10 dying friends

Day 6

My head hurts, really, really bad. I hear a sort of loud beep in my ear and I shake my head waking up. I was laying on a piece of wood, like a table. I slowly lift my head and open up my eyes a bit. I immediately open them widely. I'm at a sort of stage, with show lights and everything. Some bright white light is shining on me, making me squint my eyes. A giant camera is focused on me and audio equipment is focused on us. I look around and see that the same has happened to Ghost, Waffle and Birb.

The other three all already awake. They look at me panicked and I return the look with equal anxiety. I look down and I'm trapped in what seems to be Iron shoes, above a sort of metal plate. The shoes are really heavy, and I can't barely lift them. I feel dread rising up in me. The host with curly hair comes up stage, holding a microphone. A sort of tech crew rolls a giant TV on stage with a sort of logo on it. "10 dying friends" stands there in flashy colours with a stupid font.

"Welcome! To the audience take-over of season 1 of 10 dying friends!" the host announces. "10 DYING FRIENDS SEASON 1!?" Ghost screeches out. The host nods excitedly. "This isn't just a psychopathic game Ghost, it's a psychopathic game that is a TV show!" We fall silent in despair. All this time this has been a TV show. All this time our friend's brutal deaths were just entertainment for other people. "Why?" I ask almost crying. The host shrugs. "I just got asked to do this job, my boss is the one behind this all, not me." I widen my eyes. Disbelief washes over my body. This can't be, this must be a joke, a nightmare. Please let this not be true I think as all the death I witnessed flash backs to me.

"So, this episode, I will discuss and show some stuff the audience wanted to share! And then we got a very, very special surprise for the audience!" The TV flashes through a sort of social media, with all kinds of messages and drawn fanarts or edits. I stare in incredulity to the TV screen.

"Here, one of the most liked messages: 

"Fuck Bagle, why did he had to kill our baby Photon 🥺 🥺 He didn't deserve it he was so innocent. He should've won" 

Yeah, the fandom is an absolute fan of Photon! God, you guys have to see the fanfictions the stans produce!" The host joked. "Here some fanart," the host said whilst scrolling past drawing of our own face. Some drawings are of our friend's death. "Ahah, his was a whole trend!" The host said laughing. "The hashtag #protectyodaandbirb, well, it didn't last long did it?" He said giggling.

I feel fury bubbling inside of me. First, our friend's death is just entertainment, and now he is handling this if we are actors, like if we are fictional characters!

"Here is someone angry that Loki only lasted one episode, and more Bagle haters. 

"Photon didn't deserve to die!"

I mean, those stans are really going after Photon don't they." The host scrolls a bit further before stopping at a post. "Of course! I almost forgot, the ships!" I hear Waffle almost laugh unbelievable. "Ships?" he says in scepticism. The host nods excitedly. "The usual, Yoda x Birb and Bagle x Waffle. But another popular ship is Photon x Birb, Vaz x Photon, I mean, there's a lot with Photon not going to lie. Oh, Bey x Ghost."

The host looks a bit further at the messages. "That's most of it yeah," he scrolled past a few Photon fanarts. A lot of 

"I cried when Bagle died, it was so dramatic 🥺"

 "I hope they come back, please let them be back I need more Photon content 🥺"

 "I can't find the actors, has anyone found a bit about the actors? 🥺"

The host began laughing really hard at the last tweet. "I forgot to tell you, 10DF Fandom, there are no actors. This is not scripted; this is not acted. This is all real. And about the realism stuff," the host said with a big grin towards us.

"We set up a poll, why? Do you might ask yourself, well; The audience decided who's going to die." We all widen our eyes. I look at the iron shoes and I try to wring myself out of it, no success. I feel trapped and I begin to panic. "So, let's go to the poll." The host says with the evillest smirk ever, before the TV changed screens to a poll.

It said, "Who deserves to die?" with our names under it. The host laughed at our expressions. "With this button, I will reveal who dies, painfully."

We all gasp anxiously in sync. As the host gets closer at the button. The host stops just before the button, but then suddenly stops. "Let's do it differently, I'm going to show the results, one for one,"

He clicks on Ghost's name. She got 23% of the votes. I see her eyes widen at the number.

He then clicks on Birb's name, she got 4% of the votes. I hear her sigh in relief.

I look at Waffle's eyes, full of panic before the host presses my name. 43%

I feel my legs losing energy as I begin to cry at that number. The host laughs and presses waffle's name. 31%

I begin to cry. "NO, Please!" I beg at the host. "Please I don't want to die," I say as I feel the pressure of being slaughtered on my shoulders. "Don't let the hunters come here," The host chuckles. "You are not going to die because of the hunters love, from something much worse."

I freeze. "Ever watched Snow white and the seven dwarfs? Oh of course, you don't remember. Basically, it's a children's story. But in the original story, the queen dies. Do you know how Vaz?"

It stays quiet for a second as I feel the tension rise.

"She has to wear iron shoes and those shoes are on fire. She has to dance till she dies Vaz."

I widen my eyes as I realize what is going to happen,

"Do you like the song Watermelon Sugar High Vaz?"

I feel the iron plate under me warm up.

A song begins to play, quite catchy actually.

And I feel the burn. I begin to jump and trying to move my feet as the pain is getting unbearably hot. I scream as I try to get free from the pain.

The whole songs play as I feel my feet melt away. I cry for help, for forgiveness. I cry because I know I am going to die, but I don't want to.

I was "dancing" for a whole minute before the Host stepped in.

The host looks at my suffering if it's everyday business. He sighs bored. "This is going to slow," he says before throwing open the iron plate beneath me.

I fall into the fire.

I feel the fire eating my skin and cooking my blood. I scream at the top of my lungs from the pain. I feel the fire eating my whole body. Stop it, I want it to stop. Stop the torture stop the pain.

Let me die I beg you

I see the iron trapdoor closing above me as the fire keeps melting off my skin. I keep screaming as I can't bear the pain. It burns off my hair, my face, my skin, my clothes...

And then it fades to black.

Finally, the pain stopped

I'm free of this torture.