Escape Game, part 4

The inside one

 

So much noise. It smells fear. It smells like the rabbit I hunted before. Little human seems not to be happy. I can hear it breathing loudly. I can hear .. Mom said that sometimes, I could hear humans. Some dogs of our family can. It comes from our ancestors, the wolves. She used to call it old instinct. It never happened to me so far. I'm still a puppy. 

Still a puppy, yes, but it's not the first time that I could see little humans in this car. The smell is everywhere. I'm so small, hidden under a seat, they never saw me the way I can see them. Tall man is bad, he hit me when I tried to be nice to the first one I saw. He scares me. I don't know the other one. She completely ignored me. I am nothing. 

I am hungry. I am cold. Night is coming, I can feel it, even in the darkness of the car. It's even colder where we are going, in this place where there is nothing but sand and rocks. Nights are so cold, I need tall man for the warming fire, and for the food he gives me sometimes, or I could die. Mom told me to stay with him, to do whatever he asks me to do, if I want to stay alive.

So I stayed. So many times I heard little humans screaming and crying, while I was hidden under the car. The smell of their fear, of their tears, of their blood, almost drove me crazy. When the sun rises, tall man takes them away, somewhere, carrying them on his shoulders. They seem so tiny, so fragile, compared to him. He comes back alone. No friend for the puppy. 

 Crédit image La Vallée de l'ombre de la mort, Roger Fenton

I followed tall man, once. I'm so small, he didn't see me. I followed his smell, and the smell of little human. I saw him digging and putting little human in a big hole. He put rocks on it. I could see many amounts of rocks around us. So many I couldn't count them. I'm just a puppy.

This little human is strange. I don't hear the voice outside, I hear it in my head. Help, it says. I can see images of other humans, big ones and little ones. Little human talks to me, but doesn't look at me. Look at me, little human. Look at me. I'm not that small. Mom told me, when you hear a human, you're a grown up. You are connected with this human, and it's the only one you have to listen to. And it will listen to you too. 

I'm listening. Help, little human said. I must help. But I can't speak. Tall man could hear. Please, little human, hear me. I will help, I promise. You won't join the others in the sand and the rocks. 

Hear me, little human. I am no puppy anymore. 

Sasha

Escape Game, part 3

Right under our nose

    James Tissot. Judas Leaves the Cenacle,
1886-1894. Brooklyn Museum

Oh my. Oh dear. Did that really happen? I think I've just witnessed some sort of abduction... Could it be though? I mean I did see a man violently push a girl into his black van, but how can I be sure of what I saw?

No I mean, let's think about it. I could have hallucinated, couldn't I? Sure I'm not a drug addict, I haven't taken any shrooms or anything, but I did have a few glasses of wine at noon. Alcohol can cause hallucinatory effects, right? Or it could be poisoning, ha! Maybe something I've eaten, or maybe something I've breathed. That's it, I've breathed a noxious gas. Some nitrous oxide or whatever. And it has given me visions of things that have never happened.

... Okay. Right. Maybe there's like little probability for it to happen, but how often does an abduction happen? I don't know, but I know it is not a lot. Probably less than domestic poisoning. See? I'm not being unreasonable here. What? No, I'm not trying to hide behind reasoning. I'm not! There's a lot of ways to be mistaken about what we think we saw. Our eyes are weak, our ears are weak. We keep being deceived by our brains, and our limited senses and the mishappens of life being thrust unto our imperfect lives only to be filtered through the flawed judgement full of biases inherent in our human condition. It could have been an optical illusion, maybe the light from those street lamps over there gave me the illusion that some guy abducted some girl, but really they were just dancing, or maybe it wasn't a girl but a bag of something, or a dummy. And the scream could have been screeching wheels. We are in a city, screeching wheels are a thing.

Did you know you could not even trust your own memories? I've heard of this experiment where they could implant false memories into some people's heads. Sometimes people could believe they had done something even though they did not. Well, not believe, but remember. That's some scary shit if you ask me, but it does happen! And it could have very well happened to me. I mean I think I saw something, but what I see has already happened in the past, because of light speed or something like that, so technically, it would already be a memory, right? And since memories can be flawed, well then... One plus one equals two. Noone can argue with that.

But what if I am wrong, you ask? That's what trying to tell you. Oh, you mean what if I am wrong about being wrong? Shouldn't I take the chance, the risk, of doing something about what I think I saw, even though it might not have happened, because the cost of it is much smaller than the cost of not doing anything in case something really did happen? Well, I mean sure, some people could deem an acceptable moral stance to pay the lesser cost with the greatest benefit, that is maybe save a life, but how can I be sure how much does it cost?

Let's pretend for a minute that I did see something real. How can I know that what I saw is what it seemed? That's one thing to witness something, but then you and only yourself make up the meaning of it. You don't really know what happened. Okay, because we pretend we did see something, let's go and examine this hypothesis. So, a guy abducting a girl would be considered a fact.
Well sure, but why would I stick my nose into someone else's business? I mean I don't know who this guy is, why is he doing it. I'm not trying to rationalize this man's behaviour, I'm not the kind of guy who thinks she "deserved it" or something, this is not where I'm going. What I mean is, this guy good be from a gang, or the mafia or whatever. And thus the cost of saying something would be way higher. I'm pretty sure they don't like snitches, well that's what I've learned from movies anyway. I don't want to be shived in a dark alley, or be the next one onto the "To Abduct" list. Maybe he's like the FBI or something and she is a terrorist. How would I know?
Also it's assuming that the cost of not saying something could be high. But it doesn't have to be. Maybe this is nothing but some weird sexual fantasy. I know people have those, some Fifty Shades of Gray amateurs who have taken the roleplaying a tiny bit far. How would I know this wasn't consensual? People do have weird fantasies, I'm not making that up, so who am I to judge, right? Maybe they are even filming. This could be a movie, I know they have some weird movies out there in Serbia, so this might very well be one of those.

So yeah, my decision has been taken. It's too late now anyway, I was lost in my thoughts and didn't have time to catch the number plate.

...But what if someone saw me see this? I mean, could I have troubles for not saying anything? Can someone be the witness on the case of my own refusal to say anything while witnessing someone potentially in danger? Will I be required to testify anyway, at the risk of being condemned? Shouldn't I just avoid this risk alltogether by giving my own testimony, getting ahead of anything that could be used against me? Or should I just let it flow, and if I'm caught, just pretend I was confused, and panicking or something, and afraid. Which I might be, to be honest, I mean, panicking. Is this me panicking? Oh my god. It is, isn't it? I don't know, is it? Oh dear, I think I'm panicking.

Fred

Escape Game, part 1

The last day light

    Jewels was coming out of a grocery store when she was pulled into a van. A specialised Serial Killer detective Neils Wung noticed a similarity to an old case, May 1972.

A throbbing stinging sensation sunk into my arm, my face crushed by a thick army boot on the floor of that old van. I could barely guess some faces as I repeated to myself like a prayer "Jay remember, white man with a broken heart tattooed on the back of his neck who speaks a probably Russian language, black bomber jackets with a patch of a patriotic eagle..." I continued this recitation to remember those morbid shows that I used to love watching on the tv channel. Then suddenly the man with the tattoo turned around as if he had heard this silent voice in my head reciting... to tell this hooded woman to blindfold me. She took the opportunity to afflict me with a kick in the nose... I felt nothing so much the adrenaline had frozen my whole body.

Two hours before, I decided what I was going to wear for tomorrow because the girls had invited me to a Jazz evening, the ritual of our Thursdays evenings. I couldn't grasp this reality that had torn me away from a simple daily pleasure. Was it a nightmare? ... Then the more I felt the tremors of the van, the more the reality was unbearable to me. A nauseating smell hit me between the taste of blood which clotted, hardly flowing from my nose to my lips, I was drowned in a smell of putrefaction, of old blood, strange to find myself saying that as if I knew that smell!

I could feel that we had left the road to drive into a stony field after hours of driving where I found myself between passages where I rocked between drowsiness and reality, the noises and the faces became more and more blurred. The smell of fresh earth had penetrated the van where the daylight could appear on this floor which kept the secret of horrible things that had happened before I was captured...

Naïad