Hey, lemme get your attention there! I haven't edited this, like at all. I'm trying to motivate myself by posting my unfinished work, that way I get so worried I bother to finish what I started. You're still free to read and comment! (I made the cover myself, art and all. Probably temporary, I i'd like to see what people think of it.)
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I don't know what happens when people die. When it's so cold like this, when my skin cuts like sandpaper, is that what it's like? It's dark- and it's been dark- but I know it's not empty. My shoes scrape across the ground as I pull my knees forward. I find comfort in the sound, like it's familiar. Every sensation is familiar. It's sort of like your life flashing before your eyes, but without sight.
Little echos similar to shallow breaths soon follow. That's the one thing that I don't recognise; It isn't my voice. Infact, it's many. A warm sting in my chest grows with each unfamiliar sound until I can feel blood pumping through every vein. Everything around me seems to glow softly to a point, like I'm the center. My head tilts up with difficulty. There's a torch attached to the wall above me.
"...imperative that you cooperate to the fullest extent," blares a robotic voice as I fade into consciousness. The speakers give off occasional static but were very clear on their delivery. "Any and all participants are to follow the scenario exactly."
Even in the dark it was obvious there were many people within this space. Some were sitting, others standing straight in a panic. One man stood closest to the light's edge. You could only see the details of his face that pushed out, but his expression was clear. He was angry. "This is bullshit!"
"Hello and welcome participants. Please wait for your instructions. It is imperative..."
"SHUT UP!" The man charged to the left, pounding on something metal. "Show yourself you fucking coward!"
There was a word that I didn't recognise that kept repeating: Imperative. It wasn't that big- my mom use to give me harder ones. As I thought about the mystery, a scene unfolded in the foreground muted like a background. A large woman ran towards the man, taking hold of his right arm. He in turn flipped around and punched her. The woman, along with two teens, screamed at him to stop. One of the youngest started crying. The speakers repeated their message every few minutes. The man became more of a silhouette as he argued back. More and more figures collected until you could see the sides of about nine faces, each with a different type of distress. It was like a play.
"I'm trying to do something about this!" The man had backed into the light. He was a burly guy- he seemed to have a beer gut but wasn't quite out of shape.
"You're going to get us all killed!" cried the larger woman in a shrill voice. She wore cat eye glasses that were now slightly hanging off her face. I couldn't tell if they were cracked or not.
"Dude, just sit down." This voice belonged to a ragged teen. He seemed to be calm, but his expression said otherwise. His hoodie was slightly ruffled.
"No he's right, there's probably more of us then there is of them!" shot out another. The most I could make out from them was a nose ring.
Maybe it was all this noise, maybe that's why I couldn't remember. "Imperative..." It was a simple word. My mom should have known it. I should know it. I'm smarter than this.
The speakers shot out a loud blaring wave of static. Everyone clasped their hands to their ears in unison, some sinking to the ground. This time a man's voice came out-one that you could tell was real. "Pardon me for the intrusion. It is at this time I would like to give all participants their instruction."
The larger man turned back in forth in search of the source, fists clenched. "Shut the fuck up!"
Another resounding screech erupted throughout the room, this time louder. The younger one's cries became more of a suffering whimper, and with it the chaos of the room seemed to evaporate. Most were standing in an awkward state of attention, terrified but also in a fragile state of calm.
"Imperative..." It means something like really important, right?
"Now then. To ensure all participants are both present and aware we ask that you take a look inside your pockets. Your role and number should be listed."
Begrudgingly several of the adults and teens shoved their hands in their pockets. My arms slowly unlocked their iron grip around my legs and started searching my jean skirt for openings. There was a large pocket on the left. Almost everyone had already read theirs, but I hadn't taken my hand out of my pocket. I rubbed the small, thick piece of paper in between my fingers. Some were holding it closer to examine it within the darkness, others walking towards the only source of light. A boy in the back was lounging in the corner with his arms stretched behind his head. He hadn't seemed to have read his at all.
"Participant one, please read your slip." Everyone sort of looked at one another for a second. "Participant one."
The woman with cat-eye glasses stepped completely into the light. Her figure was similar to a pear. She was plump with jeans and a little vest. Her face was very pretty- you could tell that she had makeup on recently, but it had faded over time. The bright red frame to her glasses seemed to bring out the blonde in her curls. She looked down at the paper, then up again with caution. "I'm one. It says I'm the doctor."
The speakers called for the next participant. The hoodie boy in the corner knocked the back of his hand against the wall and lifted his paper in the air. "Priest."
The third person was called, but no one came forward. They called again. The angry man walked forward, pulling the "doctor" out of the way. He was wearing a gray t-shirt and jeans ripped at the knees. He looked down at me when he spoke. "I'm the cook. Whatever that means."
The next few didn't need to be told to come forward. Number four called out from the side of the room and lunged into the candle light as they did so. "I'm a cop!" They seemed to be happier now- this was the one with the nose ring. Their hair was a faded rainbow, probably meaning they'd dyed it, but not recently.
"...I'm a lawyer?" wondered the ragged teen. He was holding the slip very close to his face with one eyebrow raised.
A slender woman, likely in her thirties, walked towards me with her card tightly gripped with both hands. "I'm a... oh this is cheesy. Is this really necessary?"
"Just spit it out," droned the teen deemed Priest.
"I'm- I'm a teacher," she muttered just loud enough for the room to hear.
The speakers crackled to life immediately. The man sounded disappointed. "That's not what your slip says, participant 6. You're a janitor. Participant 7, please."
Stunned from being immediately dismissed, the woman walked to the back of the room riddled with guilt. Several judging eyes followed her. From out of the very back of the darkness a darker skinned man traded places with her. He waved the card in the air and "looked" around, his eyes closed gently. "Yeah, that's me. Wish I could read mine but you only put the number in braille. I bet you think you're funny as hell, guy."
"Forgive us, we weren't sure how to spell that in your tongue. Your role is Engineer."
He stifled an angry laugh and sat down. A few people laughed awkwardly with him. "Ha, yeah I'm sure."
A while passed and no one spoke. We all scanned for whoever was next- until a little girl rose to her feet, shaking. There were tears running down her face. She was the kid crying earlier. "I don't know who you are."
Suddenly the room was reminded of the situation they were in. The calm that had been created was now starting to stir and bubble again, ready to crash against the wall. The Priest from the back rose from the floor and walked softly towards the pudgy little girl. He squatted down and placed a hand on her shoulder. His face was entirely illuminated- it was stern, but soft.
"I think we're going to be okay," he said with a gentle voice. He pointed towards the paper in her hands and motioned for it. After a quick read he handed the paper back and patted the pink cowboy hat on her head. He lifted his head towards the speaker on the right wall. "She's a farmer."
Number nine lept up almost immediately. Her hair was a massive lump of red curls with freckles in between. She didn't seem to be taking any of this seriously- her attitude was a stark contrast to the rest of the room. "I'm a journalist!"
A gruff voice came from the back left of the room. A man covered in tattoos was there leaning against the wall. In the dim light you could barely tell, but it looked like it was one large tattoo that covered his entire body. He had a small beard. No one had noticed him before- it was if he hadn't started breathing until now. "It says I'm a soldier."
A frail voice, extremely sudden and unfounded, came from my side in the right corner. Its source was a girl with soft amber skin and a large nose. She sat with one left flat across the ground, the other bent with her arm resting above it. She read her slip with interest. "11. I guess I'm the artist."
The speakers crackled as if someone was about to speak but shut off immediately. The artist girl crumpled the paper up and shoved it back in her shirt, acting completely disinterested. The room became still, ready for whatever was next. I scanned around a bit, but I couldn't find anyone who hadn't spoken. Actually, everyone was looking in my direction.
"Participant twelve, please come forward." As more of a reflex than of my own volition, I slipped my hand out of my pocket. "Participant twelve?"
On the slip, I could see that I was in fact number twelve. I suddenly felt a lot smaller as I looked up to all the people standing tall above me. I felt a little numb. "I'm... the leader."