THE GAME BEHIND THE FOG

Oil lamps shimmered in the darkness creating a fire like glow across the slum. Once in a while you could here the rats scampering in the pigs troughs stealing all the little that remained in them. The condition of the slum is unbearable, and yet so many people risk their life to come here from the Focus and live a peaceful life, of course that's what they thought. The houses are cramped and, at the maximum have two tiny rooms, which are usually covered in fleas or some other weird critter. The only floor we have is some old rotten wood planks, which are covering what used to be an exploded sewage pipe; no one ever gets a full stomach. So who knows why they even attempt to come here.

I suddenly awaken to the sound of singing. My sister. I slowly get up and wander, half asleep, into the kitchen, then I remember today is the day, the day where one of us from this horror of a place gets the opportunity to be sent to the centre, where all the posh and ungrateful people hang. The one day all the children of Sector C gather together in the square. I grab a piece of half mouldy bread and shove it into my mouth trying to ignore the sour taste of it every time I make a chew. Not realising the time, I head out in search for scraps. Every now and again I hear the guards stomping their heavy boots down the alleyway. As I walk down the street into the so called 'town' I look out for any remains of food. There is always a good stock of scraps around here, whether they be rotten or fresh from the supplies.

I slump onto the ground looking desperately for something pleasant to eat tonight, then I see it, a rare delicacy, just a few meters from this very spot. Then I realise I'm not the first to see it, my best friend Asher has his eyes fixed on it too. I run as fast as I can, then bolt onto the floor grabbing the almost dead bird in my hands. I get up and run as fast as I can clutching onto it with all my strength, hoping no one notices the bird hanging from my arms. When I reach home I'm gasping for air. I cautiously enter the room where my mum and sister lay asleep on the flea ridden sofa-bed. Slowly, I enter the kitchen, place the bird on the counter, pick some vegetables from my mums petite garden, and make a salad together for later.

As soon as it reaches 12 o'clock everyone is in the square all dressed up in fancy clothes and their hair tied back into fancy patterns. We are all in height order and have had our names ticked off the ever going list, now waiting patiently for something to happen. After around 30 minutes, a slim, short haired women enters the stage and gives us a long and boring lecture/introduction on how amazing the world has become and what you should look forward to in the Focus, if you are to be picked. Then, after she has finished boring everyone to death she finally goes over to announce the name. Suspense filled the audience as the women put her hand into the giant wooden box with the words 'girl' en scripted in it. She reached inside and slowly pulled out a piece of old brown paper. She stared at it for a few moments before spelling the name out in front of us.

Tawny Buttercross (ME!)