The ballad is posted. I pray, and I pray, every year that my name isn’t printed on that paper that will create my fate, one life altering event. Once, it was a show of worthy. Now, it’s just a blood bath. As I stride over to the gathering crowd I see him. He sees me. A breath, and he makes his way to me.

“How unfortunate,” I sigh.

“Good morning to you to, Bea,” he remarks.

We walk over to the parting group, strangely, people share shifting glances. My stomach fills with acid.

Please no. Please. I’m begging you.

The 3rd name on the death list is Beatrice Thorn. Maddox’s eyes widen so far you can see the whites.

I continue down the list and lo and behold Maddox Greenbrough is there too. All of the blood from my faced has vanished. Of course you can always opt out of the three week tournament but you would never be seen the same, a coward they would call you. But if you go maybe they’ll never see you again. The tournament consist of noble things like balls and grand full course meals. But, you still have to compete in multiple challenges. Few of which don’t even test physical strength. It’s all mental. Every bit of this death trap. However, if you make it through, you will have a chance to change our world around. Of course, the game is designed to make you fail but there is no hope in that. You have to thrive on the small bit of hope that falsely give and use it to fuel you.

“Take you shot kid, you only get one” the old shopkeeper whispers.

“Maybe I will,” I whisper to the wind.