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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1004998-The-Game
Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Writing · #1004998
A girl fights for her life.
The game began. It began the way it always did. He would untie my hands and keep the blindfold over my eyes. He would taunt me by telling me that he was watching me and that if I didn’t move quickly enough she would die.

Every week it was a new woman. Every week I failed to save her. I was pained more by the fact that he had won yet again than by the fact that another human being had actually died. After he had killed her he would take off my blindfold and let me see the damage.

“Now, now, darling,” he would say with his hands on my shoulders and his taunting voice right next to my ear, “you did your best and that’s all that counts.”

I would close my eyes and want to turn away disgusted by the entire game, but he would hold my head towards the scene and tell me to look or he would do the same to me. He played power games with me, and the blindfold game was his favorite. I had lasted longer than the other girls and through the weeks found out that if you saved a girl, it was you who was next to be saved. It was a vicious cycle that only he could win, and he liked it that way.

Like always he would direct me back up to my chambers and barricade me in there until he found a use for me.

“Darling,” he would call from the hallway tauntingly, “darling, its time to come out and play.”

I kept silent, barely said a word. It was survival. It didn’t matter that I would never actually save a girl because each time I did they would end up dieing just as I would. I would rather save myself, as selfish as it sounds, none the less someone would survive that way. At least they wouldn’t have to suffer the way that I did feeling the guilt of letting a woman die or the pain of his hands on me.

Today was a new game. He explained the rules to me very simply. As always when he explained things to me his eyes would light up in awe and his hands would start to fidget as if he were a schoolboy ready to play with a new toy. Though his face was young , he only looked really alive when he would play the games.

“Our new game is going to be fun, Angela. All you have to do is find a way out of this cell. Don’t look at me like that, I made sure that there was a way.” I saw a twinkle of mischief in his eyes that made me feel that there was going to be a great deal of pain involved.

I nodded my head obediently.

“Great,” he said clapping his hands together. “Now inside you go.”

Before I entered he kissed me on the forehead and stared at me for a long time. He then nodded as if to tell me it was time to go in.

The cell was made of not cement, but some type of clay. The door however was steel. There was to be no light in the cell as the door had no bars on it. It was very small, not tall enough for me to stand in or long enough for me to lay in. I automatically began to feel the stifling stale air fill my lungs.

“Good-bye my darling.”

I knew it then, he had put me in there and the only way out was to die. I became frantic and started to hyperventilate. I needed to calm down, I needed to save my air if I was ever to get out, not that I had any hope that there was a way out.

I began to sing quietly. It steadied my breath and helped to calm me.
There’s no way out! I screamed in my head. There’s no way!

I sat there for a long time just wondering how I could possibly live in a world where any God would let something like this happen. I laughed to myself and realized that the minute I entered this place, I had left any civilized and compassionate world, I had entered Hell.

I tried to think of ways to get out. As much as I searched my mind there just didn’t seem to be a way. Though the walls were made of clay, and not cement, it seemed logical that I could dig my way out. However, there was no possible way that I would be able to make it to the end. I remembered the first time that he had brought me here, I was so scared but I paid close attention to every detail. He made me walk down five flights of stairs and pushed me down the last three. That’s eight flights of stairs below the surface, it just wasn’t possible.

Think! There has to be a way! The voice in my head was panicky but determined.

I tried to count the minutes that had gone by, but with each passing moment a little more of my strength and energy was leaving me. If he appeared to check on me, I could be waiting to strike. I had nothing on me so there was no way to overpower him, he was much stronger than me.

More long hours passed, possibly even days. Finally, I had my plan. It wasn’t very good, but it had to work.
© Copyright 2005 E.A. Powell (eapowell at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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