The Pool

A Fan Fiction Story Based On Characters From The Film Saw

Disclaimer 1: I do not own Saw, it's characters, locations, etc., and I only intend for this story to be viewed at this site. This story is NOT for sale. I do ask that this story not be copied or posted anywhere by anyone except for on this site by me. Thank you.

Disclaimer 2: Warning: The following story contains gore, foul language and other things that may be unsuitable for some audiences. It has been rated accordingly.

Barry Donnel liked to wake up in his comfortable bed, wrapped in his cozy silk sheets. Instead, this morning the thirty year old lawyer woke up with his left hand chained to a wall in a room that carried the scent of rotten eggs. He was in a large room with porcelain walls and a floor to match. It would have been pitch black if not for one constantly flickering florescent light that went the whole length of the room. Barry was dressed in the same outfit he went to sleep in the night prior: a pair of long pajama pants and a t-shirt that he got from his Miami Beach vacation last year, which said Wet and Wild Baby! on the front, right underneath the poorly drawn colored sketch of two young bikini clad girls playing volleyball. There was an inch of water at the bottom of the room that chilled Barry's bare feet.

A very confused Barry turned to his right and saw a small shelf – merely just a single wooden plank – at the level of his neck. It was about a foot away from him, and on top of it lay a shiny butcher knife. About twenty feet away from that shelf was another one, also at neck level, this one supporting a small thirteen inch television with a tape player built in. It was on, but had apparently not been hooked up to any sort of cable or source of reception, because it shone white and black and screamed the sound of static.

Suddenly, the TV began to play a tape that had evidently been loaded prior to Barry's awakening. A doll of a clown with a large, greenish colored head appeared on the tape. It strolled up to the screen on a child sized tricycle. The look of this doll sickened Barry. A deep, raspy, eerie, and almost emotionless voice on the tape began to speak.

"Hello Barry. I want to play a game," the voice said. "All your career you have been winning cases against weak and seemingly defenseless lawyers. And every time you beat them in a case, you feel satisfied. Satisfied for preying on the weak and the defenseless. But now, Barry, as you may have already noticed, you are the weak. You are the defenseless. But you may still have the chance, if you choose to take it." Barry looked down to see that the water was easily at three or four inches now, just at the start of his legs. "Barry," the voice said. "There are four large hoses inside this room, one in each of the corners." Barry saw them. There were holes cut in the walls especially for them. "Water is ceaselessly pouring through them at an excessive and fast pace. In a matter of ten or fifteen minutes, the water will be up to the level of the television you are watching now. The television is powered on, so I think you know what happens when the water gets to it." An oh, shit look spread across Barry's face. "The metal door twenty-five feet to your right leads to a small set of stairs. They lead to a kitchen. If you can get into that kitchen, you will have survived. You may be wondering how you are supposed to get out of the chain around your left hand. I'll give you a hint: Look to your right."

Barry did so, only to see the knife again. He wants me to cut it off, is all Barry could think of. Holy fucking shit, he wants me to cut off my hand. "How much blood will you shed to stay alive?" the voice asked. "Let the game begin."

Barry cried in fear until the water got to his knees. Barry felt awkward as the water made the bottom half of his pajama pants cling to his leg. While he'd been crying, he pulled and tugged countless times at the chain on the wall with no success. Barry then grabbed the knife and tried to cut the chain with it. The chain was easily an inch and a half thick and there was no way he was ever getting through it with that butcher knife.

But it would cut through his wrist pretty damn well.

Barry had thought about it, of course he had, but in the end he concluded that he obviously didn't want to do that – as most people wouldn't – and also that if he did, he may die from blood loss anyway, which would be a much slower death than electrocution.

And so Barry waited there, chained to a wall like a slave, crying and holding a butcher knife. He began to shout in desperation at his eerie-voiced captor, not knowing whether or not he was even there.

"You bastard! You fucking asshole, why are you doing this you son of a bitch! I swear to God I'll fucking kill you! I'll kill you, you hear me!" Barry then tried another approach. "I'll pay you anything! I'll give you all my money if that's what you want! Come on! Come on! Answer me you cocksucker!"

Barry set the knife back on the first shelf next to him.

A little later, the water was slightly above his navel and right in the middle of the words Wet and Wild Baby!, which was a statement that was becoming truer by the second.

Barry waited more, and then he finally stopped crying. He tugged at the chain more, much harder this time. If he let his feet off of the ground, he could even float a little in this pool of a room that had been created over the last ten minutes. To Barry, it seemed like days. Hell, years even.

And soon enough, the water raised up to just below the shelf that the television was standing on. Barry felt even more fear just by looking at the cord going from the television into the wall socket directly behind it. Thank God that was the only wall socket in the room, otherwise he'd be screwed way before the water got to the TV.

He didn't have much time left. Then, he made a decision. He decided he wanted to live. He at least wanted to try. He'd either die trying to get himself out of this or he'd actually succeed. He wasn't going to stand there and just let himself die.

Barry grabbed the knife.

The water was just below his neck. Thank God the chain was at his eye level, so he wouldn't have to cut though the water.

Barry held the knife above his left hand. He tried to do it as quickly as possible. He didn't want to saw it off. He wanted to hack it off. Truly, saying want would be inaccurate; it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. But he needed to. Hacking would be much, much quicker. So he did it. He raised it about a foot above his wrist, and took the first hack.

The first cut must have been an inch deep, and it cut a little into the bone. A parade of blood and gore began to spill out of the top of his wrist. He screamed. It hurt so intensely that Barry bit his lip, drawing blood. He took another hack, a harder and more powerful one that worked itself all the way through the bone, but the knife slipped from his hand afterward and fell into the water. He could have grabbed it – it was still close enough to him and the water made it sink very slowly – but he didn't.

There was only about a quarter of an inch of flesh holding his hand together with the rest of his arm, so he just pulled hard, away from the chain, and ripped it off the rest of the way. The water was red for what seemed like miles. Barry's hand fell from the chain on the wall and began to float away in the large pool of water.

Barry's nub was still gushing blood ceaselessly. It was the worst pain he'd ever felt. The bottom of his lip continued to bleed, and he inadvertently tasted his own blood. The water was at the bottom part of his neck. His clothes – especially his shirt, which bore a terrifyingly ironic catch phrase – stuck to him uncomfortably.

As he looked, the water was horrifyingly close to the television. He swam as efficiently as he could with one hand to the metal door at the end of the room. He had tears of pain streaming down his face.

He pushed the door open and the water pushed him into the room with the stairs. He pushed the door behind him against the force of the water. Eventually, he closed it as about a foot and a half of water made it into the small stairway to join him. The water had pushed him to the ground, so instead of standing up, he just crawled up the three small carpeted steps into the kitchen that his captor had mentioned.

This safe-looking room – which was surprisingly cleanly as opposed to the room he'd just been in – had a rotary-dial phone laying on the floor, hooked to the wall. Barry crawled weakly over to it, his nub still spraying out blood as if it were being paid to do so. It still ached and pained Barry, but it had ceased a little since the initial hacking. A scream of terror, pain, and maybe even a hint of relief escaped Barry's mouth, and then he began to sob again.

Barry's face was as white as a ghost. Apparently no blood had made it there; it was presumably too busy gushing out of his wrist instead. Barry heard a POP from the room beyond as the water had evidently reached the television. He grabbed the dial, and dialed three digits – nine, nine, and one – before he fainted.

Barry awoke in a hospital bed five hours later. He saw that he had both his hands. His left one had apparently been salvaged, because he saw that it had been reattached. The thread that reunited the skin was of a very thick material. His face had regained most of its color.

A nurse walked in a few minutes later. She was young, blond, and cute. She gave him an envelope. "Some old guy left this for you." she said.

Barry looked at it fearfully. On the outside of the package it said TO BARRY DONNEL, written neatly in red marker. He opened it to see a slip of paper that read FROM JIGSAW in the same red print. There was also a tape recorder equipped with a tape. He played it to hear that deep, eerie voice again. "Hello again, Barry. You have fought for your life, and now let's hope you will continue to value it as much as you did in order to save it. I hope you have learned your lesson.

"Game over."

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