The Clock Starts

The clock starts.

I burst into consciousness with a gasp. Where am I this time? I look around. I’m inside a

glass box. It’s cold. The light is bright. I’ve been counting.

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

Conscious again, I take a deep breath. There’s water. Up to my ankles. It’s freezing. I

can’t feel my feet. More water is coming into the box. This isn’t going to be pleasant.

10 seconds again.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

Deep breath in. The light makes it difficult to see, but there are other upright,

rectangular structures around me. How many others made it?

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

Breathe. Water past my knees now. The box is just wide enough to stand in and

extends over my head. Bad news. I can hear a roar. The crowd.

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

Breath. It’s halfway up my thighs. So cold. Time is passing. 10 seconds of

consciousness then a gap. Who knows how long? Time is running out. I need to do

something.

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

Inhale. My legs are numb. Not a good sign. I need to find a way out. I bang on the sides.

Nothing. I bang harder. Still nothing.

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

I pull air in. With my exhale, I order my legs to push upwards. They collapse under me.

Fuck. I start to panic. I’m not sure if I’ll make it.

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

In-out. In-out. My rapid breathing is loud in the confines of the box. The water is at my

hips. I can’t think clearly. What should I do?!

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

Deep breath. The water is at my waist, and I start to lift slightly. I know what to do! I will

float! Maybe, just maybe, I’ll float to the top of the box.

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

I take a calm breath. I am passive, but purposeful. Still cold. So cold. But maybe this will

work. I wrap my arms around me to conserve the little body heat I have left.

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

Breathe. My body temperature is falling, but I rise. The water is slowly pushing me up

the side of the box. I think this might work!

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

My outward breath mists the glass. Still rising, I turn my head slightly and try to look out

at the other boxes. Not as many as before. Fewer every time. How many of us will make

it through?

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

Breathe in. The water is slowly pushing me up the side of the box. I hear the crowd

again. Yelling. Cheering. Exhorting. I have no idea how long I have been drowning for

their entertainment.

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

Breathe. I rise. Slowly. Painfully slowly. I notice the clock hanging mid-air outside the

box. Of course; the timer. How long do I have left?

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

I gasp in panic. How long do I have left?! I try to see the digital countdown. 10 minutes?

One? I need to get out!

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. What do I need to do?! I should know. I need to

remember. It’s important. Life or death, really, and not just mine.

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

I try to calm my breath. Think. Panicking won’t help. I need to focus but there are so

many distractions. The cold. Imminent death. The constant roar of the crowd. Why won’t

they stop?!

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

Painful breaths. The icy water around my chest makes it difficult to breathe. I’m still

rising, but not as quickly as the water.

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

Adrenaline keeps me breathing. I look at the timer again. Is that 30 seconds? 3

minutes? Is it counting down? Or up? How long are the gaps? Pointless questions. I just

need to get out!

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

Breath. The top of the box seems as far away as ever. I try to focus on the reason why

I’m here. She needs me. I have to survive.

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

Small, shuddering inhales. The sound of the crowd is growing. Their excitement builds

as they gamble on my life - our lives - in the spaces between my consciousness. A

game to them, but life and death for so many others.

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

Breathing is getting difficult. My limbs are useless dead things intent on dragging me

down. What can I do? I start to despair.

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

Try to breathe. I can make out shapes in some of the other boxes. Some are moving

frantically. Others seem to be floating, like myself. Others still are puddled at the bottom

of their box. Dead. That could be me.

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

A gasp as the water hits the bottom of my chin. Focus. I need to focus. I’m finding it

hard to think. But I see something I should have noticed before. Is this the way out?

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

Trying not to inhale the water, I find the inlet pipe. Once far away at the top of the box

but now close to my face. Freezing water floods from it into my box. I need to find a way

to stop it. What can I use?

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

Grunting with effort, I lift my frozen, numb arm upwards. I almost scream with the strain,

making animal noises of effort as I force my limb to obey me.

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

A roar of an exhale as my arm bursts from the water. It moves like it’s disconnected

from my body; pale, wrinkled, leech-like. It slowly reaches up. Up and closer. So close.

Nearly. Almost.

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

Forgetting to breathe, I’m almost screaming with effort. I ignore the crowd and their

excited yelling now. Sensation kicks in and my arm moves from numbness to agonising

pain, but it inches closer to the inlet. There! I grab the pipe!

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

My breath is ragged. I am triumphant. I stuff my dead fingers into the pipe. The water

slows to a trickle. Not entirely stopped, but a lifeline all the same. What now though? I

have air, do I have time? I look at the timer again.

10 seconds.

The clock stops.

The clock starts.

I make a sharp intake of breath. The timer is clearer now that I am closer to the top of

the box. It’s counting down and. and. Elation fills me. It’s counting down!

Five...

Four...

Three...

Two...

One...

The clock stops.

Breathing. Still breathing. My numb body is pulled from the box onto a platform and I lie

there shuddering. I survived. I survived. I keep telling myself: I survived. The roar of the

crowd is deafening but through the din I hear the announcer. I survived. As my name is

shouted to the cheering crowd, the big screens around the arena flicker to show two

images. One, a live feed of me as I am now, gasping on the platform, blue, wrinkled and

shivering. I survived. The other picture shows us both together, right at the start of this

funding season. She looks so frail, tied up in the tubes that are keeping her alive. I, on

the other hand, am a picture of health. I look back at the live feed and my bedraggled

body. Maybe I need some medical attention? I survived, but this season is taking it out

of me. I almost raise my hand to call the medics over, but stop myself just in time. No.

All of the credits must go to her. I need her to get well, and this is the only way we can

afford it. I survived.

I zone back in to the announcer. 50 other survivors. 23 not so lucky. 500 medical care

credits added to my account. I can look after her for a while longer. I can keep going.

They haven’t killed us yet. We survived.

The bell rings and I take a deep breath.

New game.

The clock starts.