Faceclaim (ONC 2022, Completed, Shortlisted)

8: Where Are You Going?

Daniel imagined waterfalls and capybaras around him on the well-lit stage. With wonder in his eyes, true to the spirit of Prince Ramon, he looked out over the bare space, picturing it covered in gold and gemstones. While letting his vivid imagination--which had helped him escape bullies as a child and probably part of the reason for his acting prowess--take him away, Daniel forgot where he was and why. It was only him and the stage.

He was in his element. He was a golden god, despite his golden curls now sporting a more muted shade of dirty black.

"I am the prince," he said as he gazed in awe upon the non-existing walls of glimmering gold. The heavy peacock feather atop the ridiculous hat that he'd found in the drawer of stage wear fell down over his face. Daniel decided to make it part of the scene and swooped the offending adornment away as he looked up with an intent gaze into the distance. "I'm Prince Ramon of Eldorado. I've come to claim my castle and my armies."

He said the words loud and clear. He almost believed them. He almost was Prince Ramon.

Smattering applauds came in response to his glorious performance. A sense of pride instilled itself in Daniel's chest.

He caught himself. This was nothing to be proud of. He was a captive and his only goal should be freedom. Was he starting to suffer Stockholm Syndrome?

This could not be. Daniel Shephard was no one's slave. Well, unless it was a really handsome guy in a game for adults.

Darkness fell over the stage as the scene ended.

Daniel took the moment to strike. His eyes adjusted a bit better to the dark than during the previous scene and he thought he saw something in the distance. A door. So in a rolling move--reminiscent of Björn the Bearslayer tumbling down a snowy hill to escape his mortal enemy Olle the Hunter--Daniel made his way off the stage.

The carpet below him was soft and smelled of dust. But there was also another familiar scent to it. Salt and grease. Popcorn. Perhaps this had been a movie theater before it was turned into a prison for unfortunate actors. Or at least one very unfortunate, and very angry, actor.

Daniel crawled forward as quickly as he could without making any sounds that would call attention to his escape attempt. If only he could make it to the door before the light went back on again and revealed his position.

His heart pounded. He was alive. So alive.

The trumpeting sleeves of his shirt slowed him down as they kept rolling down over his hands. Whoever had designed that sweater was obviously not a fan of functionality or style.

"Gah," he muttered as the sleeve once again got caught over his hand. Then he caught himself. Fuck! Daniel laid perfectly still, putting the offending sleeve between his teeth, as he hoped his unnecessary noise hadn't been heard.

One second.

Daniel bit down on the salty carpet as he waited.

Two seconds.

He thought he heard a shuffling behind him.

Three seconds.

A faint light turned on behind him.

Something hard and metallic was pointed between his shoulder blades. The sensation was familiar. It reminded him of when he'd played a bank robber caught by the police in a stage adaptation of the Great Train Robbery. But perhaps this wasn't a stage gun.

This was real. Or at least it could be. A real threat to his real life.

Daniel didn't breathe. He didn't speak. He didn't even feel his heart beating. Everything stood still as he tried to grapple with this very real threat. He might even have peed himself slightly, although he would never admit it.

"Where are you going, Daniel?" an all-too-familiar voice asked just as Daniel thought that maybe he'd died already. "The story isn't done yet."

Daniel flayed out his arms in a gesture of surrender. All he wanted was to live. All he wanted was to hug his sister and niece again.

The long white sleeves fluttered around him, like toilet paper flung across the dirty carpet. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, and it was true. He was sorry for his foolishness, but not for his opposition. He was sorry he hadn't taken the situation seriously enough.

The metal pipe lifted slightly. "Turn around," the actor told him coldly.

Daniel did as he was told. The space was still dark, only lit by the light from the hallway to the room where he was kept captured. A few feet from him, a silhouette of a person walked away, holding something that looked like a rifle in their hand. Their clothes were dark and covered them from top to toe. A robe perhaps, but who were robes these days?

But who took a person captive for the sole purpose of acting out their story? That certainly was a worse offense than their choice of clothing.

"Go back into your room," the author commanded him, pointing with the perhaps-real gun toward the corridor.

Quickly, Daniel scrambled to his feet and obeyed the order. Obeying was what he would do. He would obey, but not give in, and he would get out of this lunatic's prison of imagination.

His hands shook uncontrollably as he walked toward the faint light. His heart once again beat. It beat loud and fast. It beat to tell him he was still alive.

Scottish moors and red bobbing braids whirled through his imagination. A visualization of what was at the other end of this nightmare. No purple tights or press conferences existed in that idealized future.

Author's Note: I guess that got a bit darker than usual for this story. Gotta make sure Daniel and the author don't get too chummy with each other!