The sport I have in mind, whilst requiring real athletes, I think would truly be just as comical. Essentially it is a guessing competition, each country willing to compete must send in two or more athletes, with the correct skills for one particular event. For example, one country might send in seven Olympic level netballers, the catch is however that no one knows which sport is going to be chosen until the event. Therefore, you may have five pro wrestlers attempting a swimming race, or two gymnasts attempting a horse-riding race.

Equipment would of course be provided to the participants however it is unlikely they would be trained in the specific sport.

Of course, you could do this with non-athletes however, athletes who specialise in certain areas, might be even more amusing.

And of course, you may get a scenario where the sport picked is say a team sport, such as netball and one country sent in only two athletes, technically they would still have to play, which would be rather interesting to watch.

Of course, athletes would have the option to opt out, but then they'd be missing out on the fun. Heh.

“Frick!” I gasped allowed, clutching tight to my severed leg, barely recognisable underneath the layer of tattered skin, blood and frayed material. I held the rock high above my head with my free hand, ready for strike 2. As it came down, I heard the crunch of bone, tears trickled out of my eyes, though all I felt was triumph. I smiled joyously through the pain. As my knuckles turned whiter and whiter as they gripped my leg ever tighter. I did like the pain; my body just couldn’t help its natural reflexes.

A clatter came from the top of the street, at least a hundred meters, from where I was situated. I looked up and saw, emerging over the crest of the hill, a filth covered man dragging a sack. He stopped every few seconds to let out slow, wheezy breaths. Each one sounding like his last. As his silhouette became more defined, I could see the many cuts and bruises coating his body, almost like grotesque body paint. A few years ago, I would have offered to help, asked what had happened, even given him some of my few supplies, not now. Not when the world was in peril, everyone dead, or worse. A zombie apocalypse with no zombies. Now offering help was a death sentence, a sure way to an early grave.

I looked at the man, he couldn’t have been older than 50. He was clearly not in a good way, judging by his blood-stained shirt and pants. I looked at his sack. My stomach growled.

Finally, he was less than a meter away. It was time to see if this man would help or not. I groaned loudly, clutching my leg once more. He whipped his head around and stared.

“You dead?” He asked, taking a wary step back. I shook my head pathetically. He nodded and edged closer.

“Do you need help?” He asked. I had to stop myself rolling my eyes, what a stupid question.

“Yes” I croaked, moving my leg slightly and swearing as the pain hit me. The man still looked unsure.

“Please,” I begged. “I promise I’ve no weapons, and I sure as hell can’t attack you with this”, I gestured at my limp left leg. This seemed to relax the man. And he came to a crouching position beside me. His sack dumped on the ground next to him, a little out of my reach.

“What can I do?” He asked, “I’m no doctor, though I reckon you’d need one to fix that.” He glanced at my leg, shuddering slightly.

“Just have a look”, I begged. “I’m sure there are still shards of something stuck in it.” Nodding the man bent down, and slowly began to pull away the layers of torn skin, peering into the deep holes in the flesh, and cuts. He was concentrating so hard.

“I’m Angus by the way-.” He was cut short, as I stabbed the sharpened rock into the exposed part of his neck. Leaving a deep gash, running from his hairline down to the Thoracic section of his spine. Enough to stop him cold. He slumped forward straight on to my injured leg. The pain felt like electricity coursing through my veins, keeping me alive!

I shoved him off and he rolled pitifully on to the floor, dead as a door nail. I stood and snatched up the sack. I tipped it upside down, and the body of a dog fell with a thunk to the asphalt. Whether the dog had been the man’s companion, next meal or both didn’t really matter. I picked up the sharpened rock. Ready to feast.

To different types of meat tonight I thought. Very fancy!

If my life was a movie, I reckon, no I know that there would be points of no return. Where the audience would groan as I went somewhere or said something that would lead to some much bigger problem. Like in a bad horror movie where the idiotic lead goes through the door, or outside only to find the monster lurking round the corner.

Problem is that life isn’t a movie, it's real, and there are plenty of times sprinkled throughout where a decision made sets into motion a whole plethora of events that you could have never imagined. Looking back is pointless all you can do is hope for a better tomorrow.

Like one morning, middle of lockdown, just sitting at the kitchen table reading through some book for English when I thought, 'who needs breakfast?'

It's funny, I remember in PE we did a topic on eating disorders, it was only short, barely scratching the surface, one of my friends said she found it triggering. I personally found it stupid, I couldn’t fathom not eating, not then.

I don't completely remember the first days of it, I remember drinking a glass of milk instead of cereal, chowing down on lunch as though my life depended on it, in a way it did. I'd go on bike rides with my dad, fun at first then a necessity, a goal to be met each and every day. Then the scale came. At first, I didn’t care, I'd glance at it, more concerned with how my body looked, not its weight. Then I did care.

That's how it all begins, a thought a whim. Suddenly food becomes terrifying, and exercise is the only release from a world of torture, brain spiralling, always thinking, judging not just yourself but others to, you feel evil and ugly and unworthy. All from that first thought.

If my life was a movie, I think I'd replay that PE lesson and laugh a my naivety, though I'd probably skip the rest, much of it isn’t worth reliving....

The dance floor vibrates with noise, I waltz slowly past the happy couples, so joyous in their movements. I feel the tapping of feet, and boom of a bass drum as the band continues to play. I twirl and feel myself begin the sway to the beat, a steady dun dun dun, I turn again. Suddenly the beat stops, as do I. I turn my attention to the stage where I see the band members stopping, instruments down, I read their lips as they begin to say, "that’s it for tonight folks, now it's the DJ's turn."

I feel my heart sink, no more beats. I move slowly, zig zagging through the happy dancers, some appeared to be singing along, but I didn't know the words. I would never know the words.

I move through the silence, the empty, lonely silence. The vibrations of people's feet the only thing I could hear...

The mirror is a complex thing. Sometimes I stare sometimes I weep, and on those rare occasions when I do smile at what I see, it's nearly always gone in a heartbeat. Swallowed by a change in direction or light, my thoughts consumed by self-loathing.

The mirror stares at me from my bathroom wall, daring me to peek, I must avoid such temptations, closing my eyes and walking past as fast as humanely possible. Changing only in the dark, so as never to see the hulk of the monster I've become.

It never used to be like this, the mirror was just that. An adornment for the wall, surrounded by pretty, pink flowers, a good place to check if my pink princess dress twirled properly. If only... Now the mirror is a burden, a dark gloom from the wall of my room, creating an atmosphere of despair. So, I covered it, now all i see are messages, reminders to myself.

"Have a good day." "You are perfect." "All sizes fit."

Now I mostly ignore the mirrors presence, I can barely see it anyway, i stick my nose up at it as I walk past. On my way to have another perfect day. Still occasionally through the cracks of the paper, I see it, staring back at me. My face illuminated highlighting every blemish, horns on my head gleaming, snout shuddering, and I am reminded yet again that I will never be human.

Dark red brick scraped against my back, cutting into my jutting ribs. Dark shadows climbed the alley walls, closing in on me.

"Which one?" He smiled, three gold teeth gleaming, hair slicked back and shining in the moonlight. My fingers feel frozen, stinging in the cold night air. He pushed the knife against my index, I wince as I see a trickle of red. My breath catches, there's no escape...

I guess you could call me a creature of the night, no not drinking and clubbing till 3 am kind of creature, the kind who sneaks into your house in the dead of night, takes your valuables and leaves without making a noise, while you continue to sleep, dreaming of your mundane lives. I would hate a mundane life, always knowing what’s going to happen next, the unknowing is the fun part.

"Can't catch me." I grinned, peering behind as I saw the cop, baton raised. I veered left into a main street, tall townhouses stood on both sides, their windows glowing yellow, the occasional TV light shining through.

"Stop!" I heard the policeman yell. I looked behind me again.

"No thanks!"

I took a sharp right into an alley, and hopped over a fence, landing a bush, at the back of a neatly mowed back garden. I quietly snuck round the front and pulled up my hood, walking at a reasonable pace, though slow enough to dodge attention. I heard sirens in the distance, it seemed all the coppers were out tonight, as were the criminals.

The red front door to my apartment creaked as did the floorboards. If I'd been paying rent, I would have complained to my landlord. I slumped down onto my deflating pool ring, courtesy of the local pool shop. Out the window the moon shone, piercing through the shattered glass of my apartments one and only window. A sigh escaped my lips, my hands unfurled, revealing this night’s treasure, it was beautiful. A solid gold ring, complete with a diamond encrusted ruby. Certainly, my most expensive achievement, pity I would have to give it up unless... A rustle sounded from underneath some of my recently acquired newspapers.

"Hey Girly." I smiled, my lucky black cat stared at me, her one ear flopping and eyes shining green. She snuggled beside me; I could hear the faint thumping of music from the nightclub next door. Feet tapping as the guests swirled round the dance floor.

"Night Girly." I murmured. I could hear a faint yowl in response.

In and out I thought, staring at the shopfront from across the street, jewellery gleamed from within, I licked my lips, I could taste the prize. I stepped forward ready, I breathed in, a smile crossing my lips suddenly a hand grabbed me from behind, pulling me roughly into an alleyway. A hand covered my mouth, as I was pushed roughly against a wall.

"Where’s the ring." A low voice growled. I shrugged as best I could from my current position. "You already have the money; we need the ring." The three thin guys behind him nodded, their hands poised over their knives. I shrugged again, dark red brick scraped against my back, cutting into my jutting ribs...

(Story is a loop :)

"My final meal?" I ask, "that seems slightly morbid." The guard shrugs. He doesn't care, I wonder how many inmates he's lead to the chair, how many of them have died just inches from him, his face being the last thing they see.

"I didn't do it." I say, pointing to the menu he has offered me, chocolate ice cream with sprinkles, my last meal should at least taste good. The guard shrugs again, perhaps it is all he is capable of. He stands and exits the room, and I am alone with my thoughts, my many many thoughts.

How did it all go so wrong... I place my heavy head in my hands, I can feel the straps tightening round my wrists, the cap placed over my head, and the pulsing of electricity through my very soul. My hands begin to shake, I clasp them together, but that just makes it worse. I begin to rock backward and forward, breaths coming in short bursts. I gulp and choke I can't think can't breathe, am I dying now? That would be merciful I close my eyes and pray to let it all end, two hands grab my shoulders roughly.

"Be still." A voice demands. I am no longer rocking, my shoulders shake though are restrained well by the guard. I turn round, he lets go of me in disgust.

"What happened?" Another guard calls through the door.

"Panic attack." The guard calls back. Crap, I turn away, I wasn't dying. Though I would be soon.

One thing I've always hated is melted ice cream, pity that is what I am handed. The rainbow sprinkles have combined with the melted cream to give an off grey colour. I shove the bowl away; I couldn’t eat even if I wanted to my stomach contracts at the thought of what is to come.

"If you don’t eat," the guard began, "then you’re up for the Chair."

I nod, I know my fate.

The straps tighten, just like I'd imagined, a blind fold placed over my eyes, rough, scratchy fabric, though I won’t have to feel it for much longer.

Mary Jane, you are sentenced to death found guilty by a jury in the court of American law, for the murders of twenty people, including your own family.

I roll my eyes, despite no one being able to see.

"Get on with it." I yell.

"Ok." I hear someone say. A lever screeches as it is pulled, I feel a buzz, a wave of warmth and a boiling a searing hot pain. My head thrashes form side to side, my torso rocks, my legs which are tied down jiggle violently. I hear the machine shut off.

"Ok let’s get her to the morgue."

Why can I still hear? I feel someone pull the blind fold form my eyes.

"Surprise!" I say.