Author Games: Red Room

Task Five: St. Judas

Swaggy Pete

NO ENTRY

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Zion Contreras

Darkness was the eclipse of salvation. Suffocating the light, gagging the screams, binding flailing limbs until the body was immobilized— these were the eclipse's strengths. For without the ability to look away, to shield one's eyes from the burning of a darkened sun, all that remained was primal faith. The faith that god would not abandon you in your hour of need. The faith that someone would feel the rays of mercy on their skin and release your body from the binds that held you captive.

Zion Contreras had no such mercy given to him.

Through the cloth gag strapped between his teeth, he howled like a man possessed. Back arched, nails like claws digging into the mattress of an old hospital bed, he could find no will to cower away from the eyes watching his battered body. "Ladies and gentlemen," cooed a firm voice towards the glowing red light in the distance. Above it, an electric panel drug red words through its lighted screen. 'TEN PEOPLE WATCHING,' it read, letting the message pulse for a moment or two before darting away once more. "We've got a real treat for you today." Through the darkness, a warm hand touched his bare chest, pressing down on his lungs until Zion was forced to gasp through the gag. "This one's full of surprises. With your help, we're going to find out what else he's got up those sleeves."

Lights, burning and bright. Searing, scorching, illuminating his flesh as his eyes clamped shut in protest. Ears ringing, Zion jerked his head away from them to try and relieve the stinging pain behind his watering eyes. The heat of their bulbs singed his flesh, a thin layer of sweat beading against his bruised skin. It was time for the show to begin. Uselessly, he jerked against the leather straps holding down his hands and feet. Lord, protect me, he prayed. Somehow, in the deepest corners of his mind, he knew that in this place there would be no answer.

Zion opened his eyes, staring into the darkness surrounding the makeshift stage. In the shadows, figures moved, hands grabbing and shifting through the inky blackness, with no bodies attached to claim them. 'TWENTY PEOPLE WATCHING,' the sign flashed. The words glinted off a puddle on the floor, red letters distorted and demonic through the murky water. "We all know how the game works," the man spoke again. "First three choices to make it to at least three hundred wins." Zion's heart pounded in every corner of his body. Sweat and spit dripped from his chin, trickling down to the white collar of his shirt. "Where should we start, hm?"

His body heaved, nausea and panic forcing bile into his throat. For a moment, he was choking, burning to death on the acid of his own body. Lungs gasping for air but unable to find anything more than terror in his throat. Glowing red lights cut through the burning spotlight. Numbers, letters, choices ticking away as time ran thin.'FIFTY PEOPLE WATCHING'. From behind the screen, unseen hands decided his fate with the press of a button and the loss of a few dollars from their bank accounts.

A buzzer shook the air, ending the silence of his own panic as time ended. On the screen above him, a single line of text decided the first round.

SHAVE HIS HEAD- $310

Zion's chest heaved, breath shuddering as he tried to cough up the agony in his esophagus. No. Laughter like shattered glass dominated the room, but as he stared up at the words he could not hear it. He could hear nothing, see nothing but the glowing red above him. A callused hand grabbed his neck, jerking his head forward. No.

Every pulse of the rotting heart in his chest pulled him further from the scene. From somewhere in the dark, a razor began to hum. Zion could not hear it, couldn't feel when its spinning teeth touched his scalp.