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The question game

By @Nikki17

The beginning

I wake up with a knife to my throat. It’s jagged edge getting pushed harder against my skin, causing little drops of blood to trickle down to my shirt collar. “Where is the book?” Shouts the man holding the knife. His voice sounds muffled, he must be wearing a mask. If he’d just quit shoving the knife into my throat I might be able to speak. “Sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about, maybe if you could just calm down, we could talk about this-this book without…..” “Stop your blabbering girl, and answer the question.” What in the world is he talking about? If it wasn’t so dark in my room, I could try to escape, if it also weren’t for the fact that a blade was digging into my throat. Ok, ok, think Rika, think. He has one hand around my neck, holding the knife, and the other, is….”I know what you’re thinking Rika, but there is no escape from this.” Why does that sound familiar? “How do you know my name?” I can feel his body shake against my back. He must be laughing. “Because I know you, even though you don’t know me. I know your every move, your every plan, you’re every thought. And if you don’t answer this question right, then you are no more.” What is this guy talking about? “What do you mean?” I ask. “Where is the book, Rika?” He whispers in my ear. I shudder from his warm breath, trying to pull away, but he just pushes the knife harder into my skin. “Youre time is up Rika, answer the question.” He says, with a taunting edge to his voice. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, can’t we..” “Wrong answer, goodbye Rika.” And a hot burning pain erupts from my throat, the black knife choking me on my own blood as it goes through my neck. I try to breathe, but instead I suffocate on my own blood. The blackness of the room closes in on me as I take my last breath. ————————*——————— I wake up with a gasp, and my hands clutch my throat, my fingers sliding over something hot and slippery. I look down at my hands dreading the moment when I see blood. But it’s not blood. It’s sweat. A chilling relief floods through my center and works its way into my chest. But my heart is still racing, and my hands are still shaking. It was just a nightmare. Just a bad dream. A terrifying dream, but it wasn’t real, you are fine, you are alive, I tell myself. I reach over my bed to my nightstand and check to see if there is a glass of water, but instead find a black jagged knife embedded in the middle of a leather book. I gulp, trying to not scream, as realization creeps in. There is a note hanging off the knife’s handle and I slowly pick it up, fingers shaking. In a scrawled blood red color. The note reads: “ Don’t think that this is all a dream Rika, it is not, and if you answer my next question wrong, you will die. Be ready, be prepared, we will be watching.” And all I can think about is blood, all that blood. So much, oceans of blood. Drowning in red. And then another thought creeps it’s way into my head, until I’m whispering it aloud, my body crouched down on the floor, grand between my knees. “It was real, it was all real, it’s not a dream. It never was.”

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