Woosh, went her paintbrush,sweeping across the grand white canvas like a gust of wind and leaving a streak of color in its wake. The brush twirled between her fingers as she dipped it towards her palette and then whirled towards her canvas once again, staining the canvas with a myriad of colors- so absorbed in her painting that she forgot to stop and think about what she was even trying to paint in the first place. Again and again, her paintbrush danced and swayed across the canvas before retreating to her palette- until the entirety of the once white canvas was stained with every color on the rainbow.
With a sigh, she took a step back to admire her work- it was absolutely disgusting.So I guess there’smore to painting than splashing random colors everywhere, She thought- her painting looked like a depiction of a unicorn’s vomit, and that wasn’t exactly the look she was going for. All things considered, she wasn’t sure what she was even trying to paint in the first place- but that was normal for her. When it came to art, she’d always had a tendency to space out in the process of creating it; as if her body were moving on auto-pilot. Looks like I’ll have to ask the guys at Art Club to give me some tips.
“Maria, when are you planning on eating?!” Her mom’s voice boomed from downstairs, and Maria jolted, hastily dropping her paintbrush into a paper cup and then tearing off her apron. She’d completely forgotten about dinner and now she’d have to suffer through yet another lecture about the importance of listening to her body. Why do I always do this to myself?
Practically skipping out the basement and up the stairs, she rushed into the kitchen, smiling at her mom sheepishly, who just shook her head. “Sorry! I got caught up in painting and forgot I had to eat!”
“It’s nearly eleven- something didn’t tell you it was time to eat? Seriously, you need to stop spending so much time downstairs.” Her mom sighed, disapproval written all over her face as she ran a hand through her braids.
“I got completely caught up in it! Next time I’ll set a timer!” Maria rummaged through the fridge, looking for something that looked half-decent- she didn’t really feel all that hungry but she didn’t want to piss her mom off anymore than she already had. “There’s nothing good to eat.”
“Since when did you even start painting anyways?” Her mom asked.
“Since Ash gave me her painting kit for my birthday- just drawing is getting seriously boring,” Maria muttered- she’d moved on from the fridge to the cupboard, retrieving some suspiciously worn cup noodles- it was better than nothing.
“It’s just one thing from one thing to the next, isn’t it?” Her mom said, squinting at the cup noodles before leaving the kitchen with a yawn. “Well, just make sure you eat- and turn off the lights when you’re done. Good night.”
“Good night, Mom!” Maria said, watching as her mom ascended up the stairs drowsily- finally she was alone. Tossing the cup noodles back into the cupboard, she flicked off the kitchen lights- she really didn’t feel like eating expired noodles for dinner.
Walking back down the stairs, she flicked on the basement lights with a yawn. It was cold. She hadn’t realized it while painting, but it made her want to grab a blanket and curl up on the floor like a child. Snatching her apron off the floor she flung it over her shoulders, pulling it around herself like a blanket as she gazed at the horrendous myriad of colors she’d painted onto her canvas. Maybe I’ll just continue this tomorrow?
Rubbing her hands together for a moment, she slowly crouched to the floor, pulling the apron around herself tightly. It was cold. And it made her want to just stay there and cling to the floor without moving. I’ll just…rest my eyes for a little.
As she sank to the floor, she felt something nudge against her head- opening her eyes sluggishly, she found a tattered blue notebook sprawled on the floor. She smiled- her old sketchbook! When she was younger she used to fill the pages of the little book that was supposed to be her diary with wacky comics and weird drawings. Plucking it off the floor, she flipped open the book and flipped through its worn pages with a grin.
For as long as she could remember, she’d always felt a sort of affinity to art. It was the one thing that she could commit to for hours without growing tired or bored; when it came to art, it felt as if her chattery brain went quiet, and her body moved on its own. It was the one thing she felt good at. The one part of herself she felt proud of. As she flipped through the pages of the sketchbook, it felt like she could still feel what she had felt and thought when she first drew those comics all those years ago.
I can’t believe it was right here the whole time. Despite her attempts to search for the book in the past, she never managed to find it- so how the hell did it end up on the floor? She didn’t remember seeing it on the floor when she was painting earlier-did it fall from somewhere? Or-
“Having fun reminiscing?” A voice called from behind Marie- a voice she didn’t recognize. She whipped around, feeling her breath grow uneven with anxiety. Before her stood a tall man, his feet covered in a blue mist which clung to his feet like ethereal shoes.
Instinctively, she clutched the book by its spine and swung it into the man’s head- yet the book passed through the man’s skull harmlessly. The man smiled, seemingly reveling in Marie’s horror as it reached out to touch the book in her hands. “Aren’t you going to thank me for finding your book?”
Marie leapt onto her feet, yanking her arm away from him as she scrambled away from him- she needed to run. Immediately tossing her head towards the staircase, her stomach tightened with fear as she realized that the staircase had vanished. She was trapped.
“We’re in a separate space right now, so running won’t work. Screaming won’t work either- I assure you,” The man said. “No one will hear you. And no one is coming to save you.”
“..What are you? What do you want with me?” She said, digging her shaking hands into her pockets- she couldn’t let him know she was scared.
“What do you think I am?” The man replied, his cold gaze piercing right through Maria’s facade. “And what do you think I want?”
I need to get out of here, Marie thought, her breath unsteady as she shifted- she was alone and her escape route had vanished- she needed to think of something. What if I hit him again? The first time her book had merely passed through the man’s body, but maybe that was because she missed? No, that was ridiculous. Utter nonsense. She’d swung the book clean through his head. He’s a ghost. He must be. So what do I do?
“Well, I’ll let you ponder that. In the meantime…” The man reached into his pockets and pulled out a timer. “How about we play a game? If you win, I’ll let you go. But if you lose, I get what I came here for.”
“...You’re lying,” Marie murmured, studying the man’s face anxiously- he smiled at her from underneath his hat.
“Maybe I am- or maybe I’m not. That’s not something you can deduce by staring at me. So why don’t you play with me?” He replied, dragging a shoddy wooden chair over from the corner of the basement and taking a seat in it.
…He’s lying. He’s going to kill me- there’s no way he’s going to let me go if I win a game. “...What’ll you do if I lose?” She stammered hoarsely, wringing her shaking hands as if she were trying to squeeze out all the tension in them.
“What do you think I’ll do?” He shot back, yanking off his hat and setting it between his crossed legs.
She squeezed her wrist; he wasn’t going to tell her anything. The only thing she could do now was play the game. Play the game, and win the game. “Alright then. I’ll play with you.”
“Great. The game is rock paper scissors,” The man said. “We’ll be playing1 game of rock paper scissors; the one who wins the most rounds by the end is the winner.”
Rock paper scissors? That was the last game she wanted to play- rock paper scissors was a game based on luck, and the thought of leaving her fate in the negligent hands of luck made her want to puke. “So…in total we’re playing three rounds of rock paper scissors.”
“Yes. And for every round you’ll have twenty seconds to think of your move before shooting with your right hand.Any movements you make with your left hand will not count. Simple enough, right?” He explained,tossing the timer from hand to hand.
“...Yes.” Marie replied, glancing down at her hands- what was his goal in all this? They both had a fifty percent chance of winning, but also a fifty percent chance of losing- and even if she won, he had nothing to worry about. So was he challenging her out of pure boredom? If that’s the case, then why rock paper scissors? Why not a more challenging game?
“I’ll start the timer now.” The man said, starting the twenty second countdown with the push of a button. “And by the way, I’m going to throw rock for this round.”
Rock? He’s probably just saying that to throw me off, right? It could be a trap- he could be trying to get her to use rock or scissors so he could then win or draw by shooting rock. But what if he’s actually going to throw rock?
“I’m not lying. I’m going to throw rock.” He pressed, making a fist with one hand. “I’m going to throw rock, and nothing else.”
…This is bad, She thought- she didn’t know what to use. She needed to block him out- he was trying to psyche her out by repeating himself, and it was working. There’s no way I can tell what he’ll use with 100% percent accuracy, so-
The timer went ding, and Marie scrambled, hastily throwing rock- and found to her relief that the man had also thrown rock, just like he’d said.
“See? I threw rock- if only you believed me and used paper.” He taunted, resetting the timer with a push of a button. “Now then, this time, I’m going to throw paper.”
He’s doing it again- maybe I should go with it and throw scissors? Or is he baiting me into-
“17, 16, 15, 14.” He recited with a grin, in complete sync with the rhythm of the digital timer. “13, 12, 11, 10…”
Block him out! I need to block him out! She couldn’t let him waste her time- she just needed to pick something and hope she’d win. The strategy was akin to sky diving with a parachute found off the street, but she didn’t have a choice in the matter.
With a ding, she extended her palm, throwing paper, and at the same time the man threw scissors- he’d won this round.
“Looks like I won. We have two rounds left- one chance left for you to turn the tide of this game.” He said, pressing a button and resetting the timer. “Now, I-”
“I’m going to throw rock!” She interjected- she couldn’t let him keep pawning her like this if she wanted to win. This isn’t just a game of luck- I have to psyche him out to get him to do what I want, or I won’t win this!
“Oh, really? Then it seems I should defend and throw paper.” He replied.
“Good decision.” She replied, yanking the apron off her shoulders and covering her hands with it. If he can’t see my hands, then he’ll end up doubting himself even more.
The man studied her hands for a moment- and then with a scoff, raised up his left hand, throwing paper pre-maturely. “If you’re going to hide your hands, then I’ll just keep mine out in the open.”
He’s trying to psyche me out. At the last minute he’ll switch into rock or scissors- and since he used scissors last round, he’ll probably use rock. So I have to throw paper. She inhaled. Exhaled. A steady mind- that was what she needed to win. Or else the hands of chance would abandon her without a second thought.
Five seconds left.
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The man made no attempt to change his hand.
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Four seconds left.
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The man’s eyes flickered towards Marie’s.
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Three seconds left.
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The man’s fingers began to twitch.
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Two seconds left.
The man’s fingers began to curl up.
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One second left.
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…
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The man’s fist was completely balled up.
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As the one on the timer shifted into a zero, Marie flung off the apron, throwing paper, and at the same time, the man threw rock with his left hand- and scissors with his right.
“Looks like I won this one again.” The man said.
“That doesn’t count, you can’t shoot with both hands!” Marie cried, leaping to her feet as she felt her stomach twist yet again as the man shook his head.
“I didn’t shoot with both hands. I told you before; any signs you make with your left hand don’t count. Only your right.” The man explained. “That was a good game- I learned a lot about you through it.”
“No- you- you didn’t shoot at the…” Marie trembled- he’d kept her completely distracted with his left hand so that he could snatch the win with his right hand- and now he’d racked up two wins. She’d lost. It was over. As she backed away from him, keeping her eyes trained on him, he gazed back at her- though something about his gaze was different from before, less sadistic. Completely empty. There was no joy or anger in his eyes, and he wasn’t gloating either. Something was up.
“You did well, for someone with a stark disadvantage.” He said at last, his voice a lot softer than before- he stood up from his chair. “Please relax- I’m not going to do anything to you.”
She stared at him wordlessly, slowly rising from her stool- she didn’t know if she could believe that. He’s just going to keep on playing me with me until I go mad.
“I am not here to harm you in any way.” He pressed on, sensing her restlessness. “I simply came here to test you- and I’m sorry for the way I did so.”
“You broke into my house and trapped me to test me?”She asked hoarsely- the man nodded his head slowly.
“I know it sounds bizarre, but it’s the truth. And the truth is about to get even more bizarre- which is why I need you to listen to me.” The man said- something about the urgency of his words sent chills down Marie’s spine. “Will you listen to me?”
What choice do I have? Marie thought- he seemed genuine- and there was no running, with the stairs gone. Complying with his demands was the only thing she could do. “...Sure.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your level-headedness.” The man said. “I came here to test you with a game of false high-stakes, so that I could prepare you for a game of real stakes. A game that you’ll be partaking in tomorrow.”
“You’re making me play another game?” Marie whispered.
“It’s not me who’s making you play the game. You were invited to the game by one of your fellow peers at school; and unfortunately, attendance is mandatory.”
“Mandatory?” She echoed. “How? How is it mandatory? Who is making me attend?”
“...The game itself.” The man replied. “The game is unlike any other game in that it has a mind of its own. Once you’ve been invited to play the game, you will be dragged into the game’s setting, regardless of your feelings on the matter.”
Marie stroked her throbbing forehead- she felt like her brain was going to burst, trying to contain all of this bizarre information. A game which forced its participants to play regardless of their consent? It doesn’t make any sense- but none of this makes any sense. There’s an intangible man with fog for shoes in my basement right now, and I know he’s real, but how do I know what isn’t real?
“Focus, Marie.” The man said. “Aren’t you going to ask me what the name of the game is?”
“...What is it?”
“Loser’s Roulette.”
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