Before speaking, the narrator gave a deep breath and sighing as he flipped through the script.

I, the narrator of this narrator going to narrate this, will let the narrator continue.

“Coming to his senses, John realized what he had done. His mind scrambled, thinking about what to do after this. Should I escape, wear a wig, live my life as an old lady? He thought, but laughing at that idea a moment later.”

A puppet theater arose from the dark room into the spotlight. Gray skyscrapers were painted on the back carvings. The bottom completely black. Showing a dystopian world, it ended before it could begin. It being bombed in front of you.

It might’ve been intentional, who actually knew if it ended. Perhaps this was part of the theater.

The TV turned on again and showed the countryside.

“In this silent paradise a train rumbled through the trees to the fields, the cows chewing the grass, pigs rolling in the mud, and a man fishing in the small pond.”

Flickering, the TV showed a man setting down his fishing rod and reach for his book.

The book was quite worn out yet still looked cared for. Acting 101, huh.

The TV screen was not flickering at this time, the lamp was. Yet you concentrated on the screen, as you were told to, you saw something as your eyes strained to blink. The man in the countryside was facing the screen. His gaze piercing you, even when distanced, it was almost threatening.

He mouthed something towards the screen, towards you. ‘Not the chosen but the alternative.’ You couldn’t read the words before that but you were sure that he was addressing you and you only.

“The man suddenly had a heart attack, despite his healthy nature. No one around to help him he laid there, experiencing terrible pain.”

The last sentence sounded personal and a bit glad that the man was dead now.

The room suddenly made you feel a chill down your spin, well, to be exact it wasn’t the room but the nature of the room. A gut feeling told you that the man died of unnatural causes.

The lamp above you flickered yet again. You didn’t like this anymore. Despite being strapped to a chair you tried to move, to escape.

Tipping the chair, you fell to the cold, concrete ground. You were scooting, hopping almost, to the small crevice in the wall. Your hand reaching for it and- feeling a harsh pain you wince. You instinctively look up to see the source of pain, it’s a man. Not the man from the screen, he died from the heart attack.

The man smiled with crescent eyes. When he spoke you instantly recognized him. The man who was narrating in the TV. Crushing your hand he stopped. But that didn’t make you any less afraid.

“Please don’t do anything to-“

Last words, and thing, you can remember is him looking down coldly while saying good luck.