The children are huddled at the far side of the playground, quietly chanting a new skipping song. It is not meant for adult ears, not meant for anyone not full of youth and lacking in the fear of death and willing to place their vibrant little lives on the line for mere minutes of entertainment.
Six voices come from five throats - the game had begun.
The steps and verses grow more complex together. One hop becomes three hops, one half circle spin counterclockwise to face the person who last ate and one rhyming couplet becomes a saga that takes darker and darker turns with each passing sentence.
The children don't fully understand all of the things their five voices are saying - they follow wherever the sixth leads them just like the little scrap of paper that's been passed around eight playgrounds tells them to. Before long they start to forget what or why they are following and the game begins to lose its appeal.
All they remember is that they can't stop now that they've started. They all wrote down the name of someone they love on the back of the instructions and put it under a rock in the center of their little huddle - the person who would have to replace them in the game i they were interrupted or both would die.
As the end of recess bell rang they all leapt back to class, forgetting that they ever played the game to begin with as children often do. It became a part of the blur of activity that was the school day for them and drifted gently to the back of their minds as a nagging feeling of unease.
The following morning there were ten simultaneous deaths.
The following morning a sharp breeze would send the paper free from the rock.
The following morning the game would begin anew in the next playground over.
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