“So, who’s going to die today?”

His voice is as cold as the room that we occupy. A chill runs up my spine, yet I can tell if it’s this underground prison we sit in, or if it’s the haunting tone in his voice that causes it.

Silence is all that fills the room, aside from the _very_ lucky many of us who unexpectedly woke up in this miserable place a week ago. And his obnoxious tapping foot which I assume is a display of his impatience.

Hah, impatience. Not a quality we all have the luxury to experience. For us prisoners, there is no reason to be impatient. We consider ourselves dead already. No reason to keep track of time.

Was it a week since we found ourselves here? It’s been too long. Time has condensed into nothing more than the endless loop of what is my life.

_I don’t want to die._ None of us do. Yet, each passing day, one of us leaves this world, their soul moves on but the lifeless bodies stays in the corner of the room. A reminder of our inevitable fate. Of what I will soon experience.

And somehow, me and my best friend and in the same place. _One of us will watch the other die._ I can only picture her passing body before me, my eyes filling with overwhelming tears, screams tearing from my throat as death rips her away from me.

We were best friends throughout half our lives. I squeeze her hand, as we try to conceal the action behind our backs. I feel her hand shake with every second that passes.

His chilling voice pulls me out of my stupor. “I said,” his voice now harsh. Angry. “_Who is going to die today?”_

__

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Silence_. _

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Our heads are bowed down, eyes finding the floor. Nobody is ready for the moment that awaits us.

“This isn’t right,” my friend leans into my ear, her words no more than a breath. “We need to get out of here.” She is scared, and I understand. I understand her. I squeeze her unsteady hand tighter.

His icy eyes find hers. They are now trained on her. Fixated. _He heard her. _

__

_“_And, what is your name?” He drawls. I try to resist the urge to roll my eyes.

She remains silent. Her eyes are stuck staring at the silver sword at his side. We know what is near.

“My patience is running out,” he urges. “What is your name?”

Yet she refuses to answer. And his patience has slipped away from him. He raises his sword, and despite the emotions rising to the surface of me, I shove them down for my own sake. There’s nothing I can do.

_All I can do is simply watch. _

He drags the sword around the stone floor, it’s loud scratches arranging my ears. The hallucinations of her dying before my eyes threaten to become reality.

Several daunting seconds tick by.

Without a single thought, a single warning, he plunges the sword through her. Her eyes widen, and immediatley relax after his sword is pulled back to his side, bright blood paints the tip. _Her blood. _

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_We stare at her lifeless body. _He takes a lengthy breath. Her hand grows limp and cold in mine. __

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“So who was it that died today?” He yells, his voice echoing around the stone walls. Most of the room won’t know. Yet I will. And it will be etched into my memory until I join her, following the same fate. “Nobody knows. I’ll call her 52. My fifty-second kill.” He chuckles to himself at the thought.

He never got her name. He would never know. _He never would care. _

And all she will ever be was a part of this sick joy this man calls murder. His sick game. How may can he kill? Who’s life does he take?

The lights shut off, leaving us to the dark, knowing the next day another one of us will meet our end.

And maybe tomorrow it will be me. _Maybe I’ll be lucky number 53._

Thank you for any feedback, and thanks for reading!