One Game, One Bullet, One Chance

Your mouth is filled with the copper taste of blood as you awaken in a dark and dreary room. All ambitions to run away are pulled from your thoughts as the raw meat on your ankle sends signals of agonizing pain to your mind. The shackles are still on securing your subjugation. Blemishes of dirt and clean tear stained linings decorate you fear stricken expression.

You back away into your corner to lean against the wall, bumping aside the tin bucket that houses your excrements against the cool checkered tiled floor. You don’t know where you are. Neither does your family. The only person who you had to talk to was Chuck and now he’s…

You try to push away the thought from your mind but you know that Chuck’s fate will soon be yours to share. The captors are growing impatient by the day. They never reacted with physical abuse until recently. Flesh has rendered from your back by the act of multiple whipping tears. Vision is barely able to enter your swollen right eye and the deprivation of liquid has parched your throat like sand paper.

The door creaks opens. Immediately, arms raise to cover eyes burning from the clarity. A heart begins to hyperventilate and the natural mechanic of fight or flight is hindered. There is nowhere to run but you are in condition to fight. A large brawly man walks in, his knuckles cut from Chuck’s climactic send off. Your spirit sinks as his shadow cascades over you. Like a dog pissing themselves in fear, a small whimper manages to escape your lips.

The loud clanking of a stool being dragged against the floor sends chills down your spine. The monster sits before you with a look of perplexity. He takes out his blue steel .357 MAG. revolver. He opens the chamber and pulls out one bullet from the front pocket of his Guayabera, kissing it gently before loading and snapping the gun shut. Leaning forward, a smile manages to cross his dark expression. You can smell the stinging scent of Vodka on his breath. He looks back at the gun before extended his arm out to press the nozzle against your forehead.

“You probably don’t recognize the brand of this gun? Why would you? You spend your whole life playing video games you don’t know the real cruelties in life, huh? Taurus International Manufacturing; not only is it cheap, it’s got some power and reliability too.”

You feel the gun press harder against your skull. Your eyes are fixated on his crucifix bracelet. You weren’t much of a believer in the man but right now anything would do. Your thoughts beg out and cry to God for mercy. The only real pain you feel right now is the anguish of your teeth reaching their breaking point from biting down in anticipation of your end.

The man stands up causing the stool to collapse hard against the floor all the while pushing more force against your forehead, burrowing down into your skin. Your bowels let loose. This is it. No chance to say your good byes or make any amends for past regrets.

“You have one chance!”, the man shouts. Your eyes open wide in surprise and air rushes out of your body as if someone knocked it out of you. “My kids don’t like me much and all they do is play games. My wife says I should try to understand them and get closer to them, ya know? I don’t know where to begin. I don’t have patience as you can see with your friend Chuck. Suggest me one game that’ll get my attention right away so I have something to talk to my kids about. Name one fucking game! I’ll go grab it and come back here and play it. If it’s as good as you say it is, I’ll let you go! Promise to God!”

Someone out there must really love you or hate you. Do you know any games that are good enough to make a stone cold killer addicted enough to let you go or are you only prolonging your death with your shitty choice.

This is your chance! Don’t fuck it up!

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