Real Games

I woke disoriented. Blinking several times against bright lights, I finally managed to focus. Shiny silver piping all placed together to make a solid wall filled my vision. It wasn’t a wall, however, it was the ceiling. I recognized the motion that carried me as well as the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh sounds that filled my ears. I was on a train, a very fast-moving train.

I moved to rise. And although my actions were slow as snot, the dizziness that hit me left me breathing hard as I fought to keep from puking. I generally didn’t get motion sick, but this may have been the fastest ride I’ve ever experienced. Instead of climbing to my feet, I slowly turned my head to the left, took in the empty seats of the car. They were very nice, leather, looked comfy and were all empty. I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d been seated upright in one when I awoke, would I have been as bewildered. Out the many windows, I saw dark beams of the tunnel speeding by that caused the dizziness to worsen, so I did my best to avoid looking out them.

When I managed to turn and look in the opposite direction, I found myself staring at the front of the car where an engineer should sit. I saw controls, gadgets, and an empty driver’s seat.

The area was as empty as the rest of the train car. Out the front wind shield, there was a dark tunnel. The only lights were intermittent green lights, which we passed so fast if I blinked, I missed them.

I managed to roll over and found if I moved very slowly, the dizziness was held at bay. By the time I dragged myself onto my hands and knees, I felt almost normal. And could think and focus enough to ask questions.

How did I get here? The last thing I remember was being at the bar inside Real Games with John Casem. He wasn’t exactly my friend. To tell the truth, I didn’t trust him at all. He forever called me Dick, and I had to remind him my name was Larry Dickham. I hate that childhood teasing of my name carried over into adulthood. I hadn’t planned to meet John there, it was just coincidence that he sauntered up to my stool at the bar shortly after I finished my first beer. I was there because I love the bar at Real Games although I never participate in the actual real games. I just enjoy my getting my Guinness at the cheapest price possible.

Right now, I was pretty sure there were a hundred tiny men with pickaxes chipping away inside my head. Still on my hands and knees, I stared down at the floor and fought through the fog in my brain trying to figure out just how I managed to get on a train. Had someone dropped a little something into my last beer when I wasn’t looking? Had my good friend John Casem done something?

I finally succeeded in standing and took several breaths as I gained my train-motion legs. I considered dropping into one of the nearby leather seats, then decided against it. I needed answers more than I needed to sit. And I didn’t trust how easy it would be to get up again.

The speeding motion was smooth and walking with the action wasn’t all that difficult once I had a good grip on my balance. I made my way to where the engineer should be sitting but wasn’t. I took in the controls before looking out the window ahead. The fast zing-zing of green lights and tunnel beams flashing by brought back the dizziness, and I was forced to close my eyes for moment. The constant whish, whish, whish sound seemed to have the ability to burrow into my brain.

A woman’s voice coming from nowhere caused me to jump. “Welcome to Real Games. You will soon be arriving at your destination.”

I looked around and noticed two speakers in the ceiling. “What?”

The computer woman continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “You have signed up for the most thrilling, action-packed real game where your thill is promised to be greater than anything you’ve ever before experienced.”

“I did?”

“So be prepared for the thrilling action to start as soon as the train stops at Gate 13 and the doors open.”

A vague memory of John Casem saying, “You really should sign up for a real game or two if you’re going to enjoy the alcohol in this place, Dickem, I mean Larry.”

Had I been drunk enough to actually say, “Okay, I will?” I knew how the games were played. Assistants dressed in white, trying to look like medical personnel injected the game player with what they called dream material that gave the player a dream of his or her fantasy. I knew this was all just a virtual reality brought about by drugs and a computer program. A player chose his game from categories: Romance, Thrills, Action, Relaxation, Sports, and about three or four more. The player could choose from a list all the way down to picking real people or imaginary who could participate in their real game.

My body was—should be—lying comfortably on a cot back in a room down the hall from the bar. At least that was where I thought I should be. I reached out and pinched the underside of my own arm hard and painful.

I didn’t wake up on a cot.

The train seemed to pick up speed. I glanced down at the one of the gauges in time to see the digital number jump from 85 to 90. “I don’t think I like this thrill. I should have chosen Relaxation so I could be sitting on a beach for three hours.”

Again, the computer woman’s voice filled the car. “Approaching Gate 13. Please remain seated until the train comes to a complete stop before exiting the train. Enjoy your Thrilling Real Game.”

I didn’t sit. Instead, I looked up and out. In the distance, I saw the lighted sign Gate 13 standing out like a lighthouse beam on a dark night. “Okay.”

Except the train didn’t slow as it approached Gate 13. It never stopped. It sailed right on by. In less than a second, the lighted gate sign was out of sight. “What the…” I glanced down to what I thought was the speedometer. It read 95. I think my heart raced just a bit faster than the train did.

“Wait! You didn’t stop! Stop!” I yelled out loud, thinking, hoping someone could hear me through the speakers and would know I needed help.

“Hey! Can anyone hear me!” I yelled as I tried to press buttons and pull on the dashboard gadgets. Nothing helped. Nothing slowed the train. I got no response from the speakers.

I screamed more, but my pleads for help got me nowhere. The computer woman was quiet. Maybe she was taking a coffee break. I realized the only sounds beyond the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of the train were those of my breaths. I found I was suddenly panting, needing more oxygen. I hadn’t had an asthma attack since my high school days. I stopped carrying my expired inhaler by my twenty-first birthday a few years ago. Now, given the tightness in my chest, I could sure use it.

The train continued on and my panting, jagged breaths joined the rhythm of the whoosh, whoosh of the train.

“Please.” I no longer yelled. I didn’t have the breath to yell. I hardly had enough air to whisper. “Please, anyone. Can anyone hear me?” My throat burned with bile and the tunnel became one big, brown blur for several seconds.

“This can’t be happening.”

Strangely, the train passed no other gates, it sped on. I worked to grasp what was going on, never mind the speed was now up to 110.

Either I was having the most bizarre acid-triggered nightmare. Or I had somehow signed up for a thrilling real game, and there was a virus in this game’s program. Maybe I should just sit down and ride the train until it stopped. I figured sooner or later—hopefully sooner—it would circle around back to some sort of starting point, and I could get off.

“I don’t care how much Guinness costs anywhere else. I’m never coming back to this place.” I wasn’t really certain if I spoke the words out loud. I was pretty sure in the next minute or two, my heart was going to beat right out of the front of my chest. And I couldn’t suck in much air with it in the way choking me.

Maybe they were measuring my vitals as I lay back on that cot. So, all I needed to do was relax and wait for the train to stop. Forcing my knees to carry me to one of the nearby leather seats was more work than I needed. But I made it and sank into a chair that felt like a cloud and closed my eyes.

No matter how much I tried to relax, however, I couldn’t get enough oxygen to work in my tight lungs. Panic was little fingers squeezing and pinching me all over, almost impossible to fight off. My mouth was painfully dry. I was sure a dog dying of thirst would sound and feel about the same as I did. I told myself the train had to stop soon. I’d be fine when I could step off.

I opened my eyes just in time to see a lit sign far down the tunnel. Maybe it was another gate. I thought I felt a bit of slowing in the speed of the train, but it was hard to tell. Maybe it was just hopeful thinking.

My heart rate jumped when I got close enough to read the sign that was a beacon in the dark tunnel.

Danger! Bridge Out Ahead!

“What the hell…” I jumped out of the most comfortable chair I’d ever sat in. The action was too much for my oxygen-depraved body, and I hit the floor just as fast. My face slammed into the rough, non-slip walkway. Stars danced around my vision, and I instantly tasted blood in the back of my throat. The copper taste was too strong in my mouth, and this time I couldn’t fight off puking. Although I didn’t readily vomit. It was more like I just coughed and spat out a mouthful of blood and spit, which left a worse taste on my tongue than the actual blood. I was pretty certain the inside of my nose just got slammed against my brain.

I clambered to my feet, blinking to focus against the pain in my face. I was unsteady, feeling seasick, and fighting against falling a second time. Like a drunk, I stumbled to the dashboard and held on to a couple knobs to remain standing as I looked out. I had no idea why it was suddenly so easy to see in the dark tunnel, but it was. The track was there directly in front of the train, yet a short distance ahead there was none. There were jagged remnants of track jutting out like bolts of lightning. Then there was an undefined, black open abyss, and I was speeding right for it. The lights zooming past were now red.

“Oh my God! Help! Help! Help!”

I screamed until I couldn’t. The tightness returned to the middle of my chest. I couldn’t draw in a breath. I couldn’t force out another word.

I watched in sheer fascinated horror as the car—and me—nosedived over the edge into nothingness. I felt my stomach drop with the fall. I shivered against a cold sweat. The pain in my chest was like an elephant sitting on me. I clutched my chest and couldn’t stop my knees from buckling. I lay there on the floor, black spots filling my vision. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even work to breathe. I expected to hear an instant of a crash or the instant beginning of an explosion, neither of which I heard. I just felt the continued drop.

I realized that I’d literally been scared–or thrilled—to death, that I was dying. I heard a cackle sound and knew it was my own effort to breathe. I didn’t succeed.

I swear through the haze that filled me, I felt the train came to a full, smooth, safe stop.

The last thing I was aware of before everything faded to black was the computer woman.

“Thank you for playing Real Games. We hope your thrill was everything you expected. Come back and play again with us soon.”