Page 117 of The Bleak Beginning

Just as I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake, I see a faint glimmer of light ahead. Hope surges through me, and I quicken my pace, scrambling toward the source.

The passage widens slightly, allowing me to stand up. I find myself facing another door, this one larger and made of heavy wood. A thin line of light seeps out from underneath it. I press my ear against the door, listening intently, but hear nothing from the other side.

Taking a deep breath, I grasp the iron handle and push. The door creaks open, revealing a circular room. In the middle sits a podium with a circular object sitting at the center.

As I get closer, the intricate sphere, about the size of a baseball, reflects even more light in the dim room with its polished, silver surface.

I pick up the sphere, marveling at its unexpected lightness. As my fingers brush across its surface, I feel a series of tiny indentations. Squinting in the dim light, I can just make out intricate patterns etched into the metal—swirling designs that seem to add to its beauty as I turn the object in my hands.

There appears to be a button in the center, and I push it. A soft click echoes through the room as the button depresses. For a moment, nothing happens. Then, the sphere splits open along a hidden seam. A gold flag unfurls from within.

I blink, wondering if it’s a trick of the light, but no—I found the gold flag. I won. I actually won. A hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat, but I quickly stifle it.

The familiar, ominous sound of the clock that set the game in motion rings out overhead once again, just as it had before.

I quickly fold the gold flag and tuck it into my dress pocket, then snap the sphere closed and make my exit the same way I arrived.

As I crawl back through the narrow passageway, my thoughts spiral. I’ve won the game, but now what? The weight of the gold flag in my pocket feels both exhilarating and terrifying.

As I emerge from the hidden passageway, the courtyard is in chaos. The final chimes of the clock are fading, and students are milling about in confusion, some still clutching their flags, others looking dejected.

I slip into the crowd, trying to blend in, my breath shallow and fast. The weight of the flag feels like it might burn right through the fabric of my dress.

“Who won?” I hear someone nearby ask. “Did anyone actually find the gold flag?”

I keep my face neutral, fighting the urge to touch my pocket or look around suspiciously. I need to play this cool until I figure out what to do next.

Suddenly, Chancellor Maxwell’s commanding voice rings out. “Students, please head back to the ballroom! We need to determine the winner.”

The crowd shifts, forming a loose circle around the stage once everyone is back inside. I hang back, not wanting to draw attention to myself.

Chancellor Maxwell steps onto the stage, her eyes scanning the crowd. “The pre-trial game has concluded,” she announces, her voice echoing through the ballroom. “And now it’s time determine our winner, but before we do, let’s recognize the students who were both excelling and struggling in this competition.”

Bishop confidently storms onto the stage, his arms completely covered with a multitude of bold red flags. The crowd goes wild with excitement, while Alfie is pushed to the stage, his two flags looking small and unimpressive in comparison.

Is this really happening right now? Is the public ridicule at Alfie’s expense really necessary? My stomach churns. Is thissome kind of psychological tactic? Why amIeven doing this? This all seems so pointless and absurd. My gaze remains fixed on Alfie, and I can’t help but feel a blend of pity and anger as he stares down at his shoes.

The Chancellor’s eyes linger on Alfie for a moment, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face before she turns back to the crowd. “Now, as for our winner…”

The silence stretches, becoming uncomfortable. Students start to whisper among themselves, casting suspicious glances at their neighbors. I can see doubt creeping into Chancellor Maxwell’s expression.

My palms begin to sweat as I realize the implications. No one is stepping forward, claiming the win.

I can feel triumph weighing down on me, but I stay resolute, unwilling to move, reluctant to claim the victory.

This doesn’t feel right.

Chancellor Maxwell clears her throat, her voice taking on a sharp edge. “If the winner doesn’t come forward immediately, there will be…consequences.”

The crowd shifts uneasily, and I can feel the tension in the room ratcheting up, but I stay rooted in my spot, refusing to reveal myself as the winner.

I couldn’t, Iwouldn’t. My stubbornness prevailing over everything else.

Suddenly, a student’s voice cuts through the air as they point to my pocket, exclaiming “It’s there! The golden flag is sticking out of her pocket!”

Their exclamation breaks the silence in the ballroom. It’s as if a mirror had been shattered, their announcement ricocheting off the walls and dancing through the air like shards of glass.

Every single pair of eyes in the room simultaneously falls on me.

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