They were arguing again.

Not that it was anything out of the ordinary - money issues, lack of careers, recently the affordability of a decent funeral for a grandmother - he knew that eventually it would either get completely out of control as his father stormed out of the house with his mother screaming after him, or she would simply break down and cry and he'd be given a little more hope at the sight of his father holding her and telling her everything would be ok, that he'd go out and find another job in the morning and that she didn't have to worry. She worried anyway.

Colin Parker grabbed the remote control and turned up the volume on their Free-Vee. He wasn't paying any attention to the programme itself, Treadmill to Bucks - most of what was broadcasted by the Games Network, he thought, was complete bull - though his three younger siblings seemed entranced by the concept. He didn't really think watching a man with medical problems have to struggle on a treadmill while an unseen audience cheered him on was suitable viewing material for children under the age of 12, but they didn't seem too bothered by it, not even when the man finally collapsed and hit his head off the track and the audience went wild. For him, meanwhile, it was the final straw - he stood up and left the front room, leaving his sisters staring at the screen.

He bumped into his father in the hallway - it seemed the argument between his mother and him had ended and he was on his way out, though his eyes were red-rimmed. This was certainly alarming, seeing as his father never cried. Roger Parker was a tall man, about 6"3 and built like a brick house - there was no way such a large, seemingly invincible man who owned several rifles and took his eldest son out hunting every Sunday in order to sculpt him into "the finest example of a man you'd ever lay your eyes on" would become prey to such basic emotions.
Colin was about to ask what was wrong when his father knelt down so he was eye level to him and gripped him by the shoulders.
"Listen, son…" His voice was shaky, and he had to turn his head away for a second. He let out a deep sigh and turned back to his son. "I'm… I'm gonna have to go away for a while."
Colin frowned, feeling a mix of dread and confusion. This was obviously bad, but he stayed quiet.
"We don't have a lot of money, and your mom can't get a job, so I'm…" He paused again, and shook his head before continuing. "I need you to be the man of the house for me."
Man of the house? This was likely to be an impossible feat. Colin had just turned 14 the past week, and was a gangly, scrawny adolescent stuck between child and adult.
His father seemed to be a mindreader, as he chuckled sadly and reassured him, "I didn't mean like that. Just… you need to take care of your mom and sisters for me. Get a paper round, get good grades in school, all that responsible shit-"
"Which game is it?"
The question was out before Colin could stop himself, and his father's face fell. There was a moment of silence before his father replied, "The Running Man." Colin nodded. He had seen the programme once before.
As it slowly dawned on him that his father wasn't going to be coming back after all, he was pulled into a hug. He buried his head into his dad's shirt and tried not to start bawling. Somehow he managed to hold himself together and, when his father pulled away and chucked him under the chin, gave him a brave smile.
They both nodded to each other, and his father pulled himself up to his full height and made his way to the front door.
Colin only just managed to turn and run up the stairs to his own room before the tears got the better of him.

—-

As the weeks went on, and the programme aired every night, and his family crowded around the Free-Vee every night at 6pm, waiting for the inevitable news that their father had been shot and killed, Colin found himself becoming more withdrawn and angry at even the smallest things. He argued with his mother every day, he snapped back at his teachers when they told him off for not concentrating in school, and after one brave fellow felt the need to call his father 'scumbag', even got suspended for a month. He wore that broken nose with pride as his mother marched him out of the school grounds.
Even when he was confined to his house for what seemed like forever, he still kept up with The Running Man, setting up some kind of permanent habitation on their sofa as he watched and re-watched the videos that the contestants had to send in to the studio. It was rather comforting getting to hear his father's voice, especially in one message when his father went on about how proud of his eldest son he was, and how he loved his family very much. Every time he watched that he had to try and stop himself from crying.

It all ended 25 days after the game started.
Colin had been up in the bathroom, trying to figure out how to use his father's razor when he heard his mother let out a shriek. He sprinted down the staircase, still holding onto the razor and desperately trying to wipe the shaving foam off his face as he jumped the last four steps and stumbled into the living room. His mother was standing right in the middle of the room, staring in horror at the Free-Vee screen. When Colin followed her gaze, he dropped the razor.
There was the lifeless figure of his father, lying on his side in the middle of some godforsaken road. The camera zoomed in on his face - he had his eyes closed and there was a bullet hole right in the middle of his forehead. The commentator was saying something or other about how this man was so close to getting the prize and yet so far, but Colin wasn't really listening.
His mother had slowly turned at the sound of the razor making impact with the floor, and as she made eye contact with her eldest son, there was nothing between them but the sound of the programme announcing the death of his father, her husband.
There was a moment of blankness, and then Colin found himself kneeling on the floor with his mother's arms around him, howling into her shoulder as she cried with him. He had never been particularly close to his mother, especially after all the fights and the yelling, but now he felt like she was the only thing he had left. In a way, she was.

Later that night, after his sisters had been put to bed and his mother had retreated to the back porch with a packet of cigarettes and a bottle of wine, Colin had taken shelter in the living room once again, and was idly channel-surfing. He was about to throw in the towel and go to bed until he finally stopped on a channel with what appeared to be a middle-aged man in an army get-up and sunglasses. On any other day, Colin would've declared the man to be a prick and turned the Free-Vee off, but there was something about his soothing, paternal voice that made him watch on.
It was the Major - that is, a rather successful man residing down in Maine, who basically ran the country. He was an enigma, a mysterious yet alluring man who seemed to be able to have even the most official of men eating out of the palm of his hand… and here he was, talking about the annual Long Walk competition.
Colin knew of it already, seeing as some of the senior pupils at his school had talked of entering it, and some had even managed to get in. There was a memorial service at the start of each school year for the Illinois boys who didn't make it, and Colin found the whole thing extremely morbid.
But the way the Major talked about it - promising the winner whatever he wanted for the rest of his life and whatnot - made it sound exotic and… almost like fun. Right there and then, he determined he would enter the Long Walk someday, when he was of age. Looking back on it now, he realised that he never really expected to go through with his promise, but then again, life is full of surprises.

—-

It had been three years since his father was killed.
In those three years, the eldest Parker child had gone through the typical cycle of a teenage boy - nowadays he insisted people call him 'Collie' rather than Colin, he had adopted a leather jacket from a car boot sale (and with it, a devil-may-care attitude) and had managed to fill out into a rather dashing young man - the spit of his late father.
On that cold March morning, he found himself making his way through the streets of Joliet. He could see his breath forming clouds in front of him, but he was used to the cold - running around in the early hours of the morning with his friends and a few pretty girls could do a lot for a man's cold tolerance.
Collie's eyes were soon caught by a large sign in front of his local gym, where he had started training the day after his fifteenth birthday. The first time he had gone there, he had worked harder than he thought possible, and ended up exerting himself to the point where he had literally thrown up afterwards. It had been highly unpleasant for everyone involved.
The sign read, "SIGN UP FOR THE LONG WALK HERE TODAY: BOYS 14-18 ONLY" in block capitals. The promise he made himself suddenly flared up out of nowhere, that of a grief-stricken boy he had left behind with his father a long time ago.
He had just turned seventeen. He had long forgotten about how reassuring the Major had been to him that night, how he seemed so personal and fatherly even though he knew thousands of boys throughout the states were watching him at the same time.
Collie reached into the back pocket of his jeans and withdrew his wallet. He carefully searched through it until he found his gym card. He stared warily at it for a while, trying to rationalise with himself - his mother would be furious with him for signing up for this, his friends would call him crazy, his girlfriend would cry and beg for him not to go.
Still, there was always the thought of winning. And besides - he was pretty fit, he could probably win the damn thing if he tried hard enough.
He stared up at the gym doors, then slipped the card into his jacket pocket and made his way to the front desk.