autumn. I hope mine feel the same.
After the second hour, it gets easier because my vision has gone unfocused. I’ve shut down. My breathing has slowed and my soreness has receded. I stare unseeingly at Chase. My peripheral attention is on the world outside the glass cube. People point as they mill around our stages , and discuss our quiet showcases. One presence never shifts though: Brook.
When hour number three is announced, my stomach growls so loudly that I think Chase hears it. I will it to stop. It does by hour four. I feel light now. By hour five, I’m floating, more clear-headed than a Buddhist monk who’s been meditating his entire life. At least, that’s what I imagine meditating monks feel like. I have no clue.
Hour six, it gets easy. Staring into Chase’s dark irises is hypnotic.
Hour seven. Something strange happens. There’s shrieking. A lot of it. I’m so tempted to turn to see what’s going on. Maybe it’s some ploy to break us. The crowd around our box migrates to another part of the room. Okay …maybe it’s not a test. I strain to listen to the world outside. I make out Dominic’s voice and metal hitting the floor. The squealing resumes, and then it gets quiet again. Eerily so. I look at Chase—I mean really look at him—to see if he knows what’s happening, but his features are set in stone.
It’s finally hour eight. If I was floating three hours ago, now I have an out of body experience. I’m soaring over the glass ceiling, watching myself watch Chase. It’s overwhelming and extraordinary. I’m not sure if it’s my empty stomach or the silence, but this tranquil strength envelops me. It’s so powerful that I shiver, and so wonderful that I smile. And for the first time in months, I feel like everything is going to be okay again.
Chase looks stiffer than he did at the beginning. There’s tension in his arms and shoulders. Even his legs, which are splayed out in front of him, are as rigid as tree trunks. He hasn’t stirred in the past hour, yet there’s this vein on his temple that’s been pumping feverishly, as though his pulse were racing. My blood, on the other hand, is syrup, sluggishly sliding underneath my skin.
Loud music suddenly fills the vaulted room. It’s followed by Dominic’s voice announcing that the contest has been completed. Chase’s lips unbolt, and he rips his eyes off mine. I can almost feel the tear. He springs out of his chair and marches out of the glass cube without a word.
I’m offended.
“You may return to your tents and relax for an hour.” Dominic’s voice rings too loudly.
Chin up, I rise and thread myself through the applauding crowd, my irritation at Chase’s brisk exit dissipating. I don’t want to rest; I want to stay here and lap up the praise the spectators are distilling on me as I pass by them.
Someone grabs my elbow. At first, I smile, thinking it’s a fan, but then I spot Cara. “Lost your way?”
“I’m not tired.”
“Contestants can’t mingle.” She all but drags me to the stairs.
I shake her off with the energy brought on by the compliments. “That’s a stupid rule.”
“Yeah, but it’s a rule. Up we go,” she says.
I go up a few stairs, but turn back and take one last, longing look around. As my gaze surfs over the crowd, I catch sight of a man with dark hair and an orange tie. He’s watching me with great interest. Too much interest. Then again, I’m sort of a star now.
Chapter Nine
Aster
I’ve just spent several hours in front of a tiny television screen. My eyes are raw, my legs stiff, and I’m ravenous. The oatmeal might have tasted like cement, but it wasn’t, and there’s now a gaping void in my stomach. The food will suck tonight, like it sucks all the time, but I’m so hungry I don’t care. I could eat the polyester fill of my pillow. I head to the cafeteria along with the hordes of other inmates. I spot fiery red dreadlocks ahead of me, so I slow down. Maybe if I wait for Gill
After the second hour, it gets easier because my vision has gone unfocused. I’ve shut down. My breathing has slowed and my soreness has receded. I stare unseeingly at Chase. My peripheral attention is on the world outside the glass cube. People point as they mill around our stages , and discuss our quiet showcases. One presence never shifts though: Brook.
When hour number three is announced, my stomach growls so loudly that I think Chase hears it. I will it to stop. It does by hour four. I feel light now. By hour five, I’m floating, more clear-headed than a Buddhist monk who’s been meditating his entire life. At least, that’s what I imagine meditating monks feel like. I have no clue.
Hour six, it gets easy. Staring into Chase’s dark irises is hypnotic.
Hour seven. Something strange happens. There’s shrieking. A lot of it. I’m so tempted to turn to see what’s going on. Maybe it’s some ploy to break us. The crowd around our box migrates to another part of the room. Okay …maybe it’s not a test. I strain to listen to the world outside. I make out Dominic’s voice and metal hitting the floor. The squealing resumes, and then it gets quiet again. Eerily so. I look at Chase—I mean really look at him—to see if he knows what’s happening, but his features are set in stone.
It’s finally hour eight. If I was floating three hours ago, now I have an out of body experience. I’m soaring over the glass ceiling, watching myself watch Chase. It’s overwhelming and extraordinary. I’m not sure if it’s my empty stomach or the silence, but this tranquil strength envelops me. It’s so powerful that I shiver, and so wonderful that I smile. And for the first time in months, I feel like everything is going to be okay again.
Chase looks stiffer than he did at the beginning. There’s tension in his arms and shoulders. Even his legs, which are splayed out in front of him, are as rigid as tree trunks. He hasn’t stirred in the past hour, yet there’s this vein on his temple that’s been pumping feverishly, as though his pulse were racing. My blood, on the other hand, is syrup, sluggishly sliding underneath my skin.
Loud music suddenly fills the vaulted room. It’s followed by Dominic’s voice announcing that the contest has been completed. Chase’s lips unbolt, and he rips his eyes off mine. I can almost feel the tear. He springs out of his chair and marches out of the glass cube without a word.
I’m offended.
“You may return to your tents and relax for an hour.” Dominic’s voice rings too loudly.
Chin up, I rise and thread myself through the applauding crowd, my irritation at Chase’s brisk exit dissipating. I don’t want to rest; I want to stay here and lap up the praise the spectators are distilling on me as I pass by them.
Someone grabs my elbow. At first, I smile, thinking it’s a fan, but then I spot Cara. “Lost your way?”
“I’m not tired.”
“Contestants can’t mingle.” She all but drags me to the stairs.
I shake her off with the energy brought on by the compliments. “That’s a stupid rule.”
“Yeah, but it’s a rule. Up we go,” she says.
I go up a few stairs, but turn back and take one last, longing look around. As my gaze surfs over the crowd, I catch sight of a man with dark hair and an orange tie. He’s watching me with great interest. Too much interest. Then again, I’m sort of a star now.
Chapter Nine
Aster
I’ve just spent several hours in front of a tiny television screen. My eyes are raw, my legs stiff, and I’m ravenous. The oatmeal might have tasted like cement, but it wasn’t, and there’s now a gaping void in my stomach. The food will suck tonight, like it sucks all the time, but I’m so hungry I don’t care. I could eat the polyester fill of my pillow. I head to the cafeteria along with the hordes of other inmates. I spot fiery red dreadlocks ahead of me, so I slow down. Maybe if I wait for Gill
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