The Mating Run by Leeka

Chapter 39

Breakout

88%

Victor, sprawled on his beanbag, looks at me with a hint of curiosity.

“Lost your sense of humor, Alina?” he quips, his voice cutting through the stillness.

glance at him, a bitter taste lingering in my mouth. “Do you even know what happened out there? What we had to do to survive?”

Victor shrugs, a nonchalant gesture that stirs a simmering anger within me. “Survival, adaptation – it’s all part of the game, Alina. You should learn to embrace

it.”

I clench my fists, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “Embrace it? You act like it’s some kind of thrilling adventure. We’re out there fighting for our lives, and all you care about is your privilege.”

Victor leans forward, his smirk replaced by a cold glint in his eyes. “Privilege or not, it doesn’t change the fact that we’re all playing the same game. Some just play it smarter.”

The tension in the shack thickens, a palpable force that hangs in the air. The moonlight casts long shadows, accentuating the divide between us. I take a deep breath, my anger simmering beneath the surface.

  1. US.

“You think it’s a game, Victor? A game with rules that only favor you?”

Victor smiles, points at the corner of the shack where a camera is directed at

“Why don’t we ask the audience?”

I shake my head, a bitter smile playing on my lips.

“Fuck you.”

O

1/7

08:34 Sat, 9 Mar N

Breakout

I can’t shake off the frustration that coils within me, a serpent ready to strike. The moonlight seeps through the windows, casting a cold glow on the scattered remnants of my earlier outburst.

I pace the limited space, the confined walls of the shack closing in on me. The what–ifs, the maybes – they echo in my mind like a haunting refrain. I glance at Victor, lounging on his bed with an air of indifference, and the anger resurfaces.

Without a word, I start tearing through the shack once more. Plates crash to the floor, and gadgets are thrown haphazardly. Victor grumbles, his irritation. evident, but he doesn’t move to stop me. The shack becomes a canvas for my rage, a chaotic display of frustration.

“Relax, Alina,” Victor mutters, his voice tinged with annoyance. “Someone’s going to find us soon, and this will all be over.”

I

His words only fuel my anger. I turn to him, my eyes burning with intensity. “Find us? This isn’t a game, Victor. We’re not waiting for rescue. We’re fighting for survival, and your privilege blinds you to that!”

Victor rolls his eyes, an exasperated sigh escaping his lips.

you’re going to act all crazy, can you at

confines, bears the brunt of my rebellion. The moonlight outside watches

with casual disinterest. The sound of pages turning becomes a backdrop to my destructive symphony. The shack, once a haven

hurling

magazine, annoyance etched

pace the limited space, frustration coiling within me like a

1/7

9 Mar N

Breakout

88%

hands becomes a target for my wrath. Without a word, I snatch it from him and

glances up from his bed, his eyes narrowing in irritation. “Seriously, Alina? If you’re going to be this annoying, maybe

a casualty of my frustration, its pages torn and scattered like. confetti. The moonlight outside

within.

think tearing my magazine will change anything?”

with a satisfying rip. “Mayber not, but it feels damn

mess for no reason. If you’re that upset, go

forest.”

I tear through the magazine with renewed vigor, the sound of paper tearing becoming a mantra of rebellion. The shack, with its

his voice. “You’re being ridiculous, Alina. What’s tearing

torn page into the

“Reality or not, tearing my things won’t change a thing. If you’re

in the air, a challenge hanging between us. I tear through the magazine with even more intensity, my actions fueled by a mix of frustration and a desperate

O

217

Sat, 9 Mar

Breakout

88

an air of detached amusement, as if my rebellion is nothing more than a minor inconvenience. “You’re really making a

linger like shadows in the corners of my mind. I find myself trapped in a mental labyrinth,

surfaces in my thoughts. The memory is like a

to remain unseen. Survival, in those moments, boiled down to a primal instinct

Strokes of fear and tension splashed across the

survival. Yet, alliances are ephemeral in the harsh reality of the Mating Run. Trust, a fragile commodity, shattered like glass when the stakes became a matter of life and death.

maze of uncertainty. Each step is laden with the weight. of survival, the primal fear of becoming prey. I recall the heartbeat, the rush

in stark contrast to the privilege of this shack. It’s a juxtaposition of struggle and indulgence, a tale of survival versus comfort. While I grappled with the fear of being hunted, Victor reclined in his haven,

witness to a silent clash, becomes a silent graveyard. The memory carries the weight of a life

lives lost, and the desperation

memories of struggle and death clash with the image of him indulging in

3/7

Sat, 9 Mar N

Breakout

forest, he feasted on

sheltered existence.

a trigger for the resentment that festers. Ther contrast between

the landscape of my memory, a testament to the choices made in desperation. The forest, with its secrets and shadows, becomes a

The Novel will be updated daily. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

Comments ()

0/255