%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 As the first blog entry got exhausted. My second book |
| Evolution of Love Part 2 |
| *Handcuffs* Day 10: “I want to play a game.” — Saw (2004) The dull hum of the city fades with the slam of the elevator door. It stinks inside—a sharp tang of chlorine and something under it, sticky and old. Rachel jabs at the “close” button, knuckles white, her breath shallow. She’s alone except for her reflection, which glares at her through the smudged steel walls. Or so she thinks. The elevator halts with a jolt, pitching her forward. The lights flicker, then settle into a tired yellow gloom. A speaker crackles in the ceiling, releasing a voice that slides like oil through the cramped space. “I want to play a game.” Rachel’s mouth dries instantly. She knows that voice. Everyone knows that voice. She shrinks into the corner, searching for a camera’s eye, for someone—anyone—to call out to. But the only answer is a mechanical whirr. The screen above the floor buttons changes. A maze appears, drawn in digital green lines, its walls bristling with symbols. Her own name pulses in red at the entrance. “There’s only one exit. Solve the maze in five minutes, or the doors will never open again,” the voice purrs. No phone. No signal. Rachel’s fingers tremble as she fights to focus. She presses the screen, tracing her path—wrong turn. The lights flicker again. A low hiss drifts up through the grates under her feet. It smells like burnt plastic. Look closer. She squints. There—tiny clues in the corners, numbers half-hidden in the lines. Her mind races, a flurry of shapes and logic, half-forgotten memory tricks from childhood. The hiss grows louder. Her palms sweat. Clock’s ticking, Rachel. A sudden memory—her father’s voice teaching her to always look for the pattern, the exit in every puzzle. She wipes her hand on her jeans, tries again. Left, up, right, two squares over—her heart stumbles with each tap. Forty seconds left. She draws in a shaky breath, tries to quiet the screaming in her head. A beep. The maze glows open. The doors shudder, but refuse to part. She slams her fists against them in desperation. “Congratulations,” the voice says, no warmth at all, “You solved my puzzle. But I didn’t say the game was over.” The floor drops with a screech, the world spins, and for one horrifying moment, Rachel’s falling. Falling into darkness scented with chlorine and fear, with the tinny echo of that voice as her only company. “Ready for round two?” And the lights go out. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
