————————————————————————— V I V A C E Some would argue that all inconveniences fade away as a new day comes into fruition. As the sun rises in hazy gold and oranges, the mind pushes away past thoughts, choosing to focus on the future. The person you accidentally spilled coffee all over becomes irrelevant. So does the squirrel you almost hit with your car. We choose to focus on what lies ahead, to not be bogged down by instances that hardly matter in the long run. But for the 26 people being held hostage in an abandoned building a few miles from Beuchene in Iowa, the nuisances that came with being held against your will did not go away. They only grew—dramatically. Because as the sunlight started to peek through the plywood boards once again, the intercom system crackled to life with a squeal, stirring those who were asleep. “Good morning, everyone.” The eloquent voice called out over the crackling speakers. “Up, up. No time to dawdle. We have plenty to do today.” They continued, voice still monotone and flat. “I would like to invite you all to come down to the first floor. I am a man of my word; today will be our first small challenge. I will explain more once you join my helpers down on the first level.” They quipped. The zip-ties on their doors had been clipped off once again, seemingly when most of them had been asleep, allowing the victims to step out of their rooms. And what they saw was… surprisingly chipper. Festival decorations were scattered about the ceiling. Rainbow streamers hung from the ceiling, balloons floated from the railings of each platform, and different, surprisingly-aesthetic banners reading ‘Annual Song Festival’ were plastered up on the walls. It was almost… welcoming. That is, until they laid eyes on the first floor. Elea’s dead body had been carried out to the center of the room and had been positioned so that her limbs were splayed out haphazardly. Her eyes were glazed over, still staring upwards blankly at the skylight hanging well above the third floor that served as the only source of light. The glass from the frame hanging in her room had been broken and stabbed into her body at random; snagged pieces stuck out of her arms and torso haphazardly, covered in blood. She also sported a few red, drawn-on flowers, which dotted her face. There was something in her mouth, which was wide open, which wasn’t visible from where everyone was stationed. The three kidnappers from before were standing around the main floor. The man and the woman were leaned up against one of the support pillars talking softly, while the third stood by their lonesome, shaking as they stared down at the floor absently. They seemed disturbed. When everyone had made it to the first floor, the voice began to speak once again. Upon further inspection, people could see that there were small slips of paper in the dead girl’s mouth. “Now we can begin. Hello, everyone.” They paused before continuing. “Each of you will be competing for points today. The more points you have, the more leverage you will have in tomorrow’s competition. I’ll be kind and leave your lives off the table for now, but perhaps this will change as time continues.” They explained. “But first—I have news. I suppose you all will enjoy this. You’ve made the news. Not just Beuchene’s local news, national news. Police are now on the hunt for all of you. We’ve broken the record for the largest mass-kidnapping in the nation, or so the reporters say.” They explained nonchalantly, clearly unperturbed. “... But enough about the outside world. The festival has begun. And what better way to start it off than with a game of... charades? The Blueberry Festival used to play charades, years and years ago. Until someone slipped and fell off the stage and broke their neck.” They explained bluntly. “No matter. One by one, everyone step forward and take a slip of paper from the girl... If you show it to someone, we will give you five strikes... After retrieving your word, you will be allowed to walk around and act out what you have been given. Whoever can make someone guess their word the fastest wins.” They continued, tone darkening as they warned the victims of revealing their slip of paper. “The words are all from different people’s songs, but the song rule still applies. You can only use words from your song to guess. Meaning, there is only one person who can say someone’s word. They added, pausing for a moment. The speakers crackled. “Now, please, step forward and retrieve your word.” They ordered, before inhaling sharply as they added one thing. “I meant nothing figurative when I said that this was the better version of the Blueberry Festival. M-- Stiggens can gather all the local fame they want, but when it comes down to it, we're the ones who've made it on TV. So go on. Play the game. We'll show them how to really run a festival." And with that, the intercom system clicked off. —————————————————————————
