In Washington, the night came with its usual uneasiness, and like every night, David sat in the hospital waiting area, not wanting to be next to his wife's bedside. Guilt always suffocated him. He was too ashamed to look into her eyes. Somewhere in the back of his head, he felt if she looked deep into his eyes, she would see what he did. So he avoided being in the room when she was awake.   The hospital waiting area became his home. He would sit there watching the emergencies, the outpatient cases, or just watching the ins and outs of people that required medical services. Usually, it was the crying people that got his attention. It always meant one thing: a loved one had died. He wondered how he was going to receive his news. Was he going to be at work or was he going to be next to her or hiding in the waiting area? He always wondered how he would cry o

Finally, she was home, and as soon as she opened the hotel door, she rushed to the bathroom. It was the first time that she had stayed that long in her own sweat. She wanted to soak it all in the luxury tub.  She always enjoyed that part of her job and the luxury that came with it. She always promised herself she would enjoy that part no matter how bad things went. She deserved that part. At least, that's what she kept telling herself. She gently undressed and slid into the bathtub. She only desired a lengthy bath. The following day was going to be a whirlwind. She still hadn't heard back from the other 40 states, and she was running out of time. She coul

Most of them wailed in pain, while others dropped their phones in shock. There was silence, as she waited for them to recover and pick up the phones. After some minutes, they were all back on the phones, scared but silent. She went straight to welcoming them and went straight to game one.                         GAME 1  "Game 1," she explained, "call someone in your phone book who you know will not pick up." There was total silence, with most of the players raising their eyebrows in confusion. This forced her to repeat h

Acer watched as Alabama entered his house, shaking. At least some of the players were not idiots, and soon they were going to realize that the more they resisted, the more people were going to die. She chuckled and turned her attention to Pennsylvania. The player seemed determined and lacked a thread of dignity. She watched as a man who appeared to be in his thirties navigated through the subway. He was a small, struggling lawyer, tall, with short dark hair and a medium build, who had been married for eight years. She remembered that he was playing for his daughter, who needed a cornea transplant in both eyes, or else she was going to live the rest of her life blind. Read more