Three Men

"I can't save all three of you.  Only one of you is walking out this door."  The door referred to slams shut, leaving the three men and three knives alone in the circular room.  

The blond man's eyes dart frantically between the other two, then to the knives on the ground.  He hesitates, then dodges forward and grabs one.

The brown haired man mimicks these movements, moving only an instant after the first.  

The third man moves slower to grab the last knife.  

They stand facing the center of the circle, each watching the other two out of the corner of their eyes.  The smallest movements of anyone makes them jump.

Finally the blond man springs at the brown haired man, and they scuffle, scratching and cutting with the knives.  They roll and fight for several minutes before the third man stabs the brown haired man in the back.  They all pull away again, the brown haired man gasping in pain.

The blond haired man goes for the third man this time, swinging the knife in an arc.  The third man dodges and swings his own blade downward, landing a blow to the blond man's shoulder.  The blond man falls back against the wall.  

The third man stares contemplatively at the other two, then steps forward and finishes off the other two, stabbing them each through the heart.  The screams echo off the stone walls.

In a stone room, a man with black hair holds a knife in his chest.  The door is locked, and he is alone.  The man falls on his face with a grunt.

Hospital Room

The room echoed with the sound of weak, ragged breathing and a steady beep.  Richard lay in the bed, the sheets barely moving as his chest fought for air.  His eyes were closed in restless sleep.

The door opened and closed quietly, the chair next to the bed squeaked, and a hand grasped Richard's.  It was several minutes before the eyelids fluttered open, and he turned his head slightly to see who it was.

"Visiting hours already?"  His voice was low and gravelly with age.  The woman smiled at him.

"How are you feeling today, Richard?"

He turned his eyes back to the ceiling, searching for the answer there.  "It has ceased to be amuse.  If you know what I mean."  The side of his mouth twitched in amusement.

"Yes, I know.  You have been too long in this hospital bed, I think.  It doesn't suit you." She smiled again.

Rasping breathing filled the room again for several minutes.  The woman traced the veins on the back of Richard's hand.  They stood out like roots, blue and trembling with his pulse. 

"You know, Richard, I think it's time to get up."

"Get up?  But...but I'm sick..."  He muttered feebly, shifting beneath the sheets.

"I think that getting up is just what you need right now.  It's time to get up, Richard.  Let's walk."  She stood and moved toward the door, then turned back, waiting.

Richard lay there, staring at the ceiling, muttering any excuse he could until his mouth ran out.  "Aye.  I think...I think I want to get up..."

"Then get up, Richard."

He pushed himself weakly to a sit, then began pulling off the wires.  Blood pressure monitor...brain wave detector...the straps around his chest to help him breathe...the tube at his neck for the dialysis machine...and last of all, he drew the IV needle slowly from his arm.  He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood.  

He wobbled on his feet before taking a careful step.  Like a child, one step at a time, he made his way to the door.  With each step, his back straightened more and the lines on his face fell away.

"There, that wasn't so hard, was it?"  She reached for his arm and tucked her hand into his elbow.

"No...no it wasn't.  I feel much better already."  He smiled down at her.

"Well, shall we go?"

With a last glance at the bed, he turned to the door and stepped confidently away.  

As the door shut behind them, the body in the bed ceased moving.  The chest stopped pulling at the sheets.  The steady beep turned into a single tone. 

Win or Lose

"Well, what will it be?  Make your choice."

Michael stood stock still, unwilling to accept this new turn of fate.  There was Benjamin, his best friend, on the left.  The one who betrayed them all a year previous.  The one who came back, full of remorse, begging for forgiveness.  He was forgiven, and Michael welcomed him back with open arms.  After all, they were the best of friends since childhood; how could he turn against this man with whom he shared a bond as close as brotherhood?

And there was Melanie, his other best friend, on the right.  The one who used him, swore her heart to him only to tear it out and leave it broken, bleeding.  The one who left him and then returned just when he had learned to live without her.  But she changed, truly, he could tell.  Deep down, she was a different person.  They both agreed that friendship was enough, and it was.  Melanie and Michael were not meant for eachother, but they were close friends.

And the two...they were engaged.  Deep down, Michael felt pained at having his two closest friends torn from him like this, but his happiness drowned out his sorrow.  

Each across the room from the other, one on Michael's left and one on Michael's right.  Tied up, bound to a chair each.

"Michael!  Don't listen to him!  It's a trap!"  The voices of his two closest friends bombarded his ears, resonating in the concrete room.

"Michael," pleaded Melanie, "please, just run!  Save yourself!"

"Yeah, we'll be alright, don't worry about us," Benjamin yelled, attempting reassurance but failing.  "Don't waste your time with us!"

The man in the shadows laughed, the deep sound silencing Benjamin and Melanie.  "There you have it, Michael.  The rules are simple.  One person must die, and then I will set the others free.  And you need not choose.  We shall leave it up to chance.  Or rather," the man said, drawing something from a pocket and setting it before him on the table, "by the luck of the draw."

Michael wavered on the brink.  If he saved himself, one of them must die.  If he played the game, he risked each of their lives.  But for them both to live...  What are the odds?  This was his game.  His brilliant mind for statistics won him card games in the past; could he win this game too?  A game where to lose was to win, and to win was to lose?

"Please, Michael, don't give in!"  Melanie broke into tears, shaking with sobs.

"Michael, don't play his game!  You can't trust him!"  Benjamin's voice was hoarse with tears.

But as Michael looked into the eyes of the man in the shadows, he knew that the man would keep his word.  All Michael had to do was win the game...

He strode across the room into the shadows and sat at the chair across from the man.

From the Journal of Chrsam the Siren

Markunder the 9:

I wouldn't have believed it of a siren if I hadn't seen it with my very own eyes.  I mean, honestly! It's despicable!  She's disgusting, I feel sick just thinking of it...

I mean, maybe I could understand that she does not sing, her voice is despicably weak after all.  But flying out to meet a ship, to watch over it?  Oh yes, I followed Melodrion on her most recent little outing.  She was flying over one of the human's ships, circling and circling, singing in her pathetic voice.  And what was she singing?  A warning!  She was warning them away from this island!

She doesn't deserve to be on this island.  She does not pull her share.  I have not yet told this blasphemy to the other sirens, though I don't know what's stopping me.  She promised never again...never again...

I will let it go just this once.  But I will keep an eye on her...she's not to be trusted....

From the Journal of Brijul the Siren

Jenover the 41:

Chrsam won't shut up...she is far too confident.  Disrupting the peace and quiet...

Though, if she knew what I knew about Melodrion, she would have a stronger argument.  Yes, I have kept my eye on that young one...she is no troublemaker, at least not intentionally.  But she is making foolish choices...

She favors humans, and one human in particular I think, though I am not fully sure of this fact.  This is far too dangerous, though I will say nothing...it is none of my business, after all.  But if she disrupts the already shaky peace of this island by her actions, it will not bode well for her...

She will be found out soon, if she continues to swim out to sea and fly over the ocean for days at a time.  And I know she is not going to bring her gift of silence to some sailor's ship.  

I shall have to keep a careful watch on that one...

From the Journal of Chrsam the Siren

Jenover the 29:

I never realized how annoying some sirens can be.  I mean, I've been one my entire life, but of course I'm not annoying.  I'm quite a successful siren after all.  Singlehandedly led no less than five ships to an ocean grave in my relatively short lifespan of 59 years.

But sirens - or perhaps i speak of just one siren.  Melodrion.  Oh, she so aggravates me!  Her temperament is exactly the opposite of what we sirens must be.  Ah, if only she were not also cursed to live forever on the Isla de Sirena along with the other sirens...

And another thing!  Who was it that placed this curse upon us?  Why must we be plagued with wings and feet of birds?  Could not we seduce more easily if we had a more...pleasing form?

Ah, but it is not for me to question the gods...

No more for today, the other sirens are restive.  A ship on the horizon, methinks....