Chapter One:

  POV – Stormee

  Sometimes I wonder if my life is like one of those reality shows people love watching for the pure drama and laughs. Is someone out there just relaxing and enjoying every second of the mental and physical torment I go through. Laughing at the stupid decisions I have made. Well I don’t need to think about it any longer because I know there is someone watching over my life, over me, over all of us, his puppets. People on Earth would call him ‘god’, that’s for all good and all that stupid shit. I would prefer to call him just a figure that created us, created everything and no not from the goodness of his soleless heart. Floyd has been telling me from the day I got into this shit hole that said figure is called The Machine. He got his name from all the tubes and pipes connected to his body, apparently but from all my knowledge not many have seen him. All we know for certain is that we were not created from love and kindness, more like a twisted torture for The Machine’s entertainment. The only reason The Machine-made Earth was to basically be a breeding ground, then for when we die he chooses who will be the most fun to watch in a place he calls ‘Havan’ and yes that’s where I am. Practically a different version of Hunger Games. We are all put here to fight to the death. We are but pawns in a bigger game. Havan is a death sentence and most don’t make it more then a few years before being brutally murdered by another soon to face similar consequences.

  But I guess after two years you kind of get used to the continuous cycle of surviving and killing. Its not really like we have a choice anyway. It’s kill or get killed and I guess we all just choose kill. It’s a numb decision I make every day and only the longer I stay here the more inclined to picking kill I feel. That still doesn’t let my mind stray from the fact that if I was on Earth right now, I would be sixteen. I could’ve been living a normal life… Alive, with my friends…My partner but no instead I’m here. In this shit hole just because I made a stupid decision when I was fourteen. It doesn’t matter now though. What’s done is done and I cant change shit and that’s what I tell myself every day.

  I groan, rolling over and swinging my legs off the side of the bed, my body aching and sore. My eyes trail up the walls to the ceiling which was practically crumbling under neath me with chunks of thick plaster pealing off. The smell of rot detectable in the air, thick and stale. I can barely remember what my old room used to look like but I just know that I miss it. I know for sure that the smell was definitely better then here though. I do really miss my old life, the way the sun shined through the window, followed by the singing of the nearby birds. But now I am greeted by the red dull light and blood and dirt.

  If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Familiar footsteps echo outside my door, followed by the creaking of the door hinges as Floyd stands at the door frame with a stupid wide grin plastered to his face. His dirty blonde hair spiking in every direction like it hasn’t been brushed in weeks which if I’m being honest, it probably hasn’t. He leans against the pealing wood, his bare dirty feet making the floorboards creak under neath his weight.

  “Stormmmeeeee,” He draws out his yellow teeth giving him a more gross look then ever. His persistent happy personality never ceasing to amaze me when everything is as fucked up as it is. His smile ever yet irritating as he waits for my reaction.

  I drag out a long groan, shoving my pillow into my face, burying it deeper into it, wishing he would leave me alone for once. A decaying smell filling my nostrils as I breath in the scent of the stained pillow. I guess I should be more grateful, him and Ash did save my life after all when I was first showed up here but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s an annoying little shit that doesn’t act his age. He’s eight years older then me for crying out loud, I would’ve thought he could get some sense into him by now not to harass depressed teens.

  I take a deep breath and mutter “What do you want Floyd?” My voice muffled by the pillow still shoved to my head but still obvious of my frustration and irritation. He deserves it anyway, I’m sure he loves to see my reaction to him being a bloody pain.

  Floyd presses one finger to his face; he bounces on his heels making the floorboards squeak. “Hm nothin much” He says “Just apparently some fuckers are comin around this way so I guess we gotta go and kill em”

  I let out another groan, dragging it out even longer then after some time I force myself to stand up, body aching from the time I’ve spent huddled in my bed. Stale air filling my lungs following by my coughing. I pinch the bridge of my nose and I drag myself to follow the boy down the creaking stairs, my hand trailing down the rail, picking up small bits of peeled off paint as I continue.

  As we head to the living room if you could even call it that. Ash is sitting down on the couch, legs crossed over the armrest and waiting. Her gun in hand as she runs a cloth over the metal. The dirt dusting off as she continues, her long brown hair waving as the breeze from the cracked window fills the room with a scent of death.

  Her eyes glance to mine and Floyd before returning the weapon in her hand. Floyd flops down next to her with a content sigh, laying his legs over the girls which makes her rolls her eyes, suppressing a surprised smirk.

  I stand there in silence waiting for one of the two to start speaking. No words are needed though because Ash throws me my bat giving me a knowing look. Time to go kill some more souls I guess.