Sunday Night Arena

“A brilliant maneuver by Mr. James dispatches Mr. Marne, once of Kansas. He’s now all alone at Agromarch Castle’s main arsenal.”

“Honestly Jim, I expected more from Mr. Marne. Two assault and manslaughter charges, I thought he stood a good chance this week.”

Lord Everly sipped his bourbon, Sunday Night Arena’s broadcast dancing in the glass’s crystal facets. This newcomer was a young, attractive, dare he say heroic, upstart. Utterly unexpected.

“Mr. James has to get the arsenal unlocked quickly. I’m seeing two competitors coming up from the dungeon.”

“Jim, really a great match. Fights all over the castle and perhaps a new hero. Outstanding.”

”That it is, Bob. Oh, here we go, looks like he’s removed enough of the blood from the keypad to enter the code. I expect he can make good use of the pistols.”

“Now here’s something. It looks like Mr. Samuelson and Mrs. Eves have teamed up and now approach Mr. James’s position.”

”Interesting play here if I’m being honest, Mrs. Eves’s sword from the dungeon is the only other weapon in play.”

“They’re approaching the arsenal’s corridor quickly, but this is a great ambush position here by Mr. James…and there it is! Mrs. Eves dispatched with three shots to the chest.”

“Not sure how he missed Mr. Samuelson there.”

”Let's see if…wait, is he? Yes, Mr. James is out of ammo.”

“And I’m getting word only these two remain.”

”He’s got to go Jim, if Mr. Samuelson gets that sword…”

“Mr. James must have heard you. A powerful charge…and…Yes, that’s it! The final dispatch! Daniel James from Illinois is our winner!”

“Tremendous.”

“While we await the interview, we’re with Medical Correspondent Dr. Harry Gunther, Harry—“

”Thanks Jim, really unorthodox final dispatch here. It’s hard to tell with so much detritus, but actually what dispatches Mr. Samuelson is not this orbital bone crush, but his jawbone actually piercing his windpipe. Even without ammo, those pistols whips…”

“Thank you Doctor, down to Samantha with the interview.”

“Mr. James, you are one step closer to two hundred thousand dollars, how does it feel?”

“It’s…it’s…Oh, God—“

”—Overcome with excitement. So very understandable. Back to you Jim.”

“Thanks Samantha. Well that’s it for Sunday Night Arena. We’ll see you back next week to see if Mr. James goes for the grand prize. Good night.”

Two hundred thousand dollars, enough to free him from slavery—no, voluntary compulsive living standards—words were important. They couldn’t risk trouble with the censorship board. Setting down his glass, he dialed up an old friend.

“Ah, Robert, great show, as always my friend. Well, see here’s the thing…get rid of him. Yes, you heard me. No, I own the damn program Robert, get rid of him. You’re smart, figure it out. Put a fucking alligator in the moat. Ratings will sky rocket…What do I pay you for?”

Lord Everly hung up and finished his bourbon. It was the right decision. Upstarts made people believe in things, like fairness.

And only fools thought the game was fair.

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A/N:

My submission into this Spring's 500 word writing battle. I ended up with 5/10 and not advancing. I thought I had gone a unique route with this, but there were a good amount of really strong entries that did what I did, only better. Congrats to all who advanced!

Normally, I'd be ecstatic about that score. Alas, once the feedback came out it was clear that two of the respondents utilized AI for their feedback. 7/10 wins would have been enough to advance. Now, I don't know if that feedback was tied to a win or loss, but it did sting a bit knowing how narrow the margins are. Still, going forward, I'm focusing on the really helpful feedback I received. If you were one of those people, THANK YOU.

If you've enjoyed this, please leave a like and an insight below. If you really enjoyed this, tips to fuel my coffee addiction are always appreciated. All formatting is designed for desktops. Want to read more? Below are the best of the very best of my works: