DANCE OF THE HOGS
His Friday night wasn't that to be expected of. He imagined it to be an erotic night out with his wife. A passionate weekend off from the world. Marcus instead awoke to not the smooth and warm voice of his model, Samantha, but somewhere cold. He'd expect the delightful smell of her perfume, but instead he wrinkled his nose to the rotten stench in the air. He expected to arrive at home already. But his heart gave a long jump off a cliff when he opened his eyes in pitch blackness.
The warm moist air clogging his lungs that choked him. He felt very uncomfortable, especially from a tight and hot metal brace around his ankle. His lower right leg throbbed with pain and swelled. Marcus's conscious mind still tried to wake from the haziness of a dreamless sleep, but his first instinct was that he wasn't where he was supposed to be. Yet, there wasn't a clue in his mind as to where or why. Marcus's only suggestion was that his right ankle was severely bruised. He wriggled his leg, still half-asleep and listened to loud clanking of what seemed to be a very heavy chain. Then his mind kicked in and suddenly he breathed in the horrid smell of mildew and rotten wood that made him gag.
Marcus grabbed hold of the chain linked to the brace and the rest of his body woke up. Never has his body worked that fast so suddenly. He sat up, feeling his sweaty matted shirt breathe. Both of his hands' trembled, shaking the chain violently. He was scared. His hands traced the chain to it's origin from his ankle to the wall and placed both palms flat against. The walls were wet and chipping. He breathed harder and tried to use what energy he had to stand up, despite his questionable bruise. There was nothing to see at all but a black curtain of warm, rotten air. Marcus's eye were full to burst, eating as much of what he can see. He scanned the room; left and right, up and down until he came upon a glowing neon 'x' on what seemed to be the ceiling. His hands followed the wall to it's end where it hit a corner with another wall. He kept tracing the walls, bumping into four corners with four walls. Basic knowledge told him that he was chained in a room.
Marcus Flint collapsed back on his knees and crawled over to the wall. His back pressed against it, his body still shaking. Even with his screaming heart, he breathed in the warm air and closed his eyes.
There was a click and suddenly a full blast of light blinded his weary eyes. He groaned and covered them, but he could still see that he'd finally found the light. After what seemed like hours of feeling over rotting walls, he found the light switch. Marcus took a few seconds to adjust before he could actually find out where he was.
A light bulb hanging by a long wire from the ceiling dimmed a most gloomy setting. It was enough to see. There was something inside the bulb that resembled a large fly but he couldn't make it out. Marcus could finally see the room he was in. The walls were rotting and the floors stained by time. There were no windows or air vents but a single large wooden door. Unfortunately for him, he was right. Marcus was chained to the wall by a large metallic brace around his ankle that already began to swell into an ugly purple. There were two other things in the room; a long rusty hacksaw and a shiny tape recorder.
Marcus moved towards the tape recorder and tossed the hacksaw aside. The blade merely slid across the room elsewhere. He glanced at the small machine which had the inscribed words of play me on them, which he didn't hesitate to do.
"Hello Professor, or Marcus Flint as your favorite students call you." A creepy distorted voice hissed though the tape, making his right hand tremble. "I want to play a game. I've watched you for some time now and noticed how you reject the chance of the ideas of others to blossom like yours had the opportunity to shine."
Marcus eyebrows furrowed with both confusion and anger.
"So, as you've burned away the opportunity for others to grow, you will experience the fiery pain of accepting your undeserved failure. The key to your goals is in the light of your dreams. If you fail to reach your dreams then earn your freedom though the sharp and painful work that you also force your students to endure." The voice stopped and Marcus could make out soft breathing. "Don't forget 'x' marks the spot. Let's see if you'll sacrifice your hands for the work to burn, but be careful you'll need the light to see your achievements. Hurry before your laziness will smoke your goals. Let the games begin." There was a final click and the tape ended. Marcus breathed harder and he felt his pulse speed up. Never in his entire life has he heard of such false testimony. But he grinned and threw the recorder with all his furious might at the wall which shattered into many fragments.
"What Am I Doing Here?" He angrily shouted aloud pacing to and fro, his chain dangling behind his ankles. "I'm Did Nothing Wrong! Somebody! Please!"
Marcus vented off his anger splintering the damaged the walls until his knuckles were numb and sore. He raged about, cursing and questioning the situation. Suddenly he felt something sharp cut his bottom right foot and he collapsed on his left side with a yelp.
Marcus was beyond aggravation when he looked down at his right foot. It bore a deep cut. He growled in angst as he wrapped both hands around his right foot which didn't help at all since blood began to slip through his fingers. Marcus breathed in a full breath of stale air and flung the hacksaw at the wall as well.
The hacksaw only dangled and fell back to the floor, leaving a bloody groove in the wall. He laid his back on the floor and placed both hands on his head, breathing harder than ever. He didn't pay attention at all to the bulb that immediately began hissing with steam slowly rising from it. The bleeding began to cease, leaving a small red puddle on the floor. After closing his teary eyes he sat back up and looked around the room pathetically. Somehow, somewhere, he knew what this whole kidnapping was. He saw the reports and some news coverage only recently. It was whom they called Jigsaw and his games of death.
He hadn't at all noticed the absence of his memory. Apparently, he could remember nothing from the night before. But Marcus didn't have time to think, he didn't want to. He knew that the obvious way for the victims of these games to survive was if they sacrificed something they loved or needed for the sake to live. However, during one report which was held on national television, all victims had another chance survive without giving up anything at all; only their time, patience and mind to think. Almost all of the victims overlooked this obvious logic which they'd ended up having to choose a one way out, usually ending with a great amount of blood on their hands.
Marcus, however, wasn't your everyday man. He was a brilliant college professor at Morgan University, a good one as well. He taught many geniuses in the class of Scientific Engineering and Calculations, but he never rejected or refused the thought of any of his students, not once. Which is why the sudden boiling anger within him was not of the kidnapping itself but at the thought of this maniac referring to him as an obstacle to his students. He cherished his student's theories and ideas with a passion and has never rejected any in his career.
Marcus grunted and sat down, tearing off a long strip from his sweaty sleeve and wrapped it around his right foot. The sleeve immediately absorbed into a red color but he knew that if left alone, it would gradually heal. Marcus coughed and smelled a small hint of smoke in the air. He gazed around and much to his surprise the room was beginning to look quite hazy. He stood up, pain from both right foot and left ankle and glanced around for any clues.
Marcus recalled that these victims each had a clue that was an 'x' shaped mark. Those marks bore great hints for them. The voice said that same thing in the recording. He looked up and grinned at a small pale light yellow 'x' painted on the ceiling. It was very difficult to make out with the glare of the light bulb but he knew that it was there, he had the gut feeling that excited him. He remembered the glowing 'x' earlier on. The 'x' was right in the center of the ceiling with the light bulb swinging on the long wire that went through the middle of it.
His breathing started to burden him. He noticed that smoke began to rise from the suddenly bright bulb. Not only was it increasingly steaming but it indeed had something inside of it, now it turned out to be more of a sharp edged fly. He looked closer at the 'x', which was directly at the light, and tried his hardest to think of the riddle. His eyes burned as he stared in a deep trance or thought. The smoke was getting heavier and his heart more frantic. There was something he was missing, something that was too obvious for him to miss.
Marcus smiled an angry and cheesy grin when he saw it. It, a key that was hidden inside of the bulb. What looked like that sharp edged fly was actually a key for a lock, presumably the brace around his left leg. He laughed out loud in an angry cheer and frantically jumped. But he did not only feel the pain of stress on both feet but the insane burning of his hand when he grabbed the bulb to break it. He screamed in pain and fury when he fell down on his feet again. Instead of the bulb shattering with the key plummeting down, he heard the hard crash of his body and the dangling of his chain.
"Dammit That was stupid!" He growled and glanced down at this trembling and burning hand. He looked back up at the light, growing brighter and smokier, and cursed himself for not seeing it. The light bulb was probably too small so it couldn't hold that much power. Obviously it burned at the high temperature which lead to the rising smoke. He fought with the real idea that sooner or later the bulb will burn out. His freedom would be impossible then. He shot a quick glance at the hacksaw and chuckled. "No. I know better."
Marcus searched for the keyhole in his brace before taking off his shirt. He tore long strips and wrapped them around his hands. Since bulb is too hot to hold, a coat of protection is needed. He kept wrapping the strips from the shirt around until it covered both hands like thick mummified gloves. He looked up at the glaring bulb, as bright as it was, it looked as if it would give out at any moment. He thought to himself, there's a way for anybody to get what they want. All they have to do is think smart.
Marcus jumped up reaching towards the light until his face went pale with silent angst .He dropped back on his feet again and growled in pain from the sheer weight of the chain and the pressure on his bleeding foot. He looked at the floor and saw a bloody footprint under his right foot. Marcus breathed in warm determined air and jumped once more with a grimacing look on his face. His open palm was barely an inch away until he descended back on his feet. The chain clanked loudly and his right knee trembled. Once more he opened his gloved hand and jumped up leaving two bloody prints on the floor. Marcus Flint latched onto the bulb and squeezed.
There was a blinding flash with smoke clouding everywhere. Then Darkness draped it's body over his eyes. Marcus came down on his left side again and he heard the sound of broken glass tinkling down on the floor and the sizzle of the burnt out light.
Marcus groaned and rolled on his back. His eyes were shut closed, however he still felt the hot, smoky darkness embrace him. It became really hard to breathe once he began what was to be nonstop coughing. He opened his blanketed hand for the key but it wasn't there.
Cursing under his breath, he began to unroll the sleeves on his hands. They were numb and warm but nonetheless safe. Then he got on all fours and slowly swept his hands on the floor though the darkness like a blind broom. There was the occasional stinging of the broken glass that dug into his palms. He cringed and groaned, stopping to pick out any deep glass. kept crawling and felt something sharp and heavy on the floor. The hacksaw laid undisturbed until he ran his finger over the rusty warm side. The feeling drew icy shivers down his spine. The thought of many before him who hadn't thought slowly and chose the path of the saw had made him tremble. He kept on his way until he heard a small dingle beneath his coughing and rustling. The key was resting right before his left hand. There was a hidden smile in the shadows when he sat back up and brought the key towards the brace. There was a loud clank and the brace opened it's straining jaw.
Marcus slowly rose up with both feet sore and began to walk over the shattered glass and the blood, leaving the brace and the hacksaw in it's place forevermore. He reached forth and quickly grabbed the knob, still trembling and coughing, and walked out.