It only takes one bat of the eyelashes. Right in the middle of the practice of all times. Rain showered on him as his momentum slowed to a stop. He stood there slightly bent, heaving big breaths of air through a gas-like mask that covered only half of his face. Pulling back the dark, wet hair that was plastered to his face, he flinched as the sound in his ear started to ring in alarm. An electronic voice sounded, 20 meters “Fuck,” he cursed. He started with a light jog as his hand shot up to wipe at the rain that pelted down his goggles, hoping in vain that the action would help him see through dense jungle fog. No such luck. 15 meters the voice reminded, and his lungs kicked into overdrive as he now began to blindly run forward, staggering over overgrown weeds and old, broken infrastructure. They were relentless. Even without looking back, he knew what was chasing him. What the electronic voice was signaling against. He could hear it now. The quiet, almost nonexistent sound of the drones getting closer. He shot through the forest, trying to pick up the pace, sliding under the big, forest branches and twisting around rusted metal. 10 meters The cold, electric voice sounded again. Boots, one after another, slammed after him, enthralled in the chase. He darted to the left, trying to throw off the people behind him, heart beating out his chest. They were close, so close, he could feel the laser of their guns start to fixate on his back. 5 meters A shot went off. Harlem only saw the bullet glide right past his head, almost hitting his ear as the humming sound permeated through the air. So, so close, Harlem thought, then he blinked. A whistle went off, signaling the end of practice. It was hot. Sweltering in fact. The heat bore down outside in one endless wave. He had been standing there for god knows how long, panting, his collar wet with moisture that came from perspiration dripping down his face. He groaned, billowing out his uniform as a way to try to relieve the heat. “Nice run today,” a hand struck his back, and Harlem nearly collapsed to the ground, still taking in long breaths of fresh air. Honey stood above him, grinning. Harlem glared and stuck up his middle finger between breaths, before reaching for the water bottle Honey held for him and gulping big mouthfuls of water. More than half of the class was already on the side lines, chattering with fellow classmates. A few of the bigger boys still ran round the track, and both Harlem and Honey watched as their feet slammed against the pavement, their red uniforms tied around their waist fluttering after them as they ran. “I wish I had their endurance,” Honey commented, and Harlem couldn t <0060> t help but agree. Their strength was worth envying, and Harlem desperately wanted to be just like them. To gain the benefits they had. To be the strongest. The sound of two sharp whistles broke his line of thought and Harlem staggered to his feet and fell in line with other classmates that jogged after our squad leader and into the academy.

xx/xx/xxxx Sunny. The weather today was sweltering hot. Loose clothing hung on everyone’s frame and unbuttoned shirts were the norm. Teachers didn’t say a word about unkempt appearances, as they were the same. The AC has broken again. The teachers droned on and on about things learned the year before. Coleem had tuned it out like usual. It was her last week here anyway. Her only thought was being able to take a short nap without the teacher noticing. A cool breeze drifted from the window, making her eyes grow heavier. She let her head loll to the side, leaning on her arm, as she stared into the endless blue of the sky. She blinked very slowly, her breath slowed, and her mind went even slower as she drifted… Do you want to know what it means to truly die? “…” Her eyes blinked open. Simultaneously, the bell went off. The slight breeze was gone, and Coleem discreetly wiped the slobber from the corner of her mouth and she yawned and gathered her bag. Right. Her next class was, thankfully, her last class and she couldn’t wait for it to be over with. The hallways were scant with students, as there weren’t many who had to take extra credit classes so close to the end of the semester. Most of them were either in their dorms, or outside, enjoying their temporary freedom before curfew. Coleem stopped by her locker and pulled out her phone, watching it light up with messages from an already bored and bothersome Harley. “Harley,” she typed, “I’m almost…” The hand on her shoulder startled her. “Coleem, is it?”

It seemed like a good idea at the time, skating down the dark, old tunnel that went so long, you could hear the rumble of my wheels reverberate farther than I could see. It felt as if something just ahead bore down on me the longer I went. Darker, faster, my body was tilted forward, knees bent, and hand behind my back. That was when I smelt it. Smelling something before you could even see it or hear it in such a dark place is a disorienting feeling, and it was like the smell just appeared out of nowhere. I bent m y knees even more, pressing down head on my board and skidding my foot on the ground as I slowed. Fully stopped, I unbuckled the restricting helmet and inhaled long and hard. Sweet. Not overpowering, but something that you’d want to sit at the tip of your nose and smell over and over throughout your day. Out of the corner of my eye, I see something large flash by. I glance over. Nothing. Strapping my helmet back on, I toss my board back to the ground, put one leg on top, and use the other to push off back into the dark.