Today was the great culling. The native people had heard of this. It was a game where all the tribes of a region are invited to the lip of a great volcano, sometimes it was a forrest, or a endless desert and made to hold hands around a massive indentations. The local scholars and winos would have different versions of what would happen.
Some times it was to be mounted on thousands of cement crosses on a vast emptied sea floor, and the game was to survive an atom bombing. Others said it was a hunt where the elite of the world would chase down naked native children from horseback wearing masks of predators like bears, foxes and wolves in a great northern Canadian forrest.
Still others talked of journeys to inverted places that did not seem real, where the sky and earth were colors that could not be real, hues and shapes foreign to any sober mind and the people would be chased by strange crafts and moving plants bellow a star field that was so beautiful it cracked up the mind.
Todays outing was different. The people whispered this must be the tropics as the ground was so green and lush. Was this Hawaii or maybe even Ireland? It was hard to know. There was an indentation like a vast bowl you could believe was an ancient magma crater, but covered in the most squishy moss and the air was full of mist in the morning light. Every where in low areas were cradles of mist and rainbows as slow wind moved the low cloud over this place.
The game was as follows. A great multitude of peoples from all over the Earth were standing around this depression. There were poor people, and fabulously rich people in the hundreds all standing around. Animals were unleashed an one of the participants would awake in the center of the bowl.
The area was uneven, crags of lava rock would jut up a few feet all over, old pieces of tree stumps and rises would create areas where the participant could find shelter as animals were sent in to hunt them. Sometimes it was massive crabs the size of cars, or others bulls or even great thunderbirds.
The goal was not explained but the game had begun. In his case it was abnormally large rabbits. ET saw them in the distance, only revealing a black eye from behind cover, others were ignoring him, licking their paws and cleaning their faces or scratching their ears.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
Among the moss and grasses here were old cars totally covered in furry green plant growth. Mid 60s Chevys and Buicks, old GMC trucks and cars whose antiquity he couldn’t name falling into rusted despair. He searched the cars quickly as the animals moved in from hundreds of meters away. Finding old tools, rusted tools but among the debris on the floors of green carpets he found a shiny small revolver like the ones on cop shows.
One rabbit seemed more aggressive. ET scoured the landscape for something to fight with. A tree branch he found crumbled to rot when he struck it against a rock. Falls apart full of bug larva and worms. He spotted a place full of bottles but he would not make it before the rabbit got to him.
He almost died of fright as this rabbit who was speeding towards him leaped into the air and disappeared into a hole in the ground he had not seen in front of him, leaving behind a bottle of orange soda. He hears gasps and angry hisses from the edges of the crater where all the people had lined up. He realized it was now his turn. Grabbing up the bottles he surveyed the edges of the depression.
Among the smiling Native people, or faces of what looked like sick or dying soldiers, he saw some famous people. He saw the president George Bush with several of his pals in suits giving hard looks, he saw the Queen of England and angry looking Police. He realized now was his turn to be the hunter or at least to hurl bottles at the people around the crater to select the next player.
Walking up about 20 feet from the ruling class participants he hurled a couple bottles, one hit the ground and cast broken glass all around their feet. Another hit a man in the chest beside president Bush, and another hit a man with a creepy smile right across the face, wounding him. As the game was not over he remembered the revolver and suddenly felt such a hostility to these rulers of society. Taking the revolver out he decided to pop at least one of these craven swine he had only seen on TV.
Just as he was selecting someone to gun down and coming up with blanks. None of the other people were seeming important enough, he hesitated to shoot the president or the queen so he looked for a angry face or somebody worth shooting and now these people were crying, looking away and squirming.
The loud speakers were turned on and the game was over. It felt rigged. He knew every other time some Native people were gored, eaten alive and this time right when he had one and was able to pick someone important from the world they sent every one back to the buses they arrived on. He sees far off private planes and limos taking the important white people away. He sees a couple faces he missed now, same bad energy as before.
Then he awakens at school, feeling like his eyes were going to pop from the late afternoon light. The bell rang and as he got his books he heard screams and shooting. Men in black tactical gear and masks who looked like police or army were gunning students and teachers down across the quad.
He sees a helicopter above with president Herbert Walker Bush leaning out giving orders on a megaphone and just as they locked eyes he sees the creepy man with the white naval uniform peak out covering one eye with white bandages. The craven politicians point at him and ski masked swat cops with machine guns took aim.