Honourable mention in the NYC Midnight short story competition.

“You’re back. I thought you’d given up.”

“Nah, I was just getting a smoke. Any new developments?”

“262 is in the lead. Only a couple feet to the finish line.”

“Is that so?” The man raises his eyebrow, narrowing his gaze on the screen.

Tightropes hang above deadly spikes, splattered in blood from the skewered bodies.

A few ropes adjacent to Contestant 262 were the girl he placed his bet on. His heart races. There’s still a winning chance. No one would’ve imagined a contestant so young would make it this far.

Come on. Move faster.

If only tragedy struck the others.

Sweat trickled down 262’s skin, dripping onto his tightrope. Shimmying forward, his shoe slips on the rope. He stumbles with a deathly wail and falls, another body claimed by the spikes.

“Damn.” Several viewers exclaim in unison.

“Yes!” The man clenches his fist. What amazing luck I’m having.

Two runners left! His choice and the other.

Suddenly, a snap, followed by an ear-piercing scream. If only the runner-up ate fewer hamburgers.

Only the girl remained. Her foot makes it to the safety of the platform.

Stunned, the man realized he’d just won.

“Looks like I’ll be spoiling my family tonight. Better luck next time.”  He waves as he leaves. 

“Yeah yeah. Lucky you.” 

In the arena, the surviving girl glimpses at the carnage behind. Blood drains from her head. She faints, falling face first towards the spikes.