The Russian Roulette { ON HOLD }

Prologue

It was just a normal day in New York, a normal December day. I couldn’t remember anything abnormal about it. It was December 12th, 2012, and that was the day I was accepted into the Russian Roulette.

My name is Skylnn. Odd name, I know, but it suits me. I am seventeen years old. I have very thick ink black hair. But underneath that mass of black hair is something very surprising. Bleach-blonde hair. Bleached undersides, so when I turn my head, you get a small peek at the wonder of my hair. This hair sits on top of a milky white, heart shaped face. It was perfectly symmetrical, which is a sign of good health, and is perched on one medium sized neck. The two orbs I call eyes are a stunning aqua blue that shimmers in the sunlight, and the nose stuck in between those two orbs has a slight ski slope. The two hammocks pressed together to make lips were very full, and are always coated in a thin layer of clear M · A · C lip gloss. This model’s body stands at a giant five foot ten, and weighs a slight one hundred and ten pounds. I have medium c-cups, and am an in-training Victoria’s Secret Angel.

“Skylnn, you are now dismissed, darling. Great work today,” my supervisor, Angelica, tells me, shooing me away with her hand. I finally can leave, so I take advantage of my newfound freedom in this large city of New York. On my way home, I stop to meet some friends in Central Park, where we decide to take a boat out on the lake.

“Skylnn, do you know if you made it in yet?” my friend Amelia inquires, wondering if she’s going to lose me for an entire year.

“No, I don’t. I was supposed to know by now, right?” My friends nod; they know the procedures. We all did, we all wanted to make it in.

“Well, they say everyone should know by mid-December. I say you go home and check. You’ll call us when you find out, won’t you Sky?” Addison adds. She’s the most sensible of my friends.

“I think I should, Addy. Good thinking. Don’t want to miss the producers, do you?” I say, a very large smirk on my face. We paddle our way back to the dock and hop out of the boat. All of my friends wish me good luck, and I’m on my way. I mean, I live five minutes away from Central Park, but still better hurry.

As I walk through the door of our Upper East Side penthouse, my father, who is rarely home, gives me a very large smile. “Sky, you have a visitor. I sent her into your room,” he says, trying to hold something back.

I walk up to his ear and whisper into it, “It’s the producers, isn’t it?” I step back, and he gives me a slight nod. I hold back all excitement and make my way to my bedroom. I open the door and peek my head in. “Hello?” No one answers, so I step in. There is one small envelope sitting on my pillow, and I pick it up, sit down, and open it. I read through it, and begin to squeal and cry, every emotion going through my mind. I made it in. Then, the cameras appear filming my every move. The executive producer walks in, and hands me another sheet of paper. “Welcome to the Russian Roulette. Here is your first look at your competition. Do you accept the invitation, Ms. Earnhardt?” she inquires, protocol.

“Yes! I do!” I scream, ripping the sheet of paper from her hands. It was a sheet of paper that had the picture of the thirty-one other contestants, with their full name printed underneath their photo. This is all I had to go by for the next two weeks.

“Well, then, Skylnn, you can come with me. Your father has packed all your belongings, and you will be coming with me to Las Vegas.” I nod, and follow her out the door. I smile at my dad, and run over to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Tell my goodbye for me, okay Dad?” He nods, and I walk out the door, ready to begin my yearlong adventure.

 What I didn’t know, is that I was walking willingly into my living hell.