The word
"Don't say it." These words pierced through his hazy consciousness.
He struggled to pry his eyes open. Staring him down was the cold steel barrel of a well-used semi-automatic pistol. The barrel tremored inches away from the man's forehead.
"Wh-huh?" A response had yet to formulate in his mind, yet he felt it necessary to make noise. To remind the gun-wielding feller before him that he's still alive. Finally his eyelids peeled open and he could gaze at the shaken visage standing before him.
"Don't do it. You hear me?" The other man's clammy fingers gripped the handle of the pistol tighter. "You say that word, and we're all dead. Dead."
"W-who're you? Why are you pointing a gun at my head?" At last, he managed to utter this thought with a hoarse voice. He tried to lift his arms only to find them bound to a non-descript office chair. So were his legs.
"Listen, I have no idea what's going on here. My name is Donovan and I think there's been a-"
"Mistake?" The other man whispered curtly. "You call this a mistake?"
"I don't even know where I am or why I'm here. Or why I'm tied to this chair-"
"You're the only one left. The guy that didn't-" His lips quivered. "Didn't explode."
"...Explode?" Donovan was puzzled. "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean, there were three of you, maybe more, and I saw two of them explode after reading... something, I couldn't see-" He dropped the pistol he was holding and clutched his head with both hands, fresh tears dripping from his face. "I'm just a mailman, God damn it! I didn't mean to be here and now, they've locked me in with you. Dear God-!" He kneeled down and shook his head despondently.
"Hold on. Wait a minute." Donovan peered at the mailman. "Did you say... others?"
"Look over there. Do you recognize them?" He pointed to the right. Donovan craned his neck to get a bearing of his surroundings. They were in a derelict warehouse. Muted sunlight poured in from big frosted glass panes, which all had dirt, mold and other debris scattered on their surfaces. To his right he saw only five distant cracks on the floor, caked with blood and black powder.
"You probably can't. This is a sick joke." The mailman remarked as he looked at the grimy concrete floor.
"Please, tell me your name." Donovan desperately hoped to cooperate with this stranger lest he be shot.
The mailman looked up. After a brief pause, he finally answered. "My name's Jack."
"Ok, Jack... could you check my pockets? Maybe they left something on me. Maybe we can find a way to save ourselves and escape."
Jack wiped away the tears in his eyes. "Ok. I can do that." Jack sullenly walked around Donovan till he was behind the office chair and began untying the rope. First, Donovan's arms came loose and then his feet. He stepped away from the chair and began to rummage in his pockets.
From his left trouser he pulled out a key and a crumpled note. He opened the crinkled piece and read it before passing it to Jack.
The note said, Your favorite word.
Jack stared at the note in confusion. "This is..."
"Great, now I know what not to say." Donovan paced toward one of the two doors at the warehouse. Jack followed briskly.
"Wait!" Jack's exclamation made Donovan stop before he inserted the key into the door lock. "It... can't be that easy, can it?"
"I got nothing else on me. This is the only thing I can do." Donovan replied grimly. They both took one last tense breath. Donovan slipped the key into the door. Clack, clack, with two turns the warehouse door was finally unlocked.
They both stepped out of the warehouse. Signs of civilization were in the horizon, those bundles of bricks people called home. The sun lazed behind greying clouds and a stale smell was in the air. Donovan and Jack stood on an unattended field and the weeds licked their shins with glee.
"Come on, let's scram. Whoever trapped us could still be here." Donovan wasted no time and made his way out of the field.
"You were right about that." A cold, imposing voice said. Donovan paused and turned around to face another gun barrel. This time it was held by a calm balding man, wearing spectacles and white lab attire.
"Here's the deal, Donovan. We didn't finish our experiment because this fool came and snooped around. But here is the perfect chance to end it all, in one last hurrah." The scientist smiled uncannily as he stepped away from Donovan.
Donovan's eyes immediately flashed over to Jack. He too was held at gunpoint by a scientist.
"You people are sick." Donovan grumbled.
"Enough of that. Now say your favorite word, or Jack dies." The balding scientist bellowed.
Donovan bit his lip in frustration. He looked at Jack again. Jack's eyes were brimming with tears once again.
"You promise you will let Jack go after I say it?"
"Yeah." The balding scientist gleefully answered, his lips curling ever-so-slightly upward.
Donovan let out a guttural roar as he charged the scientist and tackled him. "THE!!!" He yelled at the top of his lungs.
The flash blinded Jack for a moment and the impact pushed him to the ground.
"Ugh..." Jack laid on the ground, unable to recover for minutes.
When he finally gathered the energy to stand up, he saw grey mist billowing on the field fifteen meters away.
Donovan had done the unthinkable to save him.
Jack shook his head with grief. Just then, he remembered that another scientist had held him on gunpoint. Now, that man too must've been incapacitated by the force of the explosion. Jack bent down and picked up the gun the scientist had dropped and walked over to the scientist's body. Jack had intended to kill him, but that seemed unnecessary judging by his wounds.
Jack looked at the gun and pondered for a good while. Finally he tossed the gun aside and walked onward, back to his ordinary life - now marred by the scars of this strange incident.
P.S: This is probably a very mediocre story. I hope you guys enjoy it though. It took me like a hour to write.
-coal
chunk of coal productions™, 2026.