vinay narang. d3. done

Beep.

Boop.

The domino-like falling sound effect of a dying character.

Red, blood-shot eyes, placed in a circle of four other teenagers. Their parents had visions of glory, yet their children only have visions of neon lights. They're shrowded by shadows; the single lightbulb failing to provide ample vision. Beside you, a yellow notepad and a pen. As the night grew deeper and the sunrise came nearer the handwriting on the page grew weaker. Sloppier - hard, strict lines shifted into curled wisps of ink;

- thrown knife bug, does not harm other racers
- flying seely turns into some purple and black decal while transporting driver
- wild west arena music is too quiet

Too many bugs to note, so after a certain point, the faults are for the audience to find. It's hard to understand the main promotion for the game. Competitive racing, multiplayer, themed after victors and exceptionally violent. Maybe if it was a video game solely for the Capitol, but whispers have gone that it's open to the districts too. Who wants to play as the victor that killed their uncle, brother, cousin, sister, lover? It's quite silly, and the sound effects of blood splatters make the game less appealing.

But they're only kids, who are they to give constructive criticism to such creative genius? They're only kids, who are they to have a life? They hardly speak. It's almost as if the work of an avox had been thrust into the bodies of twelve, thirteen, fourteen year olds to sit and work for their parents. It's like the children don't matter, the money, the goal is all what counts.

Sometimes, it feels like they're going to be dead by the time the game reaches anything of fame. They're from Three. What the hell could ever come from Three and be prideworthy?

You'd never tell the other kids, simply because you and the other kids don't speak, but you think they're cool. It's like being in a class for seventeen years together. There's some special connection that weaves the two together spiritually and they're able to just exist cohesively. That thread is missing from dad, but it's odd to know that it feels that thread is never wanted anyway. All your father wants, it seems, is the connection to youth. As if you're any representation of the masses - you haven't even met the masses outside of this basement.

The spiral-like sound effect fills the room once more.

RESPAWN
EXIT GAME. . .

You hover over the ability to exit, but you'll be returning in twelve hours to do it all over again. Using the infinite lives the game offers on the one life you have, you hear the flute-like charm inviting you to the 93rd-branded map.