You’re Next

It wasn’t my fault

     “It wasn’t my fault,” Max whispered as he laid down. Sleep faught him for hours. 

     He woke standing in a circle outlined with white light. The room was pitch black dark. Though he didn’t move, his body told him he couldn’t. He was slightly scared. Curious. Worried. Nervous. 

     A heavy masculine voice filled the space, cutting him to the bone. “You’re too soft. You’re getting weak.”

     “I don’t understand.”

     “You’re a showman. You’re supposed to be entertaining. No one wants to spin the wheel. Your job is to make duty durable.”

     “Weak.” A second voice whispered. 

      “Soft.” Spoke another. 

     “I don’t understand.” Max pleaded. 

     The image of him hugging the street pole appeared. “Weak.” The voices hissed. The image of him cradling the mother appeared, “soft”, the voices hissed. 

     Max was being torn apart, he knew it wasn’t wrong to show compassion. He knew it wasn’t wrong to care. But here the powers that be were telling him otherwise. ‘These are the powers that be’? He questioned himself. 

     Max woke, lying prone in the bed, light pouring through the window. With his eyes he looked toward the window, ‘what’? He didn’t have a window. He lived at the studio in a small apartment provided by the state. There were no windows. 

     A woman who looked very much like the lady that threw the rock at him walked through the room, tearing open the curtains. Max whipped his head around hiding it from the blinding light. 

     “Daddy, daddy, daddy.” Filled the room as a small boy jumped on the bed. “Get up daddy.”

     “This letter arrived for you.” The woman smiled handing him the letter. “Come,” the boy jumped into her outstretched arms, “let’s give daddy a few minutes.” They left the room. 

      Max turned the letter over in his hands before he opened it. Inside it read, “this is your punishment for getting too weak and too soft. This IS your fault.”

The End