"Now, remember, in most video games you can't climb over things like chairs and piles of books and stuff like that."
"Is this one of those games?" I ask, looking around again, except more out of habit now, rather than trying to find the voice. In front of me is a stack of chairs and desks, all piled on top of each other to create a barrier.
"Unfortunately, yes."
"Fuck that!" I reply in frustration.
I can hear the crackling over the radio as Mallory restrains herself from correcting my foul grammar. This brings a smug look on my face, finding humour in her silent scolding.
However, my life is at stake here! I need to ignore the makers of this game if I'm going to survive from the other maniacs in here. I need to go my own way, and I'm not going to let whatever they build in my path stop me.
I look down at the large desk in front of me and kick it in anger, the toe of my boot connecting with the corner and sending a slice of pain through the top of my foot. I give a small yell in irritation and slam my fist against the surface.
After calming down, I breathe slowly for a few moments, then push back the stray hairs that had fallen over my failing eyes.
"Just watch me," I sneer.
I place my hands on the unsteady chairs stacked on top of the large desk I'd kicked, pushing myself up onto it. I carefully scale the wall of chairs, practising my balance as the objects wavered beneath my shifting weight. When I reach the top, I'm only about five feet off the ground, so I jump outward. I land on my feet easily, then throw my hands up and look at the first place I think a camera would be watching.
"I make the fucking rules now," I spit. I then toss my hair behind my shoulder, pull my hood over my head, and make my way down the mucky, abandoned hallway.
YOU ARE READING
Stuck
ActionCally Slance wakes up knowing not where she is, how she got there, or even who she is. All she knows is that there's a time limit, seven others like her, and there's a female voice trailing her wherever she goes. To get back home, to get her memorie...
