the chester games 01

Tom awoke to the feeling of discomfort, inducted by the feeling of hardness against his back and a coldness against his skin. His eyes opened and they blinked.

He felt hazy, almost as if he had been drugged, but the fright the sight of a seemingly endless forest had given him was enough to jolt him out of his haze and push himself up.

Even though he had no clue how he had gotten there, he knew – as if a voice in his mind told him – what he was doing there. He was fighting, he was surviving. His clothes told him that. The feeling of being watched told him that. The flask, knife, rope, sleeping bag, nutrition bars and blanket told him that.

Rising, he scanned the environment. What was he fighting? What was he doing? What was going to happen to him? Was he alone? – His questions were soon vaguely answered by a voice, sounding much like a TV game-host, who explained that there were many in here and only one coming out. Death was going to be the thing stopping them.

He walked after that news, he walked for what seemed like hours and he only had the sun to tell him what kind of time in the day it was, which terrified him. He could scream as loud as he wanted now, but he had no voice. He had no say. Nobody would listen. He didn’t even feel like he had time to crawl up in a ball and cry now, though, even though that was what he wanted. He wanted Chris, Ben, Jude… he wanted everyone close to him, he wanted to be told he was going to be alright– A sound seemed to echo through the trees, different to the one that had sounded overhead and had turned out to be the voice, the host of this sickening play– and it had his heart racing and suddenly his feet were picking up speed, running directly away from the sound he had heard. What if that was the first thing trying to get him? What if someone was trying to get him.