Sure, I'll take a seat. *sits on floor*
TW: Gore, Blood, Body Horror
When The Overseer asks you to take a seat, you, being the smart ass that you are plop down on the deep red carpet of the dining car. Looking up at him with a cheeky smile you expect annoyance, frustration, maybe even anger. What you get is worse than all three combined. His expression is one of hysterical manic glee, and it is only then do you realize the awful mistake you have made. Your smile promptly drops and on instinct, you try to get up from your spot on the floor and run away from the danger you cannot see but know is there. It is in vain, however, as you find every part of your body touching the floor stuck to it. Try as you might, you yank and you pull but every movement only seems to make it worse.
In your panic you don’t even realize The Overseer has leisurely begun to walk away from you. You only stop to look up when you hear the car door shut with a damning click. Somehow, despite your terror you realize the car has… shifted. The windows are gone, the tables and chairs nowhere in sight. Your eyes briefly flit to the walls that now have patterns all too similar to eyes. You aren’t alone- you know that for certain. Despite The Overseer having left and you not originally thinking there was anything else in the dining car, there is a presence that you know only has malicious intent. You don’t know how, but it is there and you can feel your end is swiftly approaching. No-! You don’t want to die! You beg and it echoes through the impossibly long hallway, falling on deaf ears. The presence starts to laugh… at least, you think it’s a laugh. It might be screaming. Or is that you? When did you start screaming?
Maybe if you had listened to The Overseer, this could have been avoided. Maybe, if you had, it would’ve been worse. There is no way of knowing, now. Without warning or explanation your head is roughly tilted upwards by unseen hands. You can feel them, God, can you feel them as they roughly grab your chin in an iron grip. Two more hands hold onto the sides of your head. More and more seem to grab at every part of you that isn’t stuck to the ground. You thrash in their hold but your struggle is futile. You plead and you sob as your eyelid is held open by invisible fingers. You aren’t given the ability to know what is about to happen to you before what you can only assume is an ice pick has been jammed into your eye socket. It is done just above your eye, as they are traditional in their methods. For a brief moment you feel it pierce your frontal lobe and there is an inexplicably harrowing and nightmarish sensation followed by what can only be described as true suffering. You can’t see, can’t remember. Soon you can’t think at all. You tremble and spasm involuntarily. Luckily for you, you are too far gone to feel much of anything anymore. When it is done your body is unceremoniously dropped onto the soft carpet that no longer sticks to you like a glue trap. The mess you make will be cleaned by The Overseer and his staff. Your body will be stuffed into a blood soaked sack and taken by The Fireman. The Conductor will hand over your ticket, and The Express will continue to feast.
Your death is not special. Your death is not dignified. Your death was inevitable. It is your actions and your actions alone that made it come sooner rather than later. So tell me… was it worth it?
