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Welcome to Sandbox Earth Season! From February to June, I will share stories either set in the Sandbox Earth science fiction universe, or otherwise Science Fiction themed stories.
This story is the first of several standalone stories promised during Sandbox Earth Season, you can expect one of these per month, and a serial called “Before the Maps are Final”.
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Please enjoy!
Synopsis: No one crosses Boss Felton, but one man has done so, and finds himself tied to a chair awaiting his fate. In the dead of night, it all may seem hopeless, but things start to look different in the dim light of day…
This story was also inspired by a song.
If God suffers us to come to such a case that there is no escaping, then we may stand to our tackle as best we can, and then we can clamor like champions if we have the spittle for it. But it’s God’s part, not our own, to bring ourselves to such a pass. Our natural business lies in escaping.
- Thomas More, as seen in the film “A Man For All Seasons”
My hands were cold—my body desperately trying to process how ‘fight or flight’ works when tied to a chair. The adrenaline surging through my body screamed DO SOMETHING. I rotated my hands in the rope that bound them together and to the chair—that was about it, all I could do.
Footsteps on metal, clang! clang! I looked up from the dusty warehouse floor to the immaculate tuxedo of Boss Felton. He stood there a moment, looking down at me. Something in his eyes betrayed his calm and careful demeanor. I’d seen stupid men, I’d seen mean men, I’d seen bad men—but this was something else, something that sent a chill reverberating through my spine just to see him stand there.
He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a cigarette. Without looking, he held the cigarette to the side—two droids emerged from the dark, one held a small flame to it before Boss Felton had even completed the gesture. He lifted the cigarette to his lips and drew deeply. It glowed red, illuminating his face—but not his eyes. His eyes. Something about his eyes was wrong.
“What is there to say?” he breathed, smoke billowing out of his mouth. The phrase ‘where there’s smoke’ came unbidden to mind. He stepped lightly down the rusty metal stairs. The droids clang clanged behind him.
“What can be said? Should I say, ‘I win’?” He shook his head solemnly. Step. Step. “There’s no joy in that. Not for me. Some men want to win.” He stepped lightly off the staircase onto the dusty warehouse floor. I was following his feet, I noticed stains on the cement.
“For me it’s never been about winning. There’s no way to ‘win’ in life. Death comes for us all, you know.” He took another deep draw on the cigarette as he brought his black eyes closer to me. “Some sooner than others. No, even losers want to win. That’s not me.”
He grabbed a metal chair, like mine, and dragged it lazily in front of me, and set it down, dusted the seat, sat lightly, crossed his legs, took another puff of his cigarette—blew the smoke in my face.
“There’s one thing that lasts long after we die. Legacy. And you know who builds legacies that last? Hm? Conquerors. Conquerors build legacies. I’m not in the business of winning. I’m in the business of conquering. Everyone who works for me—I don’t just own them, they are mine!” Spittle flew from his mouth with sudden intensity. He took a deep breath, sat back, relaxed his face—but not his eyes.
“Even you. Yes, that game you played—you probably thought you won. But here you are. Tied to a chair, with no one around for miles. You thought you were yours—but you’re mine.” Another deep draw on his cigarette, the end glowing bright red.
“You’re like this little flame here,” he said, reaching the cigarette across the short distance between us. “You burned brightly, for a time—but you were always in my hands. And now…I will put you out.” He pressed the end of the cigarette against the skin of my leg.
I screamed.
He watched me, writhing, squirming. He watched, and smiled. I caught my breath, tears in my eyes. He stood, and flicked the cigarette to the ground. “How do you think I feel? You’ve left a scar in me, little flame. What is left but to…extinguish.”
Frantic metallic clanking. I couldn’t see—I was looking at the little circle of burnt flesh on my leg. Someone had rushed into the room. Boss Felton whirled around, surprised. Clattering down the stairs. Whispered words. A disappointed sigh.
“Well, little flame. You can enjoy some anticipation. These droids will keep you company. And when I return, I will finish our…conversation.”
I didn’t look at him. I didn’t want to see his eyes. I didn’t want to see him smile at the thought of killing me.
Metallic clanging up some stairs, a door pulled shut.
Silence.
Had I slept? Or just zoned out? I looked around. The droids hadn’t moved, at least not that I could tell. They didn’t even talk to each other. What was there for droids to talk about?
I shook my head. What a stupid last thought. I tested my wrists—still bound. My ankles—still bound. Nothing about my condition had changed, except for a burn which was already starting to bubble and welt. The pain will be short-lived. And so will I.
I closed my eyes. I couldn’t cry—no, this was not the time for tears. I would choose how to face my death. Stoically? Well, I’d already ruined that with the cigarette burn. At least I could face my death with dry eyes.
I thought over my life. Was it worth it? One thing Boss Felton had right was that death comes for us all. The money, the life, the ridiculous behavior. Had to end sometime. Well, it’s ending now. How much had I done! Ancient grudges surfaced, touched by the pain not of regret but embarrassment. All this time and you’re still carrying that around? How much had I failed to do! Her face floated across my mind. I shut my eyes to shut her out.
I let out a deep sigh. Like a small flame—burned and gone. Out like a light. I wonder what’s on the other side.
The sky in the windows above the droids had brightened—they were now a dark red, almost pink. Was the sun coming up? I definitely slept. Suddenly I could see the warehouse a little clearer in the dim light. There was a catwalk under the windows of the warehouse. A rusted ladder hung loosely behind the droids. On the far end of the catwalk, terminating against the wall where the loading doors were, a window stood ajar, opening onto a sloping roof of another wing of the warehouse. From what I could remember, there was a fence not far from there, I could jump over it from the roof and…
Was that…an escape plan?
The possibility of escape was a tiny window in my heart, pushed open by the growing light of day: I want to live. Yes, I want to get out. I want to run. I want to feel the warmth of the sun on my face. I want to live. I want to live!
My heart raced, I tried to conceal my excitement, and my terror. How much time had I wasted? Boss Felton could come back at any moment. I had to act, and act quickly. First, the rope—the rope! It was bound tight, I wriggled my hands to see if there was any hope of cutting it loose. Any opening would unravel the whole line, and I would be free. Then—then the droids. If I surprised them, I might get past them, and up the ladder. I would need a distraction. Or an obstruction—the chair, could I push them over with the chair? Up the ladder, out the window—
My wrist twitched instinctively as I thought about movement, bringing my mind back to the reality of the bindings. As carefully and quietly as I could, I explored the extent of my range of motion. It wasn’t much—ow! I scratched my forearm on a sharp edge, a manufacturing defect in the metal chair. It’s the best thing I have. I scraped the rope gently against the sharp edge, and felt the rope start to loosen. Scratching, scraping, over and over—How thick is this rope?—I could feel myself starting to cut through. Is that my heart pounding in my ears, or footsteps approaching? If Boss Felton came back, it would all be over. I needed to move. The droids hadn’t responded to what must look like my odd twitching. At last—I felt the rope fall away, my hands were free. I clasped them together, so I wouldn’t betray my new freedom to the droids. I tested my legs—bound, but no longer tightly, I could step out with a little maneuvering.
I felt dizzy with adrenaline. Like someone was with me, lifting me up. I watched myself, as though from above, stand up. The droids turned to face me—I grabbed the chair and ran into them, pushing them off-balance and tumbling them to the ground, only briefly. I leapt over them towards the rusty ladder, I climbed. One of the droids was already back on its feet, and climbing after me—as I stepped onto the catwalk, the ladder collapsed under the weight of the droid, and fell back to the ground with a sound I could no longer hear for the beating of my heart in my ears. I ran to the open window, and stepped out onto the roof. A ledge got close to the fence, and then a field of tall grass.
The sun peeked over the low sloped roof of the warehouse, and I felt it’s warmth—ah, what warmth! I ran to the ledge, and jumped down and over the fence.
There was nothing for miles—no landmark to go by. It didn’t matter. I was free.
The End
Thank you very much for reading! It has felt very good to get back to writing after my hiatus, I am glad to be back. If you enjoyed this story, please consider sharing it with a friend!
Please consider leaving a like, telling me what you thought in the comments, or sharing this story on Notes. If you would like to read more, please check out my collection of science fiction Sandbox Earth stories, fantasy Blackpage stories, or other kinds of stories in the Exo-Canon.
God bless you!
AJPM
Okay, this was COOL. Action packed, felt like I was right there, I mean I practically heard the clang of the droid falling off the ladder (which is kind of hilarious actually in retrospect: Boss Felton is intimidating, but his choice of ladder material was clearly poor).
And that image of Felton having a droid light a cigarette for him, oh that was brilliant. That's the kind of thing that sticks in your mind, like a Faun carrying parcels in a snowy wood, or the idea of cows on a spaceship cargo bay floor that reportedly inspired Firefly. That was good. Godfather-esque, if I may say.
Yay! I love hopeful stories!! Not gonna lie, Boss Felton looked like Daredevil’s Kingpin in my head.