The White Games

2) Chapter Two

#10 Clarice Barron - Day One - 12:15 PM

As the screen of my datapad flickers off and silence returns to the empty suburban street where I find myself, I slowly come to terms with what is happening around me. That twisted psycho Mr. White has trapped us all inside his Games. And there's no other way to say it, we are all about to die.

There's absolutely no chance that we avoid killing one another. That all twenty-four of us take a vow of non-violence. I know from past life experience that all it takes is a little fear and desperation to turn any one person into a murderer. I am not exempt from this possibility.

Killing another person is something I'm perfectly capable of doing. Even without the knowledge that my head will explode if I refuse. And as it happens, I do have the knowledge that my head will explode if I don't.

So really, I have no choice at all.

I keep close to the perfectly white picket fence as I follow along the edge of the streets. Just fifteen minutes ago I woke up inside this strange house with no idea what happened or where I was. Hell, I still don't. But Mr. White at least gave me some directive.

Bright sunlight sings down from the intensely happy sun that hangs in the sky like a lamp. The houses that line the street-all with the same perfect look that these type of suburbs usually have-reflect the light back into the sky. It's such a cheerful, happy scene.

It makes me feel a little dead inside.

I walk the empty sidewalks, uncertain on where to go. Mr. White said that there are twenty-three other people on this island, and my datapad says the same. But then where are they? And how big is this island? I wouldn't even know it was an island if Mr. White hadn't said so. All I can see is a seemingly endless collection of houses.

And then, if I do find the others, how am I supposed to fight them? I have no weapons. Nothing at all beyond the clothes on my body. How the hell does Mr. White expect us to kill one another? With our bare hands?

Unable to figure this out, and wanting a better plan then just walking, I slip into the yard of one of the houses and crouch in the meager shade offered by the picket fence. It's better to stop and think of a plan before just wandering around aimlessly.

Mr. White said that people were going to be watching these games on the internet. I lift my head, looking around at the house that looms over me. I search for camera's or wires, anything that would show that Mr. White is recording this, but I don't see anything. Damn. That rules out any plan I may have made with that. Still...

No matter how hard I try to think of a plan, my mind keeps drifting away from the situation at hand. There's too many unanswered questions. Too many unknowns. How long have we been here, for one? It feels like just yesterday that I was anxiously counting down the days to my eighteenth birthday, waiting for the chance to get away from the foster home and gain my freedom. It was so close. I was so close to living like a normal person...So close.

But now I'm here. Kidnapped by a sociopath, trapped on an island, forced to play a game where all the losers die. Mr. White said that our families would be watching, that people would tearfully watch us all die. Well, that's not the case for me. I have no family. No one who cares about me. I could die and no one would bat an eye. I don't think anyone even realizes I'm gone. Why should they?

But despite this all, I still experience a bubbling rage when I think of Mr. White. He took my life away. It was the only thing I had, the only thing I wanted. And he knows. I read the "Fun Fact" he chose for me. He knew how I was going to feel about him before he even introduced himself. Mr. White is perceptive, I'll give him that.