The Game
"I'd hesitate to move."
That voice again, inanimate and deft. An unplaceable voice, fitting like a play-doh jigsaw piece, remolded many times over yet still exactly as it once was.
His
It
Doesn't matter.
Does it?
No
Open
The voice had a new texture now, no longer smooth as a board or rich as treacle. The speaker seemed to have swallowed a bucket of gravel and washed it down with a medium-size boulder, gnashing with teeth like stalactites and a tongue replaced with a sliver of brick.
My eyes followed Its command. Slipping into the world, hazy with sleep but sharp and precise as a needle.
No
Yes
No no no nono
Oh yes
I couldn't see
I tried to move my arm to check my eyes, but it was heavy. Not cement chair heavy but close enough. I had to strain what was left of my will to incrementally lift my arm.
Do you ever learn?
Perhaps I will have to educate you
No.
Please no
I leave my arm hanging in the air. Desperate to keep it still.
This will teach you
What, no!
I did everything you asked! Please Please PLEASE NO!!
A disc, cold as the Arctic Sea, powerful as a planet. Pain of hell
My screams ring out, shaking bits of the crumbling concrete walls to land on the echoing floor. The Disc takes no notice, liquid drenches me, fiery hot, sticky as sugar. It scrapes along the bone, causing multitudes of piercing screams as a shallow groove is carved.
Dark takes to the corners of my vision. Slowly creeping along until the world slacks its grip, releasing me of the shackles that once held me.
The world seems to change its mind. Re-tightening its grip and clasping the shackles around my neck.
The dark starts to creep back. Sparking bolts of panic into my spine.
As the dark fades away. A piercing blow is ripped from my face. A pair of surgical clamps drenched with blood moves into view. Clamped in its blood-ridden jaws are a single unseeing, pearly shining, quartz-white orb.
That voice comes back. No longer resembling anything that could be even halfway interpreted as human. It had tasted blood, and was going to consume
What's left of my head, is yanked up by a single strand of hair. I don't feel it. I let it happen
Breath as stale as four-year-old bread wafts to my face. I don't notice that either.
That voice, now dipped in a bowl of relish, uttered that final sentence:
"Welcome.....To The Game"
