22 minutes

22 Minutes

(Saw a creepy guy and this story popped in my head)


Twenty-two minutes in the right circumstances could seem like an eternity or in others pass by in a flash. Twenty-two minutes was all Carl had left and he didn’t think it was going to pass by very slowly. He could scream and yell but what good would it do?

He had read stories and seen movies with killers doing what killers do, but this situation was beyond him. This man, if it was a man didn’t seem to be following the script of any normal portrayal of a killer. No, he was extremely unique.

In all the movies and books hadn’t the killer at least created some way to witness his murders? Didn’t he at least give the victim the illusion that he might change his dastardly plans by letting them beg? No this was something altogether different.

The tube, if that’s what it was, was stark barren and devoid of character beyond its harsh rust coated veneer.  From what Carl could see there wasn’t a window or opening of any sort. This he could feel by the stuffiness and the still dead air he was choking down. But why me?

Carl was no one special. He had a few people he didn’t care for but he had no real enemies. He wracked his brain and hopelessly he punched his own leg in frustration. It was all he could do suspended by his feet as he was. Carl wasn’t even sure how he got here. His head throbbed and upon inspection he found a rather serious knot above his right temple.

What this was about, Carl had no inclination. He vaguely remembered the man or was it a man? He had to of been extremely strong to take big ole Carl out like he did. Felled by a single blow?  Carl shook the thought off. Carl figured he must have hit him with a baseball bat or something. No man could do so much with a single punch. Carl was known for his brawling skills and of this he was most proud.

“Twenty- two minutes,” is all the man had said, “Twenty-two minutes you have yet to live.”

When Carl protested and yelled and begged and threatened his cries, pleas, and threats were met with dull silence. The man had left and the door sealed behind him with no sinister laughing or threatening creaks it just shut.

The silence is what cut through Carl’s usual exterior of toughness. Carl felt that no amount of threats or taunts could be worse. He felt the room shrinking around him. He started to pray. He prayed a hopeless sinner’s prayer.  “God, please help me.”

When the man thing had spoken it had been 11:38 and Carl reluctantly looked at his watch. It was hard to make out because Carl’s eyes had blurred from the pressure building in his head from hanging upside down for how long he did not know. It was 11:55 now.

The sweat poured from Carl in torrents. He could hear the drops as they splashed on the metal floor of his prison. Then the door slid open and in the doorway stood the man thing. Carl for the first time caught a glimpse of its face and true panic set in.

Carl felt a lurch as the hoist began to lower him towards the floor twenty feet below. The room went dark. Carl could hear something on the floor below him. Fifteen feet. They were everywhere. Scurrying about. Ten feet. What are they? What are those things in the darkness? He can hear their teeth clicking and their anxious starving mouths. Five feet.

“Feast my children feast.” Now Carl finally understood.



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