Jack could not escape. This was his fate. Giving up now was not an option.
The room felt stuffy, enclosing. Trying to break his concentration. Only a small lamp at the side of the room provided any light. It was just enough to see the table in front of him and to see the large scale replicas of themselves projected on the wall behind them, ominous doppelgangers.
It was at times like these he was glad he had worn a fedora. Picking up his hand from the decaying table, he flicked his hat further forward, hiding his eyes. He could still see everything: the table, the tower and, most importantly, the other figures-three of them, each sitting around the table equidistant apart. He was the fourth of this group. Fourth in the way of being the last to congregate there. Fourth in being the last player to get a turn. But not fourth in the rankings at the end. Or so he had to wish.
He watched as the figure to his right began to prepare to take his turn. Jack could see that the figure’s hands were sweaty, and he struggled to keep his focus. The small round glasses were slipping down the man’s face and towards his chubby waistline which protruded over his black trousers. In any normal situation, Jack would have acted upon this, helping them, asking if they would like some water. But this was not that type of day. Right now he had to be fearless and care for no one, no matter what it meant.
The man successfully completed his turn, and placed his prize back on top of the tower. He then turned to his right (the person straight ahead of Jack) and nodded.
“Your turn.” He said, his voice sounding gravelly, more so than Jack had ever heard it before.
The next player nodded in reply. He was less shaky than the previous. He moved his arm and leant forward with a certain swagger, a grace to his movements which either meant he was a dancer or an arrogant twat. Jack presumed the latter and then watched the man smirk as the block came away easily in his hand.
“Piece o’cake.” The man said, and slunk back into his chair. He was definitely the latter.
The next player was the only female at the table. The only female Jack had ever seen here. She moved her hair over her shoulder so it cascaded like waves. She had been sitting cross legged on her chair but now uncrossed her legs with the grace of a circus performer. Her white jumper rippled as she moved forward, her green eyes fixed in concentration on the tower that stood between her, success, and abject failure. She took a deep breath.
With her purple nails, she placed her hand around a piece. It was quite near the bottom of the pile. A tricky move to pull off, Jack thought. But, once again, with ease, she pulled off the move and acknowledged each player at the table, letting them know she shouldn’t be taken lightly.
No speech passed as Jack gently placed his elbow on the table and scrutinised the pile. From the previous rounds, the tower was already unsteady. He quickly took a sip of whisky, feeling a burning sensation down his throat, a welcome heat in the cold room, not helped by the frosty atmosphere.
He closed his eyes and opened them again, preparing himself for the task which had fallen upon him. If he mucked this up…
He had chosen his brick. He clasped hold of it, as softly as he could. He slowly moved his arm backwards, moving mere millimetres each second, watching for any slight judder that would lead to the tower’s downfall and his own.
A shudder. The other three tensed and watched excitedly, sitting forward in their seats, praying that this was the end. They would not be the losers. They would be victorious. For today, at least. Jack gulped and briefly removed his hand. If he could move it slightly leftwards…
He tried. A larger shake. A field of excited energy buzzed around the room. He began to perspire profusely. He had laughed at the other man, had thought him cowardly to be so bothered about such a trivial game. But now he was doing the same, he realised it wasn’t funny anymore. Jack had to continue to pull, even if this would be the end. The brick slipped in his grasp and Jack quickly picked it up once more. In all the panic, he grabbed it too hard. The brick came out of the tower. The tower swayed dramatically, back and forward. This was surely a done deal, Jack thought as he prepared for the impact of small wooden bricks on an old oak table.
Silence.
He looked up to see the faces of his compatriots fall and the tower standing resolute once more. Just.
There was then a shout. The sound of a woman who had smoked way too many cigarettes in her life. Jack guessed she was in her fifties. There was then a knocking on the door and the roar of something mechanical, keeping up with the woman, collecting all the debris she and everyone else had left behind.
“Can I come in?” The woman bellowed, a broad Yorkshire accent reverberating around the room. The figure to my right looked straight forward, staring intently at the plain walls.
She repeated the message again, and then began to turn the lock in the door. The door swung open. A plethora of light beamed in and deleted the darkness from existence. They each squinted as they struggled to focus, looking up to see a pair of purple fluffy slippers peep around the door.
The man next to Jack with the glasses turned sharply and began to shout. Jack tried to make out the words, but the noise of the vacuum was too much, to hear anything but the words “For god’s sake, mum!”
That was when it happened. It had never meant to end that way. Jack had thought of the game as continuing for days, weeks, months, maybe even years. None of them would ever give in, and each had the skills that meant that they could cope with even the worrying situation Jack had left them all with.
But the fat man changed everything. He jumped from his chair and began marching towards his mother, shooing her out the door. She chucked expletives at him as he shouted back. The other three watched, a mixture of confusion and amusement on their faces. He then slammed the door.
The table trembled at the door slam. The bricks swayed back and forth. The fat man turned just to see the tower fall, plummeting bricks across the table and down onto the floor. He swore. He had been so close. He had lost the game.