Chapter 21
Inevitable
Not once in my entire existence am | tasked with the weighty responsibility of rescuing another person. Ettie once tells me that
when faced with a dire situation, where both my life and someone else’s are in jeopardy, | typically prioritize my own. safety. The
realization that my own concerns take precedence over others haunts. me, especially when ites to the possibility of
someone losing their life.
Far from denying Ettie’s words, | actually find them to be quite shrewd. How challenging would it be to rescue oneself from
trouble without relying on someone like me?
Despite everything, Ettie and | have to attend a brief first aid course in preparation for the Mating Run. That’s where | gain
knowledge on the art of using ointments and applying bandages effectively. Honestly, in my mind, | would only utilize them once
throughout the entire run. | can’t keep track of how many times | have to resort to that now; it has be a routine.
All | want now is for everything toe to an end.
| reach out with trembling hands, my fingers grazing the blood-stained hair of the Hider, sending shivers down my spine. As | pull
apart the strands, a tingling of fear brushes against the edges of my awareness, revealing a scene that seems like a hopeless
challenge to survive.
In her skull, there is a gaping hole, a chilling sight.
| let out a piercing scream as | scramble backward, my whole body shaking uncontrobly. Crawling back toward her takes a few
more seconds, but instead of fear, | am now filled with concern and a flicker of hope, as | see her chest moving up and down.
“No, no, no!”
| mutter incoherently, my words a jumbled mess, filled with desperation.
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With a heart racing like a galloping horse, | plunge into action.
In the midst of the chaos, my limited knowledge of first aid provides a glimmer of hope. With a frenzied determination, | push my
hands against the Hider’s chest, feeling the rhythmic thumping of her heart. It is getting weaker and weaker.
“C’mon, breathe!”
My voice quivers as | plead, barely audible as a whisper. Tears blur my vision as | desperately pump life into the Hider’s
motionless body, eachpression an anguished plea for her survival.
Her pulse, feeble but unyielding, is the tenuous link that binds her to the edge of reality. As each second ticks away, the air grows
heavy with an undeniable sense of fear, battling against the flickering ember of hope within me.
| can’t determine the extent of the wound on her head or how long it has been there. Looking back, | wish | had been more
attentive; maybe then we wouldn''t be in this mess.
“Stay with me.” Urgently, my voice carries a mix of despair and determination as | urge. “You can’t let them win,e on!”
And as the seconds go by, the pulse gets weaker, like a dying fire slowly disappearing. Panic is squeezing my chest, trying to put
out the tiny me of hope that is still flickering.
Just when it seems like there is no sound at all, a ring siren shatters the silence.
The sound of its wail reverberates through the cave, creating a haunting atmosphere that sends shivers down my spine. The
Hider’s pulse, the rhythm that has been my lifeline, fades away into the inevitable.
The Hider is dead.
| never even got to know her name.
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Copsing beside the Hider’s lifeless form, | am ovee with uncontroble so bs that fill the cave’s hollow chambers with
echoes.
| never really liked funerals.
| just didn’t get why they were necessary. If an individual held importance to me, why would | choose to wait until their death to
prioritize spending time with them, as | pondered in my thoughts?
Funerals were like gatherings of memories lost and futures unrealized. | stood there, the echoes of sadness reverberating
through the air, my pretense of concern crumbling under the weight of my apathy.
It was a masquerade, a performance of insincere mourners hiding behind sorrowful facades.
When that person who passed away was alive, did anyone ever take a moment to sit with them, to share augh or listen to their
stories?
It was surreal, pretending that those memories flooding back meant anything, while standing in front of a coffin. They did carry
significance, but it was because we disregarded them when they could have been shared.
Funerals were the culmination of a tragic story of neglect.
| couldn''t bear the hypocrisy, which was why | chose not to attend funerals. | wouldn’t pretend that the person mattered to me in
death, for they were nothing more than a fleeting presence in the backdrop of my life’s drama. Funerals served as a way for the
living to find sce and ease their guilt, rather than benefiting the departed.
So, I''d rather remember them in my own way, with bittersweet nostalgia and genuine connections. I’d silently carry the weight of
my regret, sparing myself from an orchestrated farewell,
In the end, attending a funeral felt like a cruel parody of the vibrant life that
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once thrived, and | refused to partake in such a charade.
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As the earth yields beneath my hands, | can’t help but repeat the haunting words inside my head. While | have a strong dislike
for funerals, my hate of death surpasses it. With trembling hands, | dig a makeshift hole, each handful of soil. symbolizing the
heavy burden borne by the fallen, cascading into it.
The burial site is adorned with berries, a small and humble offering amidst the dance of mortality, their vibrant colors standing out
against the somber scene of grief.
My tears fall uncontrobly, their silent descent blending with the soil beneath me, as | grapple with the abrupt conclusion of a life
intimately connected to my
own.
With each pat of the soil, | can feel the weight of my grief bear down upon me, threatening to crush the flickering embers of hope
within.
Carefully arranged, a pile of freshly turned earth is adorned with a disy of luscious berries. Plucked from the deste beauty
of our surroundings, leaves and flowers are ced on the makeshift grave.
As | bow my head in a silent prayer, a chill runs down my spine as | feel the presence of unseen eyes in the deepening shadows
of the cave.
The Hider, now one with the soil that gently cradled her remains. Since | don’t even know her name, | can’t even give her burial
ce a properbel. I’m not even sure if | should have buried her in the first ce. | wonder if the staff of the run woulde
here and retrieve her body.
lam unsure of my next move, but | can’t bear to leave her lifeless form behind in the cave. The burial brings a heavy cloak of
finality that settles around my shoulders. Yet, as the final handful of soilnds, a zing fury erupts inside me.
My face, streaked with tears, twists into an angry re as | lock eyes with the
camera.
“Are you having fun watching this f ucking show?”
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Frustration consumes me, and my voice emerges as a grating rasp.
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Standing by the makeshift grave, | feel the cold silence of the forest, offering no
comfort.
| realize that dealing with grief is not something thates naturally to me. Sure, there are tears, but they’re not the graceful,
shimmering kind that one might see in movies. No, mine are usually mixed up with frustration, a feeling that twists. your stomach
and fills you with an overwhelming urge to let out a scream of frustration.
Crying isn’t something | enjoy. To me, they seem like a trap, a space designed to manipte your emotions, but my innermost
sentiments don’t conform to those conventions. When someone’s gone, the sadness hits like a heavy weight on the chest, but so
does this anger, a burning fire that refuses to be extinguished, fueled by the stubborn refusal to ept their absence.
It''s strange because, yeah, tears stream down my face. | mean, | don’t even know the Hider; | barely met her, but her presence
has me shedding tears and feeling anger on her behalf. | think the tears aren’t because I’m sad they died, but rather because I’m
frustrated with them for allowing this entire endeavor to seed.
As if they had any say in the situation. It’s unfortunate, but fairness is a rare urrence in life.
The weight of anger can burden the heart and cloud one’s judgment. It’s like an unpredictable energy that surprises you when
you least anticipate it. One moment you''re fine, and the next, I’m sprinting through the forest, the sound of my ws scraping
against the rough bark echoing in the air.
Maybe it’s because she was just my age, but her untimely death leaves a lingering sense of disbelief. It’s like banging my head
against a wall. The void within me grows, a constant reminder of what could’ve been, the nagging feeling that | could’ve saved
her had | been more observant.
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It''s frustrating to feel powerless in the face of the uncontroble. Death, it’s the ultimate culmination of life. | scream, my voice
piercing the air, but the cameras. remain fixed on me, unmoved by my desperation. And that fills me with frustration.
Filled with anger, | direct my frustration towards the universe, the people who left, and asionally, even myself for not taking
more action.
As | enter the cave, the sound of my sob s echoes off the walls. It feels like a sanctuary where | can freely express my frustration
without any criticism. And then there’s this guilt that slowly seeps into her conscience. | couldn’t escape the guilt that weighed on
me for feeling anger instead of grief. The guilt weighs on me for not conforming to societal expectations of expressing my
innermost thoughts. It’s a perpetual struggle between the emotions | ought to have and the emotions | truly experience.
Inside the cave, the air is thick and oppressive, while the walls echo with the constant gaze of the cameras.
| reach my limit-the overpowering smell of sweat and fear, a constant reminder that we are nothing but pawns in this sick
gameshow. When | registered, | expected somethingpletely different. They all assure us that it won’t get this intense, this
horrible, but the reality is far worse. Each and every one of them cannot be trusted, as they are all known to be dishonest.
Looking back, | should have had the foresight to know better.
Fueled by a desperate need, | lunge toward the closest camera, anger boiling within me like a fierce storm.
The sound of my nails scraping against the sturdy casing echoes in the air as my hands w at it, searching for any opening.
However, it is relentless, taunting my feeble efforts to break away from its unrelenting stare. | grab a nearby stick, its rough bark
scraping against my palm as | swing it like a weapon.
The camera, however, stands resolute, its lens fixed on the scene before it.
“Come on!”
| unleash a scream of pure frustration at the camera, my voice reverberating.
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“You think this is a dam n show? Is that what you want, huh?”
2.67%Material ? N?velDrama.Org.
Desperation guides my actions as | turn to the stones, my fingers trembling as | reach out. Each impact echoes through the
cave, creating a sense of unease, but the camera stands undisturbed, serving as a symbol of the absurdity of our
sas situation.
“Why won''t you break?” | mutter, my voice emerging as a raspy whisper. “Just let us be.”
My eyes fill with tears, a potent blend of fury and vulnerability bubbling over. Inside the cave, | feel the walls closing in on me, the
weight of the cameras bing more suffocating with each futile attempt to break their unwavering gaze.
“This isn’t ad amn game! We''re real, d amn it!”
And yet, the only response | receive is an eerie silence.
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