Just a story, that's all.

Sydney stared at me. Intensely. The burning fire of the charred sienna in his dark blue eyes seemed to flicker like a flame, fanning outwards from the pupil. He was so close that I could feel his breath cast a breeze on the settlements of sweat which were forming on my forehead.

“Well then Johnny, what’s it to be? Didn’t you hear me?” Sydney delivered the sentence without breaking his stare. He was a real cool customer. As his words filled the abyss of the empty room, they jolted me from the catatonic state of hypnosis induced by his enigmatic eyes.

The truth is, I didn’t hear him. Not this time. I’d heard it all before. It’s the only way Johnny. What’s wrong, are you not man enough?. Now Sydney looked as though he was prepared to make me listen. It’s not like I had anywhere else to be, or anything else to do. Sydney and I both knew that the door was locked, and I had no choice but to sit at this desk until he finally got me to agree with him.

“You know what you need, Johnny? You need to rethink your situation, and reassess your priorities.” Sydney suddenly drew back from me and started pacing back on forth in the room whilst continuing his ‘lecture’, “Look at it this way pal, you’ve got nothing to lose, have you? I mean, come on, what are you going to do, just sit here?”

I was determined not to cave in with Sydney. I couldn’t let him break me. Not like all the other guys before him. Horse, Chalky and Freddy - they all broke me, but I ended up coming out on top in the end. Maybe I wouldn’t be so lucky with Sydney.

“I told you already Sydney. I’m not interested. But thanks all the same.” I pretended not to watch him as he burst into a loud exaggerated laugh and collapsed on the hard floor. He got up after a while, sporting a serious frown, and moved close to me again.

“Not interested Johnny? What are you going to do? Sit here and play with your salt shaker all day? Look at me, I’m Johnny…in a cell…with a salt shaker. Whoopee!” Sydney slammed his fist hard on the table, which was the only furniture present in the room except for the short cold bed that I had reluctantly become used to sleeping in. The salt shaker and its older pepper brother bounced momentarily in the air, before rolling clumsily to a precarious rest on the edge of the table. My skinny hands shook relentlessly on my bent wrists as I watched them fall over the edge in slow motion, as if plummeting from a high cliff. I half expected a large splash as they descended into the blue ocean of cold, plastic linoleum; but instead I was shocked to my senses once more as they shattered into forgotten fragments on the hard surface.

“I just don’t think it’s the best idea Sydney, that’s all.” As I recomposed myself I assessed the man who stood before me. Sydney was smartly dressed, much more so than the others. He seemed have a far higher sense of purpose than the others too - he gave the impression that getting me to agree was his number one priority, and that he was prepared to wait all day if necessary. His dark blue eyes hung above a nose that seemed destined for a thinner face, and a row of bright, white teeth which glinted in the faint light of the room.

“Not the best idea? Surely it is the only idea, my friend?” Sydney reached into the back pocket of his smart dark trousers, and long before his arm had begun the return journey to his front I knew what he would be holding. “It’s a simple as this. Six chambers, one bullet. We take one turn each and….”

“For fuck’s sake. I know the rules Sydney. I’ve played before. Must we? Surely there’s another way? Can‘t you just tell them to open the door and let me go? This is getting beyond a joke” The shaking got progressively worse with every word, but I was adamant not to let Sydney get the better of me.

“There’s no other way. Now, do you want to go first? Or will I? Maybe we should flip a coin or something?” Sydney cracked up again, as if the whole situation was nothing more than a mere joke to him. Crazy bastard, where the hell did they find these guys?

“Okay then Sydney,” I uttered with reluctance, “You go first, if you so insist.”

I watched as Sydney raised the revolver to his head calmly, as if this was an everyday occurrence in his world. The whole time he never once broke his ice cold stare, nor betrayed any signs of fear. Thank fuck I’m playing Russian Roulette with this cracker, and not Texas Hold ‘em I thought to myself. I was aware that regardless of how much warning I was given, I was still going to shit myself when the bang of the gun broke the silence in the room. Of course, if it was my head the gun was pressed against at the time, then I was definitely going to shit myself. A friend once described to me the terrible mess that appears in a man’s pants after he has passed away and lost control of his bowels.

The seconds passed liked minutes, and the minutes like hours. Sydney seemed to take forever to pull the trigger, perhaps it was one of his scare tactics. I could hear my heart beating furiously in my chest, working overtime, presumably so that I could produce the river of sweat that was flowing down the back of my neck. Eventually Sydney’s finger squeezed harder on the trigger.

“BANG!” Sydney once more burst into manic laughter and slid the gun across the table to me. “Your turn Johnny, lets see what you’ve got.”

I composed myself and picked up the gun. I’d managed to prevail against the rest of them, why should Sydney be any different? Surprisingly, the handle of the revolver was cold and dry, as if Sydney hadn’t been holding it at all. This guy really is a cool customer.

Okay. This was it. I’d composed myself in this position so many times that it was almost becoming routine. I pressed the end of the gun on my temple and quickly squeezed the trigger.

Click. I breathed out heavily and without a word passed the gun back to Sydney.

“You know Johnny,” Sydney began as he picked up the gun, “You are a true natural at this. So much good fortune. So much luck. Such composure.” He pushed the barrel of the gun onto his forehead, bang in the centre, and continued, “Man, we could sure use a guy like you. You’ve got nerves of steel, boyo,” Sydney winked as he said the word ’boyo’, and again, continued. “It’s a fine art you know, Russian Rou…”

Before Sydney had time to finish his monologue, his brains decorated the wall behind him - the wall which was plain, other than the stains left behind by the brains of the other guys. Once again I had come out on top, and once again I had nothing left to do but wait until they sent the next guy in.




“I’ve never witnessed anything quite like it. It’s incredible. So fascinating. What did you say the condition was called again?”

“It is so uncommon that it has yet to be given a name. Basically, it is a more severe form of multiple personality disorder, one which leaves the subject so detached from reality that there is no real chance of recovery.”

“So sad, so sad. Look at what he is doing, with his fingers pressed to his head. It is like he trying to tell us that he just wants to die. Poor thing.”

“You think that’s a bad case, just wait till you see the next guy.....”