LaF Round One: Page Five

Ten minutes pass.

Aeja sups in near silence,
only speaking to affirm or deny
and even then
speaks little.

“Your voice, Haydn,”
she abruptly asks.
“How was it stolen?”

“It was just gone.
That Thief jumped on me-
there was this horrible burning-
and then he was gone, too.”

“What does it feel like?”

“Like a really bad cold.
My throat's all sore.”

“Interesting- er,
poor thing.”

“You haven’t said a lot,”
says Cozzolani.
“What'd he take from you, anyways?”

“Notes.”

“What kind of notes?
Were you a scientist?”

“A doctor of sorts.”

“Maybe you could help Haydn then!”

“Er, no, thanks,”
stammers Haydn.

“I couldn’t do much,”
Aeja says.
“I've not seen your world.”

“What?
What do you mean?”

“These- these things.
Lamps that burn no oil.
Stoves lit by lightning.
Grates that chill the air.”

She shrugs and nibbles on a bit of egg,
sinking back behind the screen
of her worn green hood.

“It's odd,”
says a voice
beyond her sight.
“There're sixteen tables exactly.
That’s sixteen pairs.
Isn’t that half of us?”

Aeja nods to herself,
feeling for her dagger.
Her hands twitch visibly.
She raises her head,
surveying the exits.

Not a moment too soon.

“Quiet, please!”
exclaims the Thief's voice
from up on high.
“Quiet, please!
There is something I must say,
so quiet, if you may.
You've all met a new fellow, maybe two.
Whoever it is, I hope they're known to you.
I'm afraid that sixteen trails end here,
for the time of the games grows near.
Your partner, I’ll let you know,
is now your embittered foe.“

A burst of noise
fills the air.
Aeja glances up at Haydn,
locking eyes with him.

“Disperse soon, for breakfast is done.
Once you do, we begin the true fun.
Oh, by-the-by, the doors are shut tight.
Never opening again until the end of this fight.
Defeat your foe, however you may.
Get to it we haven’t all day.”

With a series of resounding slams,
the atrium doors swing shut
and lock tight.

“Come see me,”
hisses Aeja as she rises.
“Room 124.
I don't want this.”

“What?”
ask both Haydn
and Cozzolani
in unison.

“I'm a doctor,
not a fighter.”

She rises and vanishes into the chaos,
leaving her minute foes
to decide their fates.

“I don't like her,”
says Cozzolani.
“She's too tall.
And ugly.
Mostly ugly.
Really damn ugly.”

“But she sounds reasonable,
even if she's kind of odd,”
counters Haydn.
“Besides, even if she wanted to fight,
she couldn't.
She's too tall for that.
We could just get away
and go figure something out.”

“Can't we just hit her on the head?”

Cozzolani brandishes her recorder,
acting out the fight
of her imagination
as she scurries 'round her plate.

“Look, we have to try.
You can't fight.”

“Can too!”

“And how'd we get here?”

“Because-”

Cozzolani slumps on the table
and crosses her short arms.

“Fine.”

Two floors up,
Aeja sits before her desk
by the light of a candle,
writing names
to be saved for an eternity.

She glances up,
hoping to hear
the rhythmic rapping
of tapping
upon the door.

She draws her dagger,
admiring its keen edge
for the umpteenth time.
Her mind fires off ploys
like a tree shedding leaves.
None seem quite fitting
for the task at hand.

Aeja twirls the blade.

Rap-a-tap-tap.