A deranged man who likes to call himself the Director kidnaps a teenage boy and girl to be his actors. He expects them to perform the six acts of his play without messing up once, or else harrowing pain awaits them.
🥇1st place / The Cosmic Awards
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NATHAN DIDN'T REALIZE how comforting Adelaide's presence had been until he had to step out alone. Behind him, the Director shut the door then walked past him up to the stage.
With no particular command, Nathan followed the Director but stopped like usual at the last rung. The Director strode across the planks until he stood at the other end of the stage, now far enough to turn into a blurry shadow.
While the Director fiddled with something in his spot, Nathan's peripheral caught a blurry shape at the stage center. The dangling silhouette already made his fingers tingle, almost going numb. He craned his neck and squinted and found a chair with a noose hanging above it. Beside it was a small wooden coffee table. Semblance of a cozy little room.
Nathan would make another reaction if the Director didn't snap his fingers, forcing his attention towards the end of the stage again. His eyes burnt now. He squeezed them shut, let the water pool, then opened them again.
The Director was holding something thin, its other end in contact with the iron chords. Logically rope. Or chains. This act really had some changes, no fucking joke.
"Come here," the Director said.
Nathan did as told. When he was beside the Director, he could tell exactly what was going on: rope tied at one end to the chords, the rest of it coiled loosely around the Director's hand. Clear intentions. Nathan already felt suffocated.
"So." The Director uncurled the rope from his hand and ran his fingertip along it like he was stroking a snake. Glancing up, he gave Nathan a sinister half-smile. "I have to tie you to the wire. Should I tie you by the wrist? Or . . . ?"
Before Nathan could so much as blink, the Director thrust the rope around his neck and crossed it, almost throttling him. "Or by the neck, my villain?" he continued. Nathan choked and his hand shot up to grip the rope. "Should I tie you by the neck like a dog? I think it'd suite you."
This belittling tone made Nathan want to cut the Director's tongue off. He clenched his jaw, tried stifling the desperate need to cuss. What Adelaide had said about anger, she was right. So Nathan didn't let it get to him.
"Wrist," Nathan said. Cocking a brow, the Director pulled the rope off his neck then roughly shoved Nathan into the chords; after crashing with a painful thud, Nathan winced and slouched to his knees.
"Stay down, my villain." The Director tied his wrist. Hard. So hard Nathan felt the scratchy rope cut off his blood circulation. When the Director finished, he straightened and eyed Nathan down on the planks with a creepy smile. "You're in good shape. Very good shape."
Good shape. Yeah, if breathing was enough to qualify him. Good shape except he couldn't function properly anymore, every move heavy with exhaustion like a broken machine. (Particularly like that ancient oscilloscope back at school that barely ever turned on.)
