Russian Roulette.

Russian Roulette; This won several awards and it gained a lot of praise. It's one of my favourite stories of mine and, if I'm honest, it took about 20 minutes to write.

In the white room the old blood stains are evident. Faded to an almost grey, but evident none the less. 

I look you in the eyes. I see fear, over whelming fear, in yours. 

You search my eyes for fear. For hate, worry, anxiety. Something to show I'm human. There is nothing. 

I see a quiver in your lip. A tremble in your voice. You react to every noise. Like a hunted animal.

 

Look at me. I'm only a kid, right? Wrong. Dead wrong. I may be young in years, but in experiences I am ancient. 

I have played so many games in my life. I have left so many bleeding corpses. 

 

One of them was my best friend. 

 

Russian roulette is a game of winners and losers. I am a winner. I don't lose. 

 

A confident smirk crosses my face as you swallow your fear. 

"Are you ready?" I ask, my voice cuts the silence around us. Your eyes snap to my face, once again.

You nod.

"We're ready." I sat calmly. 

 

A loud buzz sounds. 

 

The cage in front of us, on the cold, clinical table, popped open. 

 

This was a slightly different game to the norm. In this game there were six guns. Six guns, each with six chambers. Only one bullet. 

One bullet, thirty-five empty chambers. 

Thirty-five chances at life. One real death. 

 

"Let's get started then." I say, almost bored. 

 

You slowly reach out your trembling hand. The cold gun metal feels weird against your over hot skin. Unyielding and hard. 

 

"Just pull the trigger fast. Get it over with." I say slowly. 

 

You nod and from your eyes drops a single tear. You're terrified. It takes all I have not to laugh at your pathetic bargaining with God. After watching so many others die, I no longer believe in God. And, even if I did he'd hate me, I'd be sent to hell. 

 

You raise the gun to your temple. Your lips still quivering, whispering that silent prayer. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, swallow the lump in your throat. And pull the trigger.

 

-click-

 

Empty chamber. 

 

You relax. All the tension in your body is released. All the fear is, momentarily, gone.

 

I pick up a gun. Looking at you unwaveringly. I pull the trigger. 

-click- 

As I'd expected. Empty trigger. No one wins that easily. Die or don't. I didn't die. 

 

You start at the sound. The hollow, echoing click. It means it's your turn again. It means you're not safe any more. It means you haven't won. 

I smile as the fear fills you eyes again. 

 

You pick up the gun you just laid down. It's handle is still warm. You suppress a shiver as my eyes fill with a malevolent glee. I can see you sweating. It's not even a warm room. You're terrified. 

 

You raise the gun to your temple again. 

-click- 

Again. 

My turn now. 

 

After almost two hours I can't control myself any longer. I yawn. This game is starting to bore me. You are a pathetic, scared little child. It's disgraceful. You shouldn't have been allowed in here in the first place. 

Standards everywhere are slipping. 

 

Once again it is my turn. Now we are down to the last gun. The one that we'd both left alone, the gun in the centre of the table. I pick it up, feeling the weight in my palm. 

Realistically, I could die. Here and now. But I have a good feeling about this game. A winners' feeling. 

 

I spin the gun on one finger. I stop and look you in the eyes, once again. And again fear and despair stare back at me. I sigh. 

I place the gun to my temple. 

-click- 

"Oh dear." I say slowly. "Oh deary me."

You look at me again. Shear terror overwhelms you. 

"Only two bullets left now." 

 

I slide the gun across the table. You look at it, not moving, not seeing, not even breathing. You know what will happen. One of us WILL die soon. Either you or I. 

 

You look between me and the gun. I shrug. These are the rules of the game. 

"Your turn." I say quietly, almost whispering. 

 

The cold gun metal touches your temple. But this is the final time. The final time. This either makes you, or kills you. This is your freedom, or your death. 

The trigger has never been harder, or easier, to pull. 

-click-

You drop the gun to the table.

You open your eyes. Pure wonder and disbelief fill them. I smile. 

"You've won." I say gravely. "Nothing left for it." 

I reach over the table and pick up the gun. 

"N-no!" You say. "No, I won. That's it. That's all. You don't need to ki-kill yourself."

I smile at you. I lean towards you. 

"Can I tell you a secret?" I ask quietly. You lean towards me. I take this as I yes. "I know that."

 

BANG!

 

I lean back in my chair. And smile. 

 

A figure stands up. They make their way through the door. Blood soaked and stained. But alive. They walk from the white room and it's blood stains. They walk away from the other player, who should be dead by now. They walk down the corridor and pick up some new clothes. 

 

"Russian roulette is a game of winners and losers. I am a winner. I don't lose. I warned you."

Reviews

[Amata Luna]

Alright, now that's a kind of thriller that I usually see on books alright. I'm curious as much with who that 'kid' is who never lose. This is short but a good story short enough to run the adrenaline on you. A good job.