Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

We’re Talking About Expensive Hand Grenades in Cheap Hotels

Three are dead. There are only three of us left.
The first victim died with a gunshot up through the jaw. The second victim chose the temple. The third victim shot himself in the eye--
BOOM! The sound of the gunshot rippled through our tiny steel box.
The fourth person just died. She shot herself in her forehead.
I still don’t know why I am locked in this room, playing this death game. I don’t think I did anything wrong. I-I-I am a good person honest. I I I--
“Well I guess it’s my turn,” A man in his 20’s nervously said to me. He forced a chuckle. He might have been trying to make the situation better, but we both knew that was impossible with our current predicament.
Being bound to a wall and enforced to play Russian Roulette, something from a B movie golden age film.
“Yeah, I guess it is,” I replied awkwardly.
The man anxiously put the gun to his temple. His hands were shaking. We both saw exactly what happened to the others.
As the man pulled the trigger, his smiled quickly turned to terror as he realized what his fate would be. The bullet did not exit his head. I believe it got tangled in his brain.
Do I still have to go if it’s just me? Everyone else is dead.
Five,

Ten,
Fifteen minutes passed and no one came for me.
I guess I have to go after all. I glanced around the room one final time. The setting has not changed. Five other people lie dead by their own hand. Their heads blasted to nothing. The walls there were once immaculate now stand blood-soaked and spattered with human fluids. The foulness permeated my skin.

My own lace-dress that was once a beautiful shade of white was now crimson and etched by the lives of five others.

Resigned to my fate, I forced myself to put the trigger to my head. I don’t know how heavy guns normally are, but the weight of your own life in your own hands is like clutching your beating heart of your deteriorating chest and jabbing it perpetually with a begging blade that never dulls.

I felt the icy trigger against my burning finger. Two separate values forced together. Holding a gun never seemed so alien. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe I’m just unconscious and I will wake up in the. . . Maybe Maybe--




Join the Discussion


This article has 1 comment. Post your own!

Nimbis said...
today at 6:22 pm:
Where'd you get the idea of this? It is very unique and dark, makes me wonder who trapped them in this game. Would love to see a beginning to this!
 
Reply to this comment Post a new comment
 
Site Feedback