Travis
“Travis, you’re next.”
“F (beep) you man.” The camera caught what Travis was saying and beeped out the offending word. The pendent was still on the hurricane. “I’m not spinning this thing.” The fake audience gasped.
Max hung his head, “it’s the law Travis. We all have to spin the wheel.”
“Remember Blizzard Berry? Three people died. Berry was my dad.” Travis grabbed his crotch with one hand, flipping off the camera with the other. “F (beep) you.”
“Are you refusing to spin the wheel?” Max calmly asked.
“F (beep) you motherf (beep) and this f (beeping) wheel. F (beep) the (beeeeeeeep).”
The floor under Travis opened and he disappeared. Travis reappeared encased in a glass box. He was pounding it with his fists. It was easy to tell he was screaming as he fought the glass.
“The law states that if any resident of Academy refuses to spin the wheel, the next citizen in line will spin for him.” A frail little woman staggered on stage. Max spoke sweetly to her, “remember mother, it must go all the way around.”
She grabbed the wheel with such force that she fell upon letting it go. Max dropped the microphone to help her up. The pointer hung on hurricane. “It has to go all the way around.” Max said in a hushed tone. There was just enough momentum for the peg to move. “Heat wave,” he let his breath out.
Travis, still fighting his glass prison; disappeared from the stage, camera one. Reappearing on the roof, camera two. A thermometer on the corner of the screen was showing the temperature as it climbed. After an hour of being on the roof, in a glass box during a heat wave, Travis stopped fighting, leaving blood trails down the glass as he melted to the bottom.
As the sun began to sink, no one could tell of Travis still lived.
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