Flint and I sit in the dark room crowded with people, watching the numbers projected on the wall grow smaller and smaller.

20 seconds and we will be sent to the next level of torture we must endure.

But Flint and I have become masters at this—endurance.

The pain that comes with these games is so constant I’ve almost numbed to it. The shrieks of terrified people. The chill of horror and my racing heart that begs me to wake up. Wake up. Please—wake up.

But then I recall Lilith Rein’s speech before we started, the promise of reward spewing from her bright red lips. The threat that consumes me.

“There is only one rule.” She echoed, the hairs on my neck beginning to stand.

“Don’t.

Wake.

Up.”

10 seconds.

I’ve become numb to the whimpers of terrified people, the stinging of my wounds from whatever creature we encountered in the round before. I glance at Flint, his weary grey eyes meeting mine. “We’re almost there Alora. Just a few more rounds and we’ve won.”

I nod slowly, pretending to agree.

5

4

3

2

1

“Good Luck.” echoes a clearly artificial voice. The machine beeps, then whirrs.

The room goes stark black.

When the light is back on, I’m standing on gravel. A mixture of peanut shells and rocks crunch below my feet. The group of people around me appear to be just as confused. We’re outside, the sky a stormy gray, and a little eerie breeze blows through. There are several broken machines around us. A merry-go-round, moving tea cups, a Ferris wheel, and—

Music?

Music is playing. It’s obviously from an old speaker, because it has this eerie filter over it, like the music is only able to escape through rusty little holes. A happy little tune, playing over and over again, clawing at my nerves like long fingernail dragging down my spine. I shiver at the thought.

Everyone in our group is looking around nervously. There are only around 20 of us left. I can’t spot Flint in the crowd, which only makes me feel sicker. Like I’m in this alone.

“PICK A RIIIIDE ANY RIIIDE.” chimes a voice.

Several people back up, and a man crosses into view. He’s short with a large potbelly, and he’s got purple and green striped trousers with a bright pink coat. He is the embodiment of cheeriness and color. His cheeks are overly round and rosy, and a rainbow tie is tucked under the fat of his chin. A bright purple hat with a yellow bow gleams and glistens. His person is overwhelmingly bright, tacky, and artificial, like a plastic flower.

“PICK A RIIIDE ANY RIIIDE,” he repeats, motioning towards Will, a skinny, scrappy young man. “Go on boy, make your pick. All of you, pick a horse on the merry-go-round! Don’t be shy, don’t be shy.”

It’s cruel, how peppy he is. Everyone here is battered and bruised, starving and exhausted. Everyone around Will backs away, singling him out in the crowd. We know all too well what being selected can mean.

Will, like a startled skinny cat, backs away slowly to return to the safety of the crowd. “Someone else,” he insists quietly.

Someone else does go, and the peppy man does not dissent. A girl with light blonde hair and a gritty look on her face makes her way to a horse on the merry go round. She clambers over it and sits on the rusty saddle.

Nothing happens.

We all look to each other, and deciding that it’s somewhat safe, we warily file onto the horses with worn paint. Some are missing legs, others are barely kept together. I try to find one that looks like it won’t fall apart when I sit on it.

Flint manages to sit behind me, saying only, “I wonder..” before he mumbles something else I can’t understand.

With a whistle from the rosy-cheeked man, the merry-go-round begins to spin. A new song, one just as old and taunting, plays cheerily. That same vintage filter is over it. We move slowly. I try to steady my rapidly beating heart that reacts to even the slightest unknown. I grab the pole that is impaled through the middle of the horse and cling tightly to it.

I risk a glance at Flint. The spinning is getting more intense. We’re spinning so fast that my surroundings have begun to blur. The music speeds up. The old metal of the machine creaks and clatters. Then with a loud shriek, we slowly, steadily, lift off the ground. We’re rising from the ground. How is it possible?

Silly me, how could I think that? Anything is possible when you are dreaming.

We soar above the ground, leaving the desolate carnival, a sprawling wasteland of broken rides and discarded dreams, behind

I cling to the horse tighter, the old rust wearing off on my fingers and making my hands brown as my knuckles turn white from the rigid grip. We’re lifting off the ground higher now, spinning so fast I try closing my eyes to my swarming head hurt less.

We continue to rise from the ground at such a terrifying rate I can barely think. I hear more screams. One woman falls off her horse, and her scream is muted by the whoosh of the wind as she pummels the ground. I risk a peek at her scrunched-up body, the size of a dead rat from this distance, contorted, arms sticking in all directions.

Three more people fall. Three more deaths. Screams blend into the wind that whips my hair and pulls at my face. I have such a strong headache from the dizzying spinning that I think briefly that maybe I should wake up to just make it stop. When I don’t think I can go on any longer, the music ceases and the merry-go-round screeches to a halt mid-air, leaving us suspended in an eerie calm. The only sound is the ragged breathing from my fellow competitors and my rapid heartbeat.

The peppy man, nothing but a colorful grape on the ground, waves to us and shouts. “DOWN YOU GO!”

Without warning, the pole I’m clinging onto begins to disintegrate into my hands. I grip onto the rusty horse, and all around me, I can hear the struggles of the participants around me. Steadily, the merry-go-round begins to fall apart. My horse crumbles away to dust, and I fall to the floor of the merry-go-round. Beside me, Flint is standing and trying to find a good grip on the eroding structure.

The ground swells below me, and as the merry-go-round continues to disintegrate, all I can think of is, _that’s a long ways to fall_. Just when I didn’t think things could get any worse, the structure begins to rotate sideways.

Flint walks up the now inclining floor like it’s a rock wall, grabbing the highest points with his hands as he yells, “Come on!”

Several people scream and try to copy Flint, but one man loses his grip and plummets towards the ground.

I grasp the edge of the platform beside Flint, dangling off the now-tilted structure. My hands burn with a stinging pain, and my arms begin to shake. The edge I’m grabbing onto crumbles away under my fingers, and before I can hardly react, I’m falling.

The wind whips at my face, and my stomach sinks as I dive towards the ground. _This is going to hurt_. It’s all I can do not to wake up, but I close my eyes and manage to land in a bundle of limbs onto the.. net?

Yes, the carnival ground has now become a net. The net sinks in at the sudden weight, and others fall around me. Relief fills my lungs and I give a great sigh. I can feel the sweat running down my back as I sit up.

The peppy man is now smiling widely at us from the sky. “Congrats!” he says cheerily, and with that, he gives a hearty laugh before the world around me goes dark.

When I can see again, I’m back in the dark room. Only this time, it’s less crowded. Flint finds me. “Lost 8. 11 left..”

I look up at the clicking timer. 20 seconds till we face another challenge.