My sanity is being slowly stripped away from me, and soon, I will have no more.
I’m in question if anything going on right now is reality.
Because, as far as I know, I am stuck in a muck of reddish, brown goop. With one last kick, I get my left leg unstuck. My right soon follows, and I am left with the upper body still wallowing in the mud— if that’s even what it is. With a grunt of effort, I tug my dirty arms out.
I’m never sure of what is to happen in the arena, but waking up in this gloomy place this morning is one of the least things I expected.
I begin to wander around, chanting my actions in my head like I did before. It doesn’t help. I shake my head in attempt to clear it, but as I’m trying to formulate what to do next, I stumble upon a body of murky water. And next to that, a boat. A daunting, dark steel boat, but a boat nonetheless.
I begin to jog over without thought.
I skid to a stop at the sight of the shadowy, almost transparent figures that surround the vessel. And standing atop the boat, on the dock, is a stern looking man who sports an emotionless demeanor. His coarse, white beard brushes the grimy floor, and he holds some type of pole in his right hand.
When we first began the games, and I was to encounter something like this, I would have fled in the opposite direction. Now, however, I slowly approach the new obstacle. I see that these ghost-like beings are standing in a line that leads up to the man on the boat.
“What is this?” I mumble.
It was mostly to myself, but when the shadow in front of me turns around, it’s little foggy stubs-for-arms passing through my hand, I can’t help but jump.
“The line for Charon’s ferry,” it answers; surprisingly clear and audible. “You’d think people these days would be more educated.”
I’m too stunned to reply.
Have I gone so mental, that I can now talk to ghosts? That isn’t even possible, Jonah.
“Cat got your tongue? Oh right, we don’t tongues anymore,” it continues, “Weird, am I— hey. You’re different.”
“D- Different?” I stutter, not knowing where to focus on the spirit seeing as it doesn’t have an actual face.
“You’re not dead,” is it’s blunt reply. I feel this strange force flutter across my cheeks and the bridge of my nose. “You have skin, and hands, and clothes, and eyes. But you’re really dirty. Well, I guess everything down here is dark and dirty, huh?”
I calm myself down and attempt to steady my voice. “Where are we, exactly?”
“The Underworld,” it answers. “Oh look, I’m up.”
There’s so much I want to ask “it”. Who are you? Are you invisible, or a ghost, or am I crazy? Why are we here? And the questions only keep piling up.
YOU ARE READING
Author Games - When In Rome
Random{FULL} Antonio Silver is flailing. Rumours are circling that he is going to lose his position as head game maker to someone else, and Antonio is tense and stressed. Unsure of what to do, Antonio tries to make what appears to be his final year his be...
