The Death Toast

The colour rooms

The diamond on Sawer’s ring made scraping sounds as he brushed his palm over the wall. It was the Colour Room and he came here frequently for celebration. Little wonder why he had come that day. Why shouldn’t he celebrate? The president was killed, all the other governors and politicians who had thought they were partners realised they had been disposable pawns seconds before their heads were blown off, Reckdetteans who had thought they were invincible from the terrorists had now being invaded three times and the butchering was going to continue – only few of them who had private jets escaped the country. The apocalypse was on, everywhere was agog and the pressure was mounting on for everyone just the way he wanted it. The more chaos he saw and caused, the more internal calm he felt. That was why he was here to do the exact same thing as celebration. The Colour Room was in reality, torture rooms with each colour representing different forms of punishment and also different heights of