Battle Royale

And then there were two.

The smell of blood was almost indistinguishable in the salt wind. Surf crashed against the beach, sending fingers of foam greedily grasping at the tide line.

Lisa stood on the baking sand, a knife in hand. The strong wind stirred her hair while the cries of gulls sliced through the silence.

A much younger girl, on her knees, drove her fists into the sand. Tears etched her dirty face.

Between them, angular and beaten, is the corpse of a ten year old boy. A crimson droplet fell from Lisa’s knife.

“What’s your name?” asked Lisa. Only yesterday she was eleven and carefree. “I would like to know before I do this.”

The girl only shakes her head, her fingers kneading the sand in mute panic.

“Suit yourself,” said Lisa. She cocks her head at the glittering lens of a camouflaged camera. “I won’t let you win.”

Lisa pressed the knife into her own jugular. After a moment, the stunned girl picked up the knife. Stared at her glinting reflection.

The surf drew their bodies to sea.

View this story's 4 comments.