Post by Monica Padilla on Nov 27, 2010 14:31:44 GMT -5
The five strangers didn’t know how long they’d been here, trapped in the cavernous black room. Time had no meaning. At times it seemed they’d been here forever, and at times it seemed like only yesterday that they, along with twelve others, had found themselves thrust into this living nightmare. It had been weeks, months, even, since they had ceased to be students and workers and become... killers.
None of the five spoke. There wasn’t much to say, really. The Shades would be back soon, to claim another one of them. That was The Game.
The rules of The Game were simple. “When we come, you will provide us with a dead body.” But, of course, the Shades wouldn’t dare to get the blood on their own hands. Each of the five had a knife. Whoever hit the dusty floor first was this round’s sacrifice. And the Shades would grin their predatory grins, and drag the cooling cadaver off into the shadows.
An outsider might have suggested that they band together, use the knives to attack the Shades and liberate themselves. Amanda had tried that, several rounds earlier. None of them wanted to end up like her.
Time crept forward, marked only by the water drops.
Drip. Drip.
Drip.
Sigh.
Drip. Drip.
Drip.
The rusted door moaned as the pair of Shades forced it open, casting a thin ray of light into the gloom. Alexis and Eliza stumbled out of their way as the Shades glided to the center of the room, swathed in their black hooded cloaks. Instinctively, the five strangers shrank back to the walls, trying to avoid their gaze.
The larger of the two looked about. “Have you reached your decision?”
“We have,” said Jane confidently. She cast a look at Tyrone. The black man sat against the wall, head down. “I think it’s pretty obvious what needs to be done. Right, ladies?”
Instead of the assenting murmurs she’d expected, Jane heard only an echoing drip.
Jane looked back. “Ladies?”
The girls stared at the floor, none of them able to meet her gaze.
A laconic, knowing grin split the wrinkles on Jane’s face. “I see,” she said, very softly.
“Jane...” Monica tried to say.
The older woman shook her head, sadly. “I see,” she whispered again.
The larger Shade grinned from the shadows of its cowl. “They fear you.”
It was true. Each of the four looked at Jane, and found themselves a failure in comparison. Jane had somehow found a way to survive without having to stoop to the In order to survive, they had been forced to be deceitful and traitorous. Jane, somehow, had always radiated truth and loyalty. Jane was, deep down, what they all wished that they could have been. And she made them ashamed. They say that evil despises good, that good illuminates the faults of evil and exposes it for the disgusting thing it really is.
And so they rushed forward. Four knives glinted briefly in the light, and buried themselves into Jane’s unprotected back.
There was a moment of consequential silence, and the strangers stumbled back, staring at their victim. Jane remained standing, blood streaming from her wounds.
“All of you,” Jane whispered. She stared at Monica. From the others, it was hardly a surprise. But Monica had promised that this day would never come. Monica, she had trusted.
The Hispanic girl trembled, her brown eyes brimming with tears. “I’m sorry, Jane!” she howled. “I was scared, and I... I don’t want to die. I just didn’t want to die, Jane.”
Jane nodded sadly. “Don’t be sorry for me, Monica. Be sorry for you, for what you’ve become.”
“Good luck,” she said directly to Tyrone.
And then there was silence, except for Jane’s ragged breathing. The gasps seemed go on for eternity, each one growing more shallow than the last, until finally, mercifully, they stopped.
The Shades dragged her away, leaving the four of them to their well-deserved darkness.
None of the five spoke. There wasn’t much to say, really. The Shades would be back soon, to claim another one of them. That was The Game.
The rules of The Game were simple. “When we come, you will provide us with a dead body.” But, of course, the Shades wouldn’t dare to get the blood on their own hands. Each of the five had a knife. Whoever hit the dusty floor first was this round’s sacrifice. And the Shades would grin their predatory grins, and drag the cooling cadaver off into the shadows.
An outsider might have suggested that they band together, use the knives to attack the Shades and liberate themselves. Amanda had tried that, several rounds earlier. None of them wanted to end up like her.
Time crept forward, marked only by the water drops.
Drip. Drip.
Drip.
Sigh.
Drip. Drip.
Drip.
The rusted door moaned as the pair of Shades forced it open, casting a thin ray of light into the gloom. Alexis and Eliza stumbled out of their way as the Shades glided to the center of the room, swathed in their black hooded cloaks. Instinctively, the five strangers shrank back to the walls, trying to avoid their gaze.
The larger of the two looked about. “Have you reached your decision?”
“We have,” said Jane confidently. She cast a look at Tyrone. The black man sat against the wall, head down. “I think it’s pretty obvious what needs to be done. Right, ladies?”
Instead of the assenting murmurs she’d expected, Jane heard only an echoing drip.
Jane looked back. “Ladies?”
The girls stared at the floor, none of them able to meet her gaze.
A laconic, knowing grin split the wrinkles on Jane’s face. “I see,” she said, very softly.
“Jane...” Monica tried to say.
The older woman shook her head, sadly. “I see,” she whispered again.
The larger Shade grinned from the shadows of its cowl. “They fear you.”
It was true. Each of the four looked at Jane, and found themselves a failure in comparison. Jane had somehow found a way to survive without having to stoop to the In order to survive, they had been forced to be deceitful and traitorous. Jane, somehow, had always radiated truth and loyalty. Jane was, deep down, what they all wished that they could have been. And she made them ashamed. They say that evil despises good, that good illuminates the faults of evil and exposes it for the disgusting thing it really is.
And so they rushed forward. Four knives glinted briefly in the light, and buried themselves into Jane’s unprotected back.
There was a moment of consequential silence, and the strangers stumbled back, staring at their victim. Jane remained standing, blood streaming from her wounds.
“All of you,” Jane whispered. She stared at Monica. From the others, it was hardly a surprise. But Monica had promised that this day would never come. Monica, she had trusted.
The Hispanic girl trembled, her brown eyes brimming with tears. “I’m sorry, Jane!” she howled. “I was scared, and I... I don’t want to die. I just didn’t want to die, Jane.”
Jane nodded sadly. “Don’t be sorry for me, Monica. Be sorry for you, for what you’ve become.”
“Good luck,” she said directly to Tyrone.
And then there was silence, except for Jane’s ragged breathing. The gasps seemed go on for eternity, each one growing more shallow than the last, until finally, mercifully, they stopped.
The Shades dragged her away, leaving the four of them to their well-deserved darkness.