Wyatt Earp (
the_marshal
) wrote
in
thearena
2012-11-11 02:28 am (UTC)
no subject
Wyatt's tube opened and the sound of the waves, salty breeze, washed over him, and his heart sank.
More water. More sand.
His eyes scanned the distant, blue horizon, a litany of curses whispering over his lips.
10, 9, 8, 7....
He turned his attention to the Cornucopia and its treasures, then other tributes. Then, glancing over his shoulder, he saw it.
The prettiest site he'd seen in this strange, future hell.
Trees. A forest.
One that looked, for all intents, like one he'd have come across back home.
6, 5, 4....
Yes'ir, he could make that work.
He turned back to the Cornucopia, face set with grim determination.
He was going to make it to those trees.
3, 2, 1.
The gong sounded and he sprang forward, hitting the ground at a dead run.
There was a bag dead ahead. He could make it.
And then he would be gone.
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no subject
More water. More sand.
His eyes scanned the distant, blue horizon, a litany of curses whispering over his lips.
10, 9, 8, 7....
He turned his attention to the Cornucopia and its treasures, then other tributes. Then, glancing over his shoulder, he saw it.
The prettiest site he'd seen in this strange, future hell.
Trees. A forest.
One that looked, for all intents, like one he'd have come across back home.
6, 5, 4....
Yes'ir, he could make that work.
He turned back to the Cornucopia, face set with grim determination.
He was going to make it to those trees.
3, 2, 1.
The gong sounded and he sprang forward, hitting the ground at a dead run.
There was a bag dead ahead. He could make it.
And then he would be gone.