Every night, when I closed my eyes, his image would be branded to the backs of my eyelids. That same smile, so gorgeous yet so deadly. Those deep blue eyes, like the treacherous oceans you find, the ones which sometimes have those desolate lighthous...
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Simon clenched his fists as the door shut behind him, locking mechanically. Looking around, he saw that he was in another room. It was pretty small and square, around two and a half metres each side. The room was lit up by bars of neon light on the ceiling, spilling out amethyst hues and bathing the room in waves of fluorescent lilac, and the purple tones emitted a peaceful, serene aura that almost calmed Simon. Almost.
Looking at the plain wall in front of him, Simon saw that it was, in fact, not so plain. There were two words on it, their cursive letters made by neon tubes twisted around. One word read 'truth' and the other read 'dare'.
Just as Simon noticed this, the words lit up, the neon tubes coming to life in fluorescent green and red respectively. The colours jarred with the purple; Simon scrunched his face. A steady hum of electricity filled his ears.
At the centre of the room was a polished, square wooden table — mahogany, Simon would've guessed with his DT knowledge — with one plain card on it, which looked like a birthday card... but more ominous. Walking towards it cautiously, Simon picked it up with two fingers, holding it lightly as if it was about to burst into flames. Flipping it open, he slowly read out loud the perfectly cursive writing that no doubt belonged to Lazarus:
'Here is a riddle, simple and true,
I made it especially easy for you,
So let us begin, let the fun start,
If you answer wrong, your guts will be my art.'
"Great beginning," Simon muttered sarcastically, his forehead beginning to sweat.
'I hurt but always come out in the end,
I can be changed, twisted, I'm not hard to bend.
Sometimes I am poison, sometimes I am sweet,
Sometimes I am a real treat.
I sometimes appear in someone's eye,
As a glint, a regret or as a sudden urge to cry...
What am I?'
Simon took one minute and fifty-three seconds.
"The truth," he said, placing the card back down on the table. It wasn't a great riddle but it was easy, so Simon didn't mind. He wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his clammy hands, hoping his answer was right.
The purple lights in the room brightened into green lights as an automated, robotic voice resonated around the room.
