“Blinded by the light, I talk like a douche in the middle of the night. Blinded by the light…” Dalton
“Would you shut up.” Ross chimes in, in a less lyrical fashion. “first off you’re singing it wrong, its not 'I talk like a douche', even though for you it probably should be.” He rolls his head to the side to look at him and laugh.
“You’re just angry because he hasn’t fed us yet.” Dalton
“Oh, fat jokes, nice. Well I think the real funny thing is when your tiny ass is starving and my body is living off its reserves, or eating you.” Ross rolls his head back over and looks away.
“Would the two of you both shut up.” Daniel lying down beside them. Everyone in the room has decided lying flat on the floor is the best way to deal with today’s torture. Thousands of blaring lights shining down from the ceiling, the heat is pretty decent but not unbearable, just uncomfortable, making them all sweaty, and the blinding light makes it difficult to keep their eyes open; its as if they’re being forced to look into the sun. “He’s right though, your singing it wrong. It’s ‘cuts like a deuce, another runner in the night’”
“No its not its ‘revved up like a decue’ It’s referring to a car.” Ross looks over at Daniel.
“You’re both right. The song was written by Springsteen but made popular by a group called Manfred Mann. In the Springsteen version he says Cuts like a deuce, in the Mann version they say revved up like a deuece, both referring to a car, neither referring to feminine care products.” Liz speaks out, never opening her eyes, just lying still as if she’s at a tanning salon.
“You know about cars?” Ross looks over at her hoping for a chance to strike up a conversation with the attractive leader of the woman’s group.
“No, she knows feminine products.” Dalton
“Jackass, I know songs, it was my thing, you know, reading about musicians and learning the lyrics and what they mean.” She tries not to laugh along.
“Was your thing? Don’t do it anymore?” Ross asks.
“Well no, I’ve been busy the last couple days, fighting for my life, and I don’t expect to get out of here.” Those around her get quiet as they hear this person who has been so strong of a leader admitting that she doesn’t think she’ll survive the ordeal.
“Well I’m getting out of here, and when I do I’m throwing a party, a huge birthday party as a celebration of every birthday I’ve ever had, and everyone I’m going to have, and you’re all invited.” Dalton
“No offense dude but when I get out of here, I don’t ever want to see you again. I want to take all of this box it all up and bury it deep down inside my brain where I put geometry and that time I accidentally looked down Misses Hippock’s shirt in the 8th grade; scarring me for quite some time on boobies.” Ross also flips over and those in an ear shot chuckle at his comment.
“Buried with Algebra? Not a fan of math?” Liz asks.
“I see no need for it in my future, I don’t think I’ll ever need to measure a triangle. However I am hoping boobies will be a part of my future.” Ross laughs
“What do you mean will be a part, chubby.” Dalton
“What about you Daniel? What’re you doing with this experience?” Liz rolls her head to the side to ask her question to him.
“You mean when I get out of here last? You don’t think you’ll get out of here, but I’m going all 100 days?” He squints, opening his eyes looking at her.
And as if she can feel him looking she too opens her eyes and squints back. “Yeah, I think you’re getting out of here.”
“I don’t know what I’ll do with this. I know what I’d like to do. I’d like to write a book about it, a nice big long book. Have it come out in hardcover, leather bound, real fancy like, and then I’ll take that big leather bound book written on our 'expedition' discussing my inner thoughts, the ordeals we’ll have gone through, the remembrance of those we have lost. I’ll take that huge massive phone book looking book, and I'll shove it so far up Cipher’s ass he’ll know every word by heart.”
Their little group bursts into laughter, tears running down their cheeks slightly if only for a moment before they’re dried up by the light.
“I feel like I’m in a giant easy bake oven.” Dalton
“I feel like a whopper that’s been sitting under the lights for too long.” Ross laughing with him now.
“I feel like its getting hotter. Do you feel that?” Daniel sits up slightly on his elbows and tries to shield his eyes with his hand, looking around. He sees others stirring as well, taking off clothes, wrapping their faces in their shirts. “I think the lights got lower!”
“If it’s hotter, would they have gotten brighter?” Anne speaks up and arches herself up off the floor popping up right along side Liz.
“I mean I think he lowered the lights from the ceiling, they seem closer to us.” Daniel points to the lights and rumblings begin around the room. Over 60 people now panicking, realizing this isn’t just a matter of it being uncomfortable and to bright in the room, they are slowly being cooked. “Yeah, they are definitely getting lower, they’re just about to where the P90s stand on those balconies, this is not good.”
The night wore on and the lights did get even lower, they descended to approximately 15ft above the floor, just out of reach if two men tried to stand on each others shoulders. Some of the group decided to stand flat against the wall with their pants balled up on the top of their head leaving little for the lights to hit. Others decided to take turns as shields lying on top of one of the other captives to block the light from cooking them, but the heat of the person above them only made them both a sweaty mess.
One member of the group was being driven mad by the heat, the light and exhaustion had cracked his spirit and his capability to rationalize. He got up and ran about the room as if he were trying to escape or dodge the light. Several people tried to even carry him in order to stop him from hurting himself but still keep him moving in hopes he would calm down, but he would not be consoled. He ran into the wall again and again in hopes to break through where he thought he remembered the door was, but it showed no signs of give. He swore, screaming out loud however that he felt it budge, and that he saw the seam of the door open. Then he ran about 20 yards from where he had just blasted into the wall, stopped and dropped down into a three point stance. Those still lying down sat up to see what his insane plan was, the groups against the wall yelled and pleaded for him to stop. But in his mind he was alone in that room, he heard no one. So he ran full throttle, with every bit of energy he had, his insanity had amped his body to the max and made him appear to become a blur that darted across the room. With his speed and his momentum, could he actually break through to one of the dark rooms? Some cheered him on as he zipped past them thinking this may actually be their salvation. At the last moment, his last moment, he bowed his head as if he were a charging bull, maybe that's how he saw it in his mind. He bowed his head and he ran full force, head first into the unforgiving wall. Everyone cringed at the sound of his head cracking open, it sounded like a watermelon had been dropped on the floor. The wall now tattooed with a stain of sweat and blood showed no remorse as his body jerked back and fell to the floor with a thud.
No one got up, they all got back in their position, now freightened that they too would soon go mad and find themselves running head first into walls. They didn't take care of his body, they were all so drained that they couldn't even do that. No cries were heard, it wouldn't be until hours later when the lights would go off, and the monitor would come on that they would find out his name because Cipher would tell them after he took his tag. No one in the room knew Tony Reedle, all they knew was that he was number 50, and he didn't like his odds, and Day 6 was finally over.
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