Sometimes I like to pretend that I'm on camera.
And that I've done this take, this scene about a hundred times already.
And everyone in the room is on the edge of their seat; an audience holding their breath, their applause; in the hopes that this'll be the one, the last take, the one where I don't mess up.
My audience of cameras and fake crewmen comfort more than the anxious situation I'm desperate to hide, though the tensions and doubts are all the same.
The next move I make, the next emotion I show, the next word I say-
Will determine the fate of the scene.
Maybe the director will just scrap it, since it clearly cannot be performed.
Or maybe, just maybe, this'll be the one.
The take where the mistake never appears.
When the rehearsed lines finally form on a fleeting breath...
If only I were acting for cameras.
If only masking one's emotions and tears were a role to play.
For there are no cameras here.
Only the anxiety and those who've caused it are waiting for my lines. And I shall not disappoint.
For an actress has her tricks and not all lines are rehearsed. Improvisation is the game and we must all learn to play it.
"Where are they?" The burly man asks again but I can only laugh, blood dripping from my nose and gashed face. He flashes a false smile in response before slapping me fiercely, my vision blurring to black with only the white spots dancing like fireflies under my eyelids to keep me company. I feel dizzy and my arms burn; they are tied together and hung over a metal meat hook above me, my feet barely touching the floor. Once I regain my vision I can see that the man and his colleagues are anything but pleased with me, making me smile once more at them.
The burly man steps forward once more and gives me a slamming punch with a knife in hand, right into my side, making my head spin. I feel the jagged edge ripping through my skin and I'm screaming again, my eyes on his arm. The tattoos of snakes seem to slither up and into the air, dancing on my blurred vision as I gag at the stench of my own blood. One of the men, one with dark brown hair and two piercings on his nose places a hand on the tattooed one's shoulder.
"That's enough," He says.
"She doesn't know anything." Another man, with a scar running from his collar bone to his left eye agrees. The three seemed to chatter contently for a few seconds longer before the torturing man points to me as they leave.
"We will find the rest of your group. And we will kill them." He says, a sickening smile lighting up his face. I hear the screams of past victims and smell their sorrows from his clothes and the door to my cell closes. I am left with only a whisper.
I have killed and I will kill again.
A secret that stings at my eyes and unleashes a feeling of terror that I have never felt before.
"Help, anybody please! Help us!" Noah cries, banging on the door with bruised fists. Jeremy sits just a few feet away, arms crossed, eyes closed.
"Give it a rest, Noah. No one's coming." He says quietly and Noah slumps against the metal prison, hope sparkling in his eyes.
"But what about Jack?" He tries. Jeremy opens his eyes and stares at his brother, a cruel stoic expression on his face.
"Jack? He's the one who brought us here. Why would he save us?" He hisses, making Noah come close to tears.
"But what about Zek-"
"Don't!" Jeremy shouts, jumping up from his seat. Noah begins to cry again and Jeremy softens his tone just a bit.
"Just. Don't." He says sternly, though ended his words with a sigh, walking to and sitting next to his brother. He puts a hand into Noah's light brown locks and strokes them, calming the boy completely.
"I miss Penny." Came his choked sob. Jeremy frowns and leans his head back against the door.
"Me too." He whispers as the sound of footsteps came closer.
Jeremy, Noah, where are you?
Are you okay?
How foolish I'd been, trusting that boy. Trusting him so casually, so easily!
Those dark eyes and false smile, lips that spoke of a promise of protection.
But at what cost?
Our freedom? Our lives?
No, it wasn't even that much-
He never wanted to protect us; he just wanted his brother back. We were the price he had to pay for the life of another.
No, no no no no no no-
He can't even begin to understand that price, because I know, I know what it takes to sacrifice so much for another, to value their life above your own, to risk it all and still not be the one to perish in the flames in the end.
Even on the forefront of war, I still manage to be the last on the battlefield.
Not this time.
"Let go! Let go of me, you bastards!" Jeremy shouts, thrashing against his captors. The two men just laugh, dragging him across the floor by his forearms, his sneakers squeaking along the tile. The sound of Noah's cries were getting louder and louder by the minute and Jeremy fought endlessly to calm his brother.
"Noah, it's okay. You're okay, we're gunna be fine." He calls, glancing over his shoulder to see his brother being dragged ahead of him. One man laughs even harder at this and tugs on Jeremy's arm extra hard to pull him up- to see Noah's tear streaked face. Though an audible popping noise was all he got, along with a howl of pain from the boy.
"M-My shoulder..." Jeremy grunts through gritted teeth. The man only grins down at him.
"Makes it easier for choppin', you know?"
Jeremy's brows furrow in confusion. Chopping? What did he mean?
Suddenly lights flicker on over head and they enter a hallway with only glass lining on either side. Large windows that look into what could only be described as a horror show.
Piercing screams of a child being tossed onto a weathered and stained metal slab, two men holding his arms and legs down, a third raising a butcher knife-
"CLOSE YOUR EYES!" Jeremy screams to Noah, and can only hope he did as he was told; just this once.
His only reply is the sound of blood splattering across the glass, and the muffled cries of a dying soul.
Panic slowly rips through me; I am suddenly desperate for escape, wriggling my hands in their ropey prison above my head, sneakers scratching helplessly on the floor, the gash along my side bleeding continuously.
They are bleeding me out like a pig.
Like an animal.
Though I suppose that's all we are in the end. Scavengers picking off the weak, we are Darwinism in the making, evolution is happening now.
I swing back and forth, gaining momentum each time, before my feet come in contact with a wall. I push off and I'm thrown forward, my arms stinging with exhaustion. I swing slowly to a stop, my chest heaving, my heart pumping fast. The rope won't break.
It was time for plan B.
Screaming, I'm screaming as loud as I can, swinging as fast as I can, kicking off the cement wall behind me. The small square and barred opening on the door is covered, the little light that was shining in before now gone and leaving me in darkness. Immediately the door is opened and in steps my favorite torturer- the burly tattooed man. His grin says it all.
It wouldn't matter if I was killed on the spot right now.
They've got other fish to fry or rather,
People to eat.
He runs at me, probably hoping to snap my neck quickly and easily, but I have found my advantage. Just as he is close enough I kick off the wall and nail him right in the face with a nasty kick. He stumbles back, almost falling but just not quite enough. Zeke always did say I was a light weight.
"Now you've done it!" He yells, sporting a bloody nose and a snarl. He runs at me again and that's when I realize I haven't really thought this through. Had I been expecting to knock him out with one hit?
He wraps his grimy hands around my waist and digs into my side, making me scream. The fresh wound only opens wider and throbs as he pushes on it hard.
He smiles as tears escape my eyes and I grit my teeth, attempting to kick him, but he's holding me too tight. I'm losing my breath, my blood, my tears.
Though as suddenly as it began, it stops. The man's smile fades into one of anguish and his hands slip from my body as he staggers back a few steps, then finally falls forward, face flat on the ground.
A knife protrudes from his back, a puddle slowly forming around his corpse and a silhouette stands in the doorway.
His name stumbles out of my mouth in a hot rush of emotion-
Relief, anger, confusion- but most of all-
Fear.
"Jack."
Secret Ten:
All crimes are punishable by death.