The Game
By William Masterson
Lead Advisor of the Supreme Leader
Mr. Steve Archy Personal Journal
Oct. 21st Page 1 first paragraph
Today the United States Brass had an emergency meeting. Lead Climate Change scientists have written a report that rocked us to our very core. Even after we took several steps to eliminating the world’s carbon footprint: including phasing out oil, animal productions, and all fossil fuels. Even at the expense of our own people, it still was not enough. The problem was what we all feared from the beginning. It was US! The human species. We have grown too numerous. I am sitting here writing this with a bottle of whiskey, hands shaking. After No, I don’t even know if I can, nor if I should write down what was discussed and what was planned. Twenty hours of hell and I still do not believe we reached the right answer, the answer that can alleviate our souls. I fear what we have done will damn us all, whether you believe in hell or not.
Chapter 1
Cavan stared at his home terminal, ads blinking peripherally, his sole focus was the large bold words in front of him. It felt like they were enticing him like a woman beckoning him seductively to come to her and let her show him all the wonders she has in store for him. For an exceptionally low price of your soul.
Cavan started to sweat lightly over his brow. Unconsciously he wiped it away. “Sign up now for a chance to win anything your heart desires!” Cavan read out loud. He knew what this was and everything that it encompassed. He heard the tales, saw the interviews of the winners, everyone has. He watched season one just like billions around the world.
His large fat hands now visibly shaking, reminding him of a time when he was eight and he had a nightmare. Woke him up with such force that he peed his bed, thankfully for the last time.
Get a grip man, Cavan thought.
Cavan was brought back to his last bed wetting and how he had forgotten the nightmare almost right away like most people do but he still remembers his hands shook for an hour after he had woken up.
Cavan wrung his hands and touched the apply button.
The screen congratulated him on clicking the apply button, stating in big bold words “Congratulations on choosing to apply for the American Royal Rumble Game!” The words disappeared and the application documents appeared.
Like a fly caught by the spider’s web he struggled against the strings now tangled around him. Cavan imagined as he started filling out the application. The first page was just like what a job application used to be. Cavan was old enough to remember those. Basic information, simple and easy. The second page was much harder and weird.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The second page asked “what would you do” in certain strange situations. Question four really caught his eye. If you had to choose between yourself or your best friend in a life-or-death situation, who would you choose? Cavan didn’t know what to say and he sat there for a few minutes, he even skipped it a couple times but always he came back to it. He doesn’t have many friends and none he would label “best friend”. The blank answer blog taunting him with his indecision every time. Cavan finally answered the question, not giving a damn what they thought about it.
The last page was an essay on why he wanted to be in the game. This gave Cavan a slight pause, thoughts on reasons reeling in his mind like an old fashion movie. Cavan shrugged and started writing. Then he stared at the final hurdle, the dreaded finale, submitted button. His hands started to sweat again, and Cavan sighed in resignation. He pushed the button. CONGRATULATIONS! Beamed out at him, small fireworks exploded around the message. It was done, Cavan thought.
Cavan, now finished, looked around his one room studio apartment. The dank surroundings, dirty, unclean. Cavan felt disgusted and not for the first time nor the thousandth time. Cavan took stock of the never-ending dripping faucet in the kitchen only a couple of feet from him, the incredibly old refrigerator which makes loud sounds when the ice machine turns on. Cavan saw his small cot in the corner, bed unmade, old sheets and old frayed blanket crumbled on top. Cavan looked at his couch full of cigarette burn holes, then at his master terminal on his wrist. The only thing worth a damn that he had. He studied the round silver band, amazed that when Cavan pressed the silver coin shaped band, his master information terminal that connects him to everything in his life appears in front of his eyes.
Cavan walked to his one and only window, passing the small kitchen island full of past due bills. Trying to see the city beyond the muck-stained glass, the sides held by deteriorated wood. Cavan could sort of make out lights from the streets of Austin. Cavan started to have a feeling of satisfaction on applying for the game.
The odds of Cavan being selected are low, the first season they had well over half a million sign up even though only a thousand contestants were selected. Can’t forget, Cavan mused, the thousands of reservists. He had heard that despite the risk, even more applications than season one will be available to choose from, for season two.
Cavan lay down on his small uncomfortable cot. He thought about the final warning from the government. Cavan wondered what the reeducation program was like, was it as bad as the rumors are to be believed or as awesome as the news networks proclaimed? After all, if he doesn’t get selected in a couple of weeks, that will be where he will end up. “Fuck it” Cavan whispered, rolling over trying to fall asleep.
Lead Advisor of the Supreme Leader
Mr. Steve Archy Personal Journal
Oct. 21st Page 1 second paragraph
For the past hour I have been wrestling with the decision to write down what was discussed and what solutions we came up with. I have decided to write it down. Damn the consequences. At zero eight hundred yesterday morning I was called into the oval office. A large table was laid out in the middle of the room. Twelve of the most important people in the United States were sitting down. Faces solemn, none smiling or laughing. Zachary Wiser, head of infrastructure, waved at me. I nodded at him. I also noticed our head scientific researcher the pompous Dr. Flenning, buzzing around David Grotten the first of his name supreme leader of US of A. I digress, it is difficult what I have decided to write. I am afraid that once I write this all down it will become real to me. That terrifies me something fierce. SL Grotten clapped his hands, and everyone quit talking and took their seats. Thus, it began, perhaps the most important meeting for the whole human race. May the powers that be forgive us.