Free The Game by Christopher J. Thomasson Page B

He
puts a hand to his eyes and presses. The pressure doesn’t
help.
    He removes his fingers and blinks against the
pain. Movement to his left catches his eye. There’s a man
there—then two men. Both are heavily armed—guns trained on
him.
    There’s no doubting where he is now. He’s in
the simulator—the game. He turns to the right. Four more men are
there. He rises from the ground, gun hanging loose by his side. He
looks to the sky, knowing that somewhere beyond the illusion is a
camera.
    He shouts, “Singleton!”
    Again, the pain floods his mind. He presses his
palm to his forehead. The sound of gunfire erupts around him. He
can feel a sudden flare of pain in his left thigh. Another gunshot
and another blossom of pain in his right shoulder. He screams and
the sound of his voice builds and builds within himself. More
gunshots—more wounds—more pain. He falls to his knees. Twenty men
surround him now. Each one opens fire—the bullets cutting flaming
caves through his body and still, the echoing reverberations crush
against his skull.
    He falls to the ground, whimpering like a sick
puppy.
    Then finally—silence.
* * *
    Singleton and Georgia drive away, leaving Paul
on the corner of Fifth and Vine. His apartment is only a few blocks
away and he enjoys the quiet stroll home. He’ll probably never see
the two of them ever again—and that’s fine by him. He and Rob want
to put this chapter of their lives behind him.
    Speaking of Rob, Paul thinks, you sure have
been quiet these last few days.
    In fact, the last time Paul remembers hearing Rob was back at General Potter’s research
facility—when Paul turned over control of his body to Rob so Rob
could have the satisfaction of lighting the first match—of watching
first-hand as the facility burned to the ground.
    I’m still here, Buddy.
    Are you okay?
    I’m okay…I’m just tired.
    So am I.
    Paul walks a few hundred paces, then thinks, I guess the game’s over, huh ?
    His footsteps are near silent. Behind him, the
moon emerges from hiding behind a silver-lined cloud. Its light
throws his shadow onto the sidewalk in front of him.
    He senses Rob’s mental nod of
ascension.
    Yes, Rob thinks. The game’s over.

 
To my dear readers:
    I developed a passion for reading at an early
age, but at one point, I had to start transferring the story lines
and plot ideas in my own head down onto the written page. For many
years, I only wrote for myself, never really believing that someone
else might enjoy the stories I have to tell. So here I am, many
years later, sharing my imagination with others and wandering why I
never started this earlier in life. There’s such a release, a
feeling of completeness when I get to the end of a
story.
    Thank you so much for spending these last few
hours with me and The Game . In closing, I have a request.
Independent, self-published authors rely on word of mouth and an
honest review of their work in order to sell their stories. So, if
you enjoyed The Game , won’t you please take a moment to
leave me a review at your favorite online retailer? As a token of
my gratitude, please enjoy an excerpt from my upcoming full-length
novel, The Gravedigger .
    -Christopher J. Thomasson

Excerpt from
The Gravedigger
    “ You ready, Gringo?”
    Steven can’t help but smile—even his parents
have taken to calling him by his nickname and he can’t figure out
how it happened. Maybe they heard his friend Eduardo calling him
Gringo. Or maybe they do it knowing how much he misses his
friend—their way of reminding him they care how he feels. Whatever
the reasons, he appreciates their efforts.
    He throws a couple of pairs of wool socks into
his backpack and calls out, “Almost, dad.”
    His dad appears in the doorway. His white skin
is blatant contrast to the mop of ginger hair sticking up in all
directions on his head.
    “ Come on, dad. Aren’t you going to
brush your hair?”
    Bill rolls his eyes upward, a comedic attempt
to look at his hair