by Terry Schott
Chapter 13
What is the allure of the Game and why do so many of us watch it? The simple answer is that the Game fulfills our desires for entertainment and fantasy. Want to gamble? Pick an event in the Game and place your bet. There’s nothing that you can’t bet on inside the Game. Want to watch true love bloom? Once again, you can find it in the Game. You can experience anything in the Game, better than movies from the old days. If you want to watch a spy actually become a spy and follow her/his adventures, just put in the correct search term and the Game video feed system will find you a list of spies in action. If you have enough money, you can do more than watch; you can experience it firsthand. Quite simply, we watch the Game for the same reason we don’t allow people over the age of eighteen to play it; because in many ways it’s better than real life. Or perhaps it’s because on rare occasions, for reasons no one can seem to explain, players who die in the game also die out here in real life... very popular events when they happen.
My name is Stephanie, and I’m watching myself in a dream. I have no idea how or why, but it’s been occurring for as long as I can remember. They feel so real and, for the most part, I’m in it experiencing all of the emotions and sounds and sensations. But there’s this other part of me watching curiously, trying to figure out what’s happening and why.
I’ve been having this one a lot lately.
I’m standing on a hill. In front of me is an empty city, cars and buildings all abandoned. It’s obvious that for some reason, everyone left quickly. Skyscrapers and other tall buildings stand silently; the birds and animals are quiet, which makes the roaring sound even louder.
I look behind me and see hundreds, maybe thousands of people. They are terrified, huddled in groups, some holding their children desperately, looking at me, silently pleading, as if expecting me to protect them. Behind me stands an old woman. Spanish like me, my height, long black hair and dark tanned skin. She looks at me and nods familiarly. Her eyes are mine, and I know that she is me. The old woman places her hand on my shoulder and, from the looks on the face of the people behind me, I know that something terrible is approaching. I calmly turn to face the threat.
A large wave of water has risen above the city, roaring with rage and hunger. The wave is so large that it makes the skyscrapers look like a small model toy set. Quickly it engulfs the city, great white waves of boiling, rushing water destroying the manmade landscape as if it were made from paper and sticks instead of steel and concrete. I quietly watch the wave as it comes towards its true target — me.
I smile as the wave gets close enough to feel. First a fine mist of coolness, followed by a deep presence of hate, pain and hunger. The old woman and I peacefully wait for its arrival.
My eyes sparkle as I raise my right hand, a thin, weak thing compared to the destructive force of nature charging to claim us. Small and weak, but it contains the power of my energy and intent.
I extend my fingers fully towards the wave, feeling a familiar warm golden tingle spread up from my feet and focus outwards from my hand. The wave has no hope; it never had any chance to harm us. The two-hundred-foot tidal wave washes harmlessly over, and then past us. Seconds pass and the wave screams in frustration, but it is bound by laws that forbid it from turning back and trying to claim us one more time.
I look behind me and start to smile at my old self, but she is gone. I can still feel the warmth of her hand on my shoulder. People surround me, smiling and crying with relief.
Then I wake up to the sound of my alarm clock.
The deejay is announcing the time and date. ‘Well, for those of you thinking the world will end today, so far it hasn’t. December 21st, 2012 appears to be just another regular day in Toronto, Canada, and all reports from the rest of the world are just as uneventful.’
I lay in bed, waiting until the man on the radio finishes talking. I’m waiting to hear something today, not sure what it is, but I’ll know when I hear it.
‘The only noteworthy observation is that the birth rate is incredibly high,’ the deejay reads from his news script. ‘If you own stock in anything related to kid products, get ready to see an increase in business. The world is experiencing a baby boom greater than the one that happened after the Second World War. No one can guess why this is happening, but it isn’t a cause for concern, as far as anyone is reporting.’
Well, that’s curious. I wonder what it means.
‘Similar to New Year’s day, everyone has been tracking the baby born at the significant hour. Today we weren’t tracking the first child born at Midnight. They’re trying to identify the first child born at 12:21, since some believe there is importance with those numbers. Experts predicted a lot of confusion trying to pinpoint who the clear winner of this would be, especially with the abnormally high number of births occurring. But yeah, this is a bit strange, I guess — at 12:21, only one child was born. On the entire planet. Does that even make sense? Well, that’s what my paper says. A young man living in our own city, if you can believe that. Trew Radfield was born at precisely 12:21 to happy parents Louis and Carol. Not sure what the prizes are for being born at the correct time on the day the world is said to end, but I’m certain it will be something interesting.’
Bingo! I jump up and quickly write the kid’s name down. Better get his parents’ names down, too. Trew Radfield. I feel compelled to keep an eye on him, and my gut is always right.
If I’m looking for him, it’s a good bet others will be, too. I wish there were a million kids born at that time; it would have made things easier. Trew Radfield is shining like a bright candle in the darkness to every nut job out there, and to people even more dangerous than that.
