The golden egg

The hard beep of the countdown up ahead gives me shivers every time it sounds.

Red digital numbers shift to create the next one.

30.

29.

A cacophony of shouts, cries, and whispers fill the room.

“Where is he?” I mutter to myself. I still don’t understand why he’s there. He had never been interested in sports, and in the egg. But when I told him, I was ready to join, he signed up too.

Josh was wearing black when I last saw him, the most generic colour in the world. I can’t see him anywhere, though the crowd could have hidden him well enough. At least 300 people are participating in the event. I counted as I entered the huge double-door gate. Among them were some people from my neighbourhood, the thin, fast runners and the bulky boxers. Each has their own advantage, but I could beat them all. At least, I hope so. I’ve trained too long for this moment.

From above, bright white lights sting me so I can’t look up for long. The backs of those in front of me and the wood walls are the only other things I see. The air reeks of deodorant and sweat. My tongue tastes it too. Arms and legs tangle with each other as I slowly make my way to the front.

I try to do the same. I’m in the center of the crowd, sandwiched between bodies. Everyone is edging towards a thick white chalk start line, anxiously waiting for the countdown to hit 0.

​The walls are covered with glass that show rooms with desks and chairs. This is an office but nobody works here. All except one. The moderator of this event, Roak, a wiry man with unruly orange hair sits in front of the glass window, a mic in his almost-white hands. Next to him stand about 30 guards. Nobody knows where he came from, or why he comes here only. He only appears once a year, just for this competition. And he always brings the egg.

At the end of the hall, right in the middle, should be a golden egg the size of my head. It’s made of pure gold, down to its core; the prize.

For years, this competition has been held once a year for those willing to give themselves up for it. And, stupidly, people are willing. I never understood why. Until I did.

At the end of the hall, right in the middle, should be a golden egg the size of my head. It’s made of pure gold, down to its core; the prize.

I crane my neck up while standing on my toes. From here I can see a little more. The lights burn my eyes, but I need to see if I’m right about the egg, otherwise this is all for nothing. The egg is there, at the end, in the middle, like I thought.

On the opposite side of the long but wide wooden hall, as wide as ten elephants, is a huge podium with a crowd five times bigger than our number, and more on the way.

A mandatory event. That’s what it was when it was first introduced. 

But now, even though it’s voluntary, most people come. Of course they do. They’ve got a knack for it now.

A lot of them are smiling, grinning, or doing something of that sort. The few that aren’t have just lost their family or friends to this game. I spot my mom, who is still tear-stained since I decided to join this game. Her face is sticky with sweat and tears and smeared with dirt from the day in the field. She wipes her face with her sleeve, where a square is ripped apart. I look down at my blue shirt. The missing square is carefully sewn on a ripped edge of it.

“Don’t cry, Mom. I’m going to win,” I say. My throat tightens. She doesn’t hear me, or see me. Maybe that’s a good thing. She never believed I would win, but I believed for her. I hope I’m the one in the right here.

My mind wanders to the harsh days when I trained for hours in the dark, stinky hell of a camper. There was no training with weapons; they were the only thing not allowed.

I would lift our pans, putting bottles filled with water in them to add weight. I did so many exercises. Push-ups, sit-ups, squats, running, punching, kicking; everything. Till my body was numb. Everyday. For two years.

Sometimes Josh would visit me. He has been my best friend since we were 5. Being in the same schools over the years, we spent almost every day with each other.

Being 25, two years my elder, he would help me with my stance, spotting me. Whenever our skin touched, even a bit, my body would tingle. He told me that I was blushing.

Those were the good times.

​

I drop down so my heels touch the floor again. My eyes adjust to the dimness again.

My left arm suddenly feels sticky. It also seems to be squeezed even tighter by the others now.

“Get yourself together,” whispers someone. My fists clench, and I turn around to punch the person, but stop when I see who it is.

Curly hair, brown eyes, black shirt.

“Josh!” I yell, smiling. I pinch myself, bringing my face back into a neutral mode.

“Where were you?”

“Checking on the others. Someone has to explain everything to them.”

I huff. Of course, he’s playing ‘hero.’ As if they don’t know what they got themselves into.

“15 seconds left,” booms Roak’s scratchy voice from the loudspeaker overhead. The loudspeaker crackles, then stops.

Everybody rushes to the starting line, pushing each other so much that some fall to the floor. I’m pushed too, a domino effect that continues. My hands instinctively latch onto Josh’s. I don’t blush, though my fingers tingle. My legs hurt, so do my arms, what with all the rubbing and all the body contact.

The pushing stops. Everyone is silent. A few gasps ring through the place.

What’s happening?

I let go of Josh’s hand and hop up and down to see the scene in front. I half-see two officers in green and grey uniforms enter the place with large whips. The whips glow red on one side. It’s said that whips buzz like bees when not used because of all the energy they have in them.

One officer takes the kids who fell over the line and whips them with the red side. The whip slices through the kid. His body turns liquid and evaporates as if he was never there. It doesn’t matter anyway. Others meet the same fate.

I sigh. It was bound to happen. All because they crossed the white chalk line before the countdown stopped. They should’ve just stayed in the center, like me.

The others seem to react the same way. Everyone was quiet. They knew this was coming. They’ve seen this every year. So have I.

A few grin. Less competition. I grin too, but a pang of guilt hits me, removing that grin from my face.

I could’ve been one of them. My stomach drops at the thought.

Instead of thinking about it, I shift my attention back to the countdown.

10.

9.

The rest of the people who crossed the line are swiftly dealt with. I hear a sharp sizzle; the person is whipped and sliced. Then, a splash; the body is water. And a long sizzle; evaporation.

What if that happens to me?

Focus Tanya.

Focus.

6.

5.

My legs feel stiff.

I have to run. I have to run as fast as I can.

My mind pours over those words.

Sweat pools in my armpits.

4.

The red numbers tick.

My body gets squeezed by the others.

The whispers stop.

3.

Scuttles and pushes.

All eyes on the egg.

Everyone is ready.

2.

My breath hovers.

My heart is ready to jump.

1.

RUN.

​

All at once, the crowd rushes towards the golden egg in the middle. Everybody pushes everyone else, hoping for a head start. From the front, I hear yells and applause, meaning the participants are fighting each other.

My hands reach for Josh, but when I turn, he’s gone yet again.

Shit.

Taking a deep breath, I open my arms and lean forwards, shoving the others in front of me away. One of them, a chubby blonde girl, falls belly-first, landing onto another, who falls too.

The ones behind me try to do the same to me. A person grabs my arm, gripping it tight, yanking me to the right. I stand firmly and tear myself away, throwing the person down too. Training did bring something.

 A girl in front of me is moving very slowly.

Get out of my way.

Swinging my left leg back a little, I ready myself to kick.  

Just as my leg meets the girl’s head, someone grabs the collar of my shirt from behind. My black hair swings in slow motion as I fall. For a second, my mind turns blank. I can’t breathe. At the last moment, my hands fall back. They land on the ground first, taking in all the pressure from the fall. I let out a yelp. A sharp, throbbing pain lashes out at my wrists. My back aches. There’s a frog in my throat.

For a moment, I’m paralyzed.

As I lie there, people stream over me. My shallow breaths are stopped by a boy who runs over my throat. My head whirls, my breaths shallow.

Everything hurts.

They aren’t stopping.

Get up, Tanya.

Get up.

Taking three short breaths and one long one, something I always did to calm myself down, I come up with a plan. I grab a person’s leg, pulling them down. They fall on their faces. For a second, I feel a pang of remorse. 

This happened to me too.

No time for that.

I get up, dodging the now thinned-out crowd. My wrist can barely take it. I’m about to fall. With the last of my strength, I get myself up. My nose is sticky with blood, my mouth with the taste of iron.

I start pushing the crowd again, though I know it won’t help. I only see the backs of others. I’m not going to be the first.

Don’t give up.

I have to do this.

For Mom.

I crawl on all fours, scuttling my way across fallen bodies, puddles of brown, and streams of red. The smell of sweat, puke, and blood overwhelms me.

People are punching each other, biting, clawing, kicking. All methods are fair in this game. Out of nowhere, a tall, burly man suddenly swoops down to pick me up, but I roll to my side, nearly missing his giant hands as I land on one knee. He snarls. Despite his size, he quickly recovers and kicks me, aiming for my chin. My hands grab his ankle, stopping the attack. My heart pounds as I twist his foot. It feels like twisting a metal ring. My head aches, my hands redden. The man gapes at me for a second but comes back to his senses, jerking his foot violently.

I glance to my right.

From here, I can finally see the egg clearly.

No one has reached the egg.

Just a few more steps.

I turn to the man and push his foot away, using the moment to slide on my knee. I stand up and limp-run to it. The man is right behind me, gaining speed.

The egg is just ten steps away. I can still do it.

Eight steps. 

The man is directly behind me. I force myself to run faster.

I’m almost there.

Six steps. 

Three steps. 

I’m almost—

A black shadow runs past me, launching itself onto the egg.

Curly hair, brown eyes, black shirt.

He’s got the egg.

“AND THE WINNER IS JOSHUMA MIRANDEZ!” says Roak.

20 officers clad in armour and whips enter the hall, surrounding Josh. The man stops, sinking to his feet. Tears fall into his open mouth.

Everyone who was fighting a minute ago stops too.

I look up. Josh is smiling.

It takes me a moment to realise what’s happening.

 My face blooms with fiery heat.

No.

No.

No no no!

I sprint to Josh.

My heart hammers, my fist clenched.

“I’m gonna kill you! I’m gonna—”

I hear a faint buzz.

A red glow soars in front of me.

Black.