Ficly

The Chosen One

“Put him in the box and let him think about this atrocious story!”

“What?!” Dolo pleaded. “No. No, I’m not trying to be anyone I…I…” He felt his face flush.

The Viceroy interrupted the commotion, “Perhaps you are trying too hard to convey such a simple idea. I know what we can do.” He indicated with a sweeping gesture that Dolo should move to the back where the metal box was. Then he admonished, “You will have plenty of time to consider our feedback now.”

Dolo had been briefed on the “rules” when he had responded to the ad. Now reality was setting in all too fast. The image of the poor decrepit woman who came out of the box just moments ago was all he could envision. She had tried to remain composed but beneath her thin veneer of equanimity he had seen fear and distress.

7 days in the box. What has he gotten himself into? As if in a trance he was being led into the box, his mind reeling as the door clanked shut, plunging him in to perpetual darkness.

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