letting its sound reach my ears.

"...where you will finish by pressing the green button at the end. That is how you earn your food. For every second over 30, a piece will be taken away from your assigned portion. It's up to you whether you eat or not." He turned and gestured weakly for me to follow.

I did, hoping on the way there he would say something else about my task that would let me guess what he'd said without asking.

We arrived at a large steel door. My heart began to race, I could see the light shining from underneath the door. Finally, I'd feel the sun rays heating my vitamin D deprived skin. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but what I saw wasn't it.

I looked out over the small portion of yard I could see. The grass was yellow and crumpled, crunching loudly underneath black combat boots worn by what looked a lot like a small army. There was about 20 meters of dry grass before walls blocked my view, they were turned placed diagonally and pointed in different directions all along the field.

I shook my head, slowly registering what was going on. I was not entering a human maze.

"You set one toe inside that maze and the timer starts. Might want to start before dark, easier to see and aim at the enemies." The man said, tossing me a bow and arrow. "Hurry up, I won't wait all day. You'll just miss two meals." He frowned and snapped his fingers at me before putting his hand on the watch on his wrist.

I inched forward, now the bow and arrow in my hands. Enemies? Who exactly are their enemies? I got to the first opening I saw and stepped through, prepared for the worst and hoping for the best.