I do not take full credit for this story! It was a group project and I liked the end result!

Enjoy!

The dirt road crumples as my shoes meet the ground, and I feel the melting snow surround me. The February sun strives to peek out of the clouds and shine, but for now the clouds refuse to move. Signs of life drawn near, and glance around to see a quaint town. It has a wide distance to fill, and thin homes stand firm in their place.

I tuck my hands into my pockets, and bend down next to a rock, hoping that they won't spot me and accuse me of being a threat to their world. I'm still close enough to spy on the town, curiosity bubbling inside me. Not too far from where I lean, a town square with the name Province is carved in mahogany wood. Above it, a round clock distinctively reads 11: 58 as it ticks more of our time away, never to be seen again.

The streets are paved to perfection, and wondrous, pure oak trees surround the area.  But there is one detail that sticks out like a sore thumb. A blood red line is drawn straight in the middle, and seems to separate another part of town.

Realizing another major feature, I turn my head, and find that the right side of town have wider, more appealing features than the other. The most puzzling accusation of all is how quiet the town is. It's noon, and yet no one is around working or shopping. There's no chitchat or laughter. Just dead air.

Like the clock heard my questioning, it answers with a bombarding chime, and in an instant hundreds of thousands of people come out at once.

Men from all different sizes and color escape their homes, as children watch from their windows or come out to cling to their fathers. It's hard to make out, but they hold eerie expressions. Women's pleading weeps echo around the square, and the feeling of wonder drives deeper into my skin. What could they be afraid of? The men are obviously going to work. Aren't they?

As the men come out, the two sides appear rather different. One side is more dusty with out of date fashions and blotchy colored houses. Opposed to that, its neighbors seem to have a clean, and proper way of living. The clean cut, precise style of clothing also shows the cultural difference ad well as the skin colors and their collide. The darker skinned people have more of a raggedy dress code while the lighter humans have a more serious attire.

Slowly but surely, the men walk towards the scarlet divider, all determined and ready, but for what?

"Bolsa sucia!" One shouts in Spanish with a murderous tone, while cracking his knuckles.

"Lazy deadbeats!" Another angered voice hollers back, stretching his arms out.

More yelling spits back and forth and I reach forward to glance past the scene. A man is very familiar to me is casually pacing towards the crowd of vexing men and stops to stand on the  line. A pistol in his hand. He stands in the shade that is next to a closed shop, and I can't make out an exact face.

The rambling men become aware of the man, and silence their insults to greet him.

"Afternoon, Host Max Cornwell." voices echo each other and I gasp in surprise. Smiling pleased, the Host steps out of the shadows and I see my brother's face for the first time in years.

He begins to speak, full and clear. "Welcome men, to this year's 84th annual Tag. I assume rule numbers one and two are all taken care of? Doors are locked, and only men 18 and over are present?" The fellows nod their heads in agreement, and I stand perplexed as to what all the hullabaloo is about. Is this what he wanted me to see, a game?

"Wonderful. Now-" But my brother is cut off when a light skinned man with blonde hair bolts from behind his place and straight past the line, screaming "Let me at em!"

Bang!

The gun in Max's hand is fired, and the hollering man lays silent and motionless on the paved road, blood spreading over the red line which blends right in with the paint.

Or maybe it's not paint...

Faces are paperwhite and no on breathes, not even myself. My brother just killed a man for trying to cross the line! I find it hard to swallow the limp sticking in my throat.

There is a pause before Max speaks again. "Anyone else care to join him?" More silence. This isn't my brother that I know, this is a monster. I'm tempted to leave right here right now, but my interest in finding out what this all means wins the battle.

Chuckling, Host Max , stores his gun in his hold and continues as normal. "Great! As I was saying, the rules are fairly simple. Wait for the gunshot to be fired before crossing the other side. You have to get the other side's prize possession of the year. Lance, what do the Riches of Province have to offer this year?"

A scrawny, champagne haired man glides past his crowd of people towards Cornwell. He seems no older that 30, and holds a determined expression. Reaching the front of the group to face Max, he then points behind him.

"This year, we all have one bar of gold worth over a million. It could fix their land and miles more. That is, if they can get it." Lance instigates, and laughter spread around his team.

"Alright, good. What about you Mr. Rosario?" My brother's tone travels to the other group of men, but seems more light and comforting. I wonder what side he lives on? What side would I live on? The thought gives me discomfort.

"Well sir, we don't have much to offer but," He snaps his fingers, and instantly the boy that was next to him just a second ago sprints all the way down to the end of their part and disappears behind the side of a house.

"We do have her." Rosario finishes. And even the men on his team gape at the sight bestowed upon us. Tied up, blindfolded and mouth taped was a beautiful woman. The boy who brought her has one hand on the woman and the other hand holds a chair. As the boy helps her sit, revolts and protest riot everywhere, and the Host as no choice but to shoot another bullet in the air to bring back the silence.

"Enough! We will hear them out and decide if this is acceptable. Rosario, please explain." And all the attention shifts to the short Hispanic man.

"You see, señor," he begins, hands clasped in front of him "we don't have money or expensive items like the gringos over on that side do, but if they get to the woman they not only get to keep her, but own the rest of our land that has not yet been built. We do not want our mujeres to be hurt, but simply a prize. That is all."

More silence closes in, and no one seems to have a retort to their explanation. Lance has his arms crossed and looks about ready to punch someone, and yet he doesn't say a word.

"Okay, well that settles that." The Host finally says "Moving on with the rules, there shall be no guns, sharpe weapons or any object on your person that can hurt another. All your object must be by nature."

By nature? What does that even mean?

"Furthermore," He adds "This event will only last an hour unless either possession is captured by the other side. When the event is done, clean up is required for whoever is still standing or else you'll be a new addition to the trash. Alright men, you all know where your designated trees are, yes?" More nods spread around the town square, and my lips begin to feel chap.

"Good good. Well then, on your mark." The men bring their feet as close as the line as they can and squat down, ready to run.

"Get set" Max brings his gun up in the air

"Tag!" And the shot is fired.

All at once, people are mixing and colliding, and the sanity the boys once had are now long gone.

"Será mejor que correr , voy  por ti!" A hispanic shouted and grabbed a light skinned man against a house. He's not the only one screaming rude names and threats to each other, and many curse words fly out of people's mouths. Most people are fighting and throwing rocks and poking others with sticks. My jaw drops to the floor.

So that's what my brother  meant when he said 'all objects must be by nature.'

Tears threaten to spill, as some use their own people for protection.  Randomly, my eye catches Rosario who is closest to where I sit on the rock above. The boy who helped get the girl on the chair was next to him now and I realize, with the similar features they both share, that the boy must be Rosario's son.

Pushing past people, a white older man comes up from behind Rosario and spins him around to face him. Rosario struggles to escape his grasp.

"Julio, my boy, please help me." Rosario shrieks

As his son comes to assist Rosario, the unexpected happens. In the heat of the moment, Rosario swiftly grabs his son's body as protection, and throws him at the older man.

"Here, take him!" and he books it towards the crowd without a second glance as he son gets pulled away, screaming Bloody Mary.

Some other folks are racing to the other side to get their prize possessions that sit on a chair almost a mile away.

I move myself onto the bulky rock to continue to watch this so called game. My body diving deeper into a numbness state.

Men that are far enough away from me look like tiny specks as they guard their possessions.

It is terrible enough that they are brutally tagging and then hurting each other, but what they do after that is what really gets to me.

I spy on Lance who is sneakily passing to the other side to get the girl. Suddenly, a darker skinned, muscular man jumpscares Lance, tackles him with ease, and starts beating him to the pulp. I can't watch any longer.

All around the square, I pinpoint most of the men herding left or right of the town, dragging their victim with them. My eyes follow carefully as to where they are going and soon enough I receive my answer.

There are two trees across from each other a little ahead of the town and close to my location. Cries for help follow along with them and the taggers tie their catch to the tree.

Terror corrupts my mind as flat out chaos erupts in every corner.

"Mira, Mira!"  A darker skinned male howls while scurrying back to his side. He holds his hand up high and crosses to the left of the red line, passing the man that was shot from earlier.

"Here! I have the gold!Victorioso!" And his people file back to their sector, screeching victory cheers.

Max, who has disappeared after he shot the gun,  reappears from hiding and fires a bullet into the sky once more. Silence follows after that. The white men have boiling expressions plastered on their faces while the other men across from them have a wave of achievement.

"Well men, that was quick. Rosario?" Max calls.

"Here, señor." The man slides past the crowd of people.

"Take your prize and your offer back home and in safe grounds again. As for the rest," Cornwell's voice raises so everyone can hear.

"Just, clean this mess up." and he walks away without another word. Instantly, the men of all height, color and sizes head back to their trees. Dirty glances and mumbles of words fill the air, but no one makes a move. Their time for action is over.

I don't dare take a breath as the men get to their trees with their culprits. The poorer side have a lot more people tied to their tree then the other side, and I wonder why that might be.

Thinking the worst is over, this next move proves me wrong. This is the worst part.

Heat. Smoke. Fire.

I can't stay to watch the rest, I've seen quite enough for one day.

As I pace back home, shell shocked, the screams and roars of people don't fade away.

All that remains of them left, are the ashes and smoke of the living, and the memories that we hold for them.

I guess once you're tagged, there's no turning back...