The Mating Run by Leeka

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The trees, with their spindly trunks, provide little cover. As I walk, the sound of my footsteps is muf fled by the layer of dry leaves on the ground, hindering my ability to track others who might lead me to a source of food. I’m still making my way downhill, descending into a forest that stretches out endlessly. Armed with my trusty knife, I set to work on the tree, meticulously slicing off the outer bark and gathering a substantial amount of the smooth inner bark.
“Bleh, this shi t tastes disgusting.”
I let out an annoyed hiss, forcefully spitting the bark out of my mouth and hastily wiping my tongue with the sleeve of my tracksuit. I’ve seen some of the survivalists on reality TV desperately munching on tree bark to suppress their hunger, but they never raved about its flavor.
“Da mn, that’s nasty. Why the heck did I do that?”
Ignoring my rumbling stomach, I continue my search, determined to find something. I’ve stumbled upon a minimum of two bags, but the majority of them had already been ransacked. Thankfully, the staff of the Mating Run discreetly disposed of the bodies. Despite everything, I could still make out the dent they had made on the ground and the fresh blood splatters. As I think about it, a shiver runs up my spine, making me uneasy, and I quickly try to find a distraction.
I’ve done the usual morning jogs with Ettie, but I’ve never really felt the wilderness surrounding me like this. According to the High Council Elders and the Alpha, participating in the annual Mating Run is an experience like no other. And I’ve always believed it, because really, I never considered the possible consequences.
In the Mating Run, every step forward holds the promise of a reward.
New experiences. New fame. New mate.
At the Mating Run, you can expect nothing but goodness.
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It was no secret to me that there were some sinister secrets lurking behind the Mating Run. The undeniable truth is right in front of me, and it would be a shame to deny it, considering I’m living it. But still, everyone holds it with high regard, perhaps due to tradition, but truly, I believe it’s because everyone has a slight thirst for blood every now and then.
The rumbling in my stomach grows louder, reverberating through the quiet forest, a hungry symphony that would not go unnoticed by anyone nearby.
“Seriously, stomach, you’re driving me crazy. I’m working on it!”
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I mutter under my breath, my hand instinctively going to my belly, trying to soothe its complaints. The reality of my situation is hard to ignore I’m in the middle of a dense forest, where the air is thick with the earthy scent of moss and decaying bodies. I can’t help but recognize the irony of my predicament. Being the one hunted, I now find myself in the role of the predator, scanning the surroundings for a
meal.
A determined grimace settles on my face as I men tally prepare myself.
“Pull yourself together, Alina. You’ve dealt with worse than being hungry.”
I cling to the words like a mantra, desperately trying to divert my thoughts from the looming fear.
Each step I take on the forest floor is a delicate dance on a mosaic of leaves and twigs, carefully navigating the uneven terrain. With my eyes, I carefully survey the surroundings, desperately searching for any indication of edible vegetation.
“There’s gotta be something around here. Berries, nuts, or… I don’t know, a magical pizza tree?”
As I weave through the trees, the growls of my hunger become an unwavering soundtrack, fueling my determination.

As I walk through the forest, the sunlight filters through the dense canopy, creating a beautiful dappled effect on the ground. In one of these patches of light, I spot it – a backpack hanging from a low branch, swaying gently in the breeze like a
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mischievous prank by Mother Nature herself.
The corners of my lips curl up into a playful grin, impossible to contain.
“Jackpot,” I whisper to myself, my eyes narrowing as I assess the height of the branch, my fingers tingling with anticipation. Although I’m not skilled at climbing trees, desperation empowers me to muster the courage to give it a try. “My hunger. might make me do some amazing things.”
approach the tree, studying it with the intensity of a determined squirrel eyeing the highest branch of the nut-bearing oak. As I take a deep breath, my ascent begins, my fingertips seeking traction on the rugged bark.
“Just like climbing the corporate ladder, Alina. One branch at a time,”
I quip, my own joke earning a small chuckle that escapes my lips. I extend my arm confidently, grabbing the backpack that is conveniently within reach, and flash a triumphant grin.
“What do we have here?”
I eagerly murmur, unzipping it with anticipation, eager to see what’s inside. The contents of the bag were an interesting mix – a crunchy granola bar and a tin of beans. My heart pounds in my chest as I hastily reach for the granola bar, tearing open the wrapper and taking a big bite. Zeke can have the beans; I never cared for their taste.
A contented moan escapes my lips, and I quickly stifle it, pressing against the tree to relish the flavor.
Like a snack-seeking ninja, I sit on the branch, concealed by the rustling leaves, and open the granola bar wider with a mischievous smile. The crinkling of the wrapper drowns out the soft whispers of the forest, but I am unfazed. A delicious smell of oats and honey hangs in the air, making my stomach betray me with hunger.
“Sorry, stomach, we can’t rush perfection,” Breaking off a piece, I savor the sweet flavor, letting it melt on my tongue. With each bite of the granola, a whirlwind
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of flavors dances on the taste buds, providing a momentary escape from the hardships of the wilderness. “Who knew a tree-climbing escapade could lead to such gourmet dining?”
Perched in my leafy sanctuary, I observe the sprawling forest beneath me, its follage acting as a protective barrier. Being hidden, even if just for a moment, fills. me with a whimsical sense of safety, like being wrapped in a cozy blanket.
Taking a moment for myself, I lean back against the tree trunk, letting the solitude wash over me. Each bite of the granola bar becomes a flavorful journey, a small celebration of rainco
My mind wanders back to the chaos of the Mating Run as I take small bites. Once a battleground for desperate contenders, the forest below has transformed into a serene sanctuary.
“This is definitely not what I signed up for,” My thoughts spill out, spoken aloud. as if the trees are my trusted listeners. “I thought it’d be a jog in the park, not al survivalist nightmare.”
I am struck by the contrast – perched in a tree, munching on a granola bar, while the vibrant Mating Run unfolds beneath me.
“I mean, who plans these things? ‘Let’s throw a bunch of people in a forest, see who survives, and maybe they’ll find love along the way.’ Romantic, isn’t it?”
I couldn’t help but smirk and shake my head at the completely ridiculous premise. I know there might be cameras trained on me, capturing every word I say, and there might already be critics ready to pounce on my every statement, but I can’t hold back.
“Maybe there’s more to this than meets the eye,” I muse, my tone
contemplative. “Surviving, discovering, finding unexpected snacks in trees – It’s like a twisted version of self-discovery.”
With a satisfied sigh, I finish the granola bar and gather my belongings, preparing to leave my leafy refuge.
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“Alright, Mr. Tree, you’ve been a good host, but duty calls.”
I announce to the branches, their leaves rustling in response, as if they’ve been my companions all along.
With a final glance at the lush forest below, I am just about to descend the tree. when a faint rustling catches my attention. The air is filled with a cacophony of voices, blending together into a symphony of sound. I freeze instantly, feeling the weight of the bag against my chest and the cold metal of the knife in my hand.
Straining to see through the foliage, I catch glimpses of sunlight filtering through the leaves, creating a dappled effect.
From the shadows, a group of contenders emerges, their laughter and conversation reverberating through the silent forest like foreboding footsteps. My stomach churns as I catch snippets of their conversation-graphic tales of conquests, both in the realm of violence and intimacy. Their words create a repulsive symphony that churns my stomach in disgust.
“You should’ve seen the look on his face when I gutted him. Pure gold!”
A burst of laughter erupts from one of them, a grotesque symphony that makes my stomach twist.
Another a voice that sounds like a grating rasp, chimes in with
contender with a sa distic chuckle. “And what about that boy? He was practically on his knees, begging for his life. Pathetic. I messed with him for the fun of it.”
I press my hand to my mouth, trying to muf fle the gasp that threatens to escape, as their brutal recounting unfolds before me like a twisted performance. Malevolence hangs in the air, polluting it with a putrid stench, while their voices clash in a discordant cacophony of cruelty. My chest tightens with fear as they casually mention the names of those they’ve killed, sending shivers down my spine.
Their conversation takes a dark twist as they approach each other, delving into the realm of twisted triumphs and vile conquests.