25 Hour Watch

The fall to the ground jolted Shadow Dart back to conciseness; it would’ve hurt if Shadow was capable of feeling more pain.  “Did you really think you could beat me?”  A man whispered into his ear.  Who was that?  Why did that voice sound so familiar? Shadow thought trying to put a name to the voice; but he couldn’t focus on anything, except the pain.

How did I get myself into this mess?  Shadow should’ve been the champion right now.  What went wrong? He tried to remember what was happening, but the last few minutes were shrouded in a haze.  His memory was like a stone fortress he couldn’t penetrate.  The last thing he recalled was winning the Game.  Akaikuma was a tough opponent, but somehow he had beaten the odds.  Shadow was basking in the glory of winning, all eyes were on him.  The crowd cheering for the new champion of the Game was deafening.  If Rocky Balboa was a real person, this is how he would’ve felt.  Shadow wished time could’ve stopped or at least slowed down, especially since a few seconds later everything started to go wrong. The crowd suddenly disappeared, the Coliseum becoming eerily quiet.  A mist, the color of night, blanketed the stadium like a Seattle spring morning.  This mist is as thick as pea soup; or maybe thicker, something akin to clam chowder.  Shadow remembered thinking.

The next thing Shadow knew he was sprawled face down on the ground.  The good news was, the mist was gone, but he was having a hard time thinking positive at the moment.  I must have about a thousand cuts across my body. That is, at the very least, how Shadow felt.  “You know it didn’t have to be like this?  If only you followed the rules, you would be at home with your prize money right now.”  The mystery voice said.  “Please just end it,” Shadow begged, his voice sounding weak and fragile.  “What did you say?” The man yelled, his voice echoing around the Coliseum.  He sent a sharp kick into Shadow’s ribs.  Shadow rolled onto his back coughing up blood. He was unable to breath, unable to think of anything else besides the waves of pain going through his body.  Although he could barely open his eyes, he finally caught a glimpse of the mystery man.  The man looked like he had lost the plot, and gone crazy.  His brown eyes were blood shot, and glossy; his face looked gaunt with starvation; and his black hair was covered in blood, probably Shadow’s.  The gold and white, armor and sword; was, also, splattered with blood. Shadow felt he should know this mystery man, but he couldn’t remember the name.  “If only you had played by the rules, but NO you had to defy me.  Look where it has landed you.”  The man said, laying extra emphasis on “NO.”  I need my sword, Shadow thought, I need to protect myself.  He tried to look for his sword, but the slightest movement sent another wave of pain through his body. Soon this guy would be done torturing him, and this nightmare would end.  “I think it is time for you to die,” the man said as if reading Shadow’s thoughts, “This is game over.”

Three months ago

Kemper’s day started out normal.  It was raining outside, but that was usual for a spring morning in Seattle.  The alarm went off right on time, his hand automatically hitting the snooze button.  He did some sleepy calculations, and figured another 15 minutes of sleep wouldn’t hurt.  He was asleep for, what felt like, a few seconds; when his mother called up from downstairs.  “Honey, you better be a wake and dressed, or you’re going to be late for school.”  Oh @%*!, Kemper thought as he took off running for the shower, stupid alarm clock never works. In the shower he ran through a mental check list making sure he didn’t forget anything:  Water right temperature, check; shampoo in hair, check; rinse hair, check; brush teeth, check.  Kemper felt like he was forgetting to do something; oh, wash and rinse body, check.

He felt rejuvenated and prepared for the day, after his five minute shower.  Utilizing one of his better talents, he raced towards his room, while drying off with a towel.   After quickly dressing himself in the school uniform, he took a few seconds to admire himself in the mirror.  I may not be good at sports, I may not have the best grades, I may not be one of the popular kids; but I sure do look good.  Kemper thought, despite the best efforts of the school colors to prove otherwise.  The uniform consisted of a white cotton shirt, navy blue coat and pants, and an ugly navy blue and maroon striped tie.  It just didn’t seem to go well with his dirty blond hair; or his “ocean,” as a girl once described them, blue eyes.  If only girls would notice me, the thought seemed to appear out of thin air.

After the few second pause to build his ego he took off towards the kitchen, grabbing his senior pin as he left his room.  “Don’t forget your lunch,” Kemper’s mom said as he entered the kitchen.  He grabbed his backpack and the brown bag, containing his lunch, off the table and rushed for the front door, barely pausing to grab his umbrella.  “Don’t forget you have your tutor this afternoon,” Kemper’s mom yelled as the door closed behind him.  “I won’t,” Kemper yelled back, popping open his umbrella, and starting the long trek towards school.

School proved to be worse than usual. It started with; “yes, sir, I know I am late,” and “No, sir, it won’t happen again.”  It progressively went from bad to worse.  In English a five page paper was assigned.  A pop quiz was given in Algebra 2, which he failed.  In P.E. they played baseball, where he ended up letting go of the bat mid-swing, hitting Jake Stoll in the face. The only break to the torture came during lunch.  His lunch was the usual; a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a bag of chips, and a coke. Kemper looked up from his lunch, when Matt, his best friend, sat down.  “Man you’ve had rough today,” Matt said trying to be sympathetic, as he unpacked his lunch from a similar looking brown bag.

“Thanks for reminding me,” Kemper said trying not to sound too depressed after the Algebra quiz and the P.E. fiasco.

“’Sounds like someone has the case of the Mondays.”’ Matt quoted, making Kemper smile.  “I know something that might cheer you up.”

“Doubt it.”

“Remember how I was telling you about the Game?”  Of course Kemper new about the Game, it’s all anyone talks about anymore.

“What about it?” Kemper asked, not really carrying.  He wasn’t much of an online gamer, and considered most online games a waste of time.

“The first tournament has just ended and next week the new one starts.”  Matt said enthusiastically.

“Did the winner really get paid?”

“Yep, he was on the news last night talking about his plans for the $20,000.” Matt spent the rest of lunch chatting about how great the Game is, and how awesome it would be if Kemper joined.  Kemper was glad the conversation didn’t require much input from him, because he couldn’t stop thinking about his horrible day.  This day can’t get much worse.

He, of course, was wrong.  After lunch, the torture started once again. In history another five page paper was assigned on the Vietnam War.  In Physics he had to do a presentation on inertia, which he completely spaced, and just kind of winged it.  Kemper was having wild day dreams about ways this day could get worse, when the final bell rang.

He was walking home feeling suicidal, when on impulse he decided to buy the Game.  He needed to find some way to escape his life, even for one second.  Who knows? Matt might be right, it could be fun.  At least this online game has a conclusion, unlike most online games.  Kemper thought to himself as he purchased the Game.  That night he made a huge mistake; he booted up the game and created Shadow Dart.