In the wild midway between somewhere and nowhere, there is a game and a house and a hell full of poisons.

You don't know what the fuck it's about, because the game changes each season. Sometimes it's chugging through the jar-fulls of gleamy sludge and wasting away your mortal flesh for a taste of paradise; sometimes it's roulette with the poisons awash in every cup, some's nirvana in sane blue and some's hell reaped from the same season.

Point is, you know jack shit. But I know what it's fucking about.

In every game, there's 25 and only 1 can come out alive. You have a selection of dares: the crazier you are, the stabler you'll be in game.

And I know why you mortals always come.

It's how I have my fun. You numbskulls entering the betwixt-in-between because, because. Maybe you were thrown a bone. Maybe you heard all the rumours about a poison paradise and decided to go looking. Maybe it's the whispers of the coveted prize, that of immortality if you won it all. Maybe you wanted to die. Big deal, get in line.

Your bullshit is a real-good show for us gods: not that there's a lot, mind. I think my girlfriend's a god 'cause she hasn't died yet, but that's just me guessing.

Anyway.

There is nothing better, can I just say, about seeing a man die. It never gets old. It especially doesn't get old when their muscles bubble through their flesh, or their intestines worm out like snapping basilisks being born out of hell. It's also much, much sweeter knowing you could've undergone that fate.

See, I was once like you. Broken in the head and destitute in debt. Face-first drowning in the somewhere-place. What you fuckers call Earth.

But then I heard of the midway wilds and I was so desperate for it that I screamed into the abyss and it called back. I won the first game. Killed them all, I did, and saved myself.

And the rumours are right, did you know? I became immortal.

Wanna know the bad news?

I don't like the thought of anyone else winning. Good news is, there's no ban on repeats.

This is the 64th season. There are 24 hopefuls waiting to die, though they don't know that part yet. I'll enter the game like some quivering thing and come out triumphant, as I have the past 55. My girlfriend took the other 9. Obviously, between us I'm winning the streak.

Bye, now. And good luck, fucker. You know why you're hearing this PSA? It's cause there is absolutely absolutely nothing you can do. Good luck, and welcome to the Game!

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

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>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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