It has been one whole year since the last Long Walk.

Peter became a disgrace after the conclusion of last year’s Walk. Killing the major was, apparently, not the way to win millions of watchers’ favor. Most everyone had placed their bets on Garraty, anyway, seeing as how he was more sympathetic and had more mommy and daddy issues.

The new supervisor of the Walk didn’t want to allow Peter back into the Walk for the second year in a row. In fact, there wasn’t a standard written rule against it, but Major Two was heavily considering creating one. But… hell, why not? It would be a riot. It could really help boost morale in these trying times.

It is hot. Young men arrive staggered to the starting line, all looking either far too solemn or far too giddy. Some are warming up, some are having their last meal sitting down.

Last meal, Peter thinks bitterly as he unwraps a granola bar. The only reason Peter applied to participate in the Walk a second time is so that he can die a dignified death; walking to represent his country. A martyr. And he doesn’t even have to do it himself.

A young man exits a pale blue station wagon and nervously approaches the starting line. He looks around at the 80-something boys around him, more on their way. He swallows nervously and looks for somewhere to sit. Rest before the exhaustion ahead of him.

“Over here,” Peter calls out. He remains stoic in composure. “Sit here.”