Chapter 22

Two men sit across the table from each other. It’s not a very long table, but that’s the point. Both men have a look of fear in their eyes, but neither wants to admit it. They have their left hands placed on the table, fingers spread out wide. Their hands are only a few inches apart, the table all cut-up between them.

Next to Jason’s left hand, stuck into the table is a hunting knife. He pulls the knife from the table, ripping it from the wood. He calms his nerves, loosens his grip on the knife, and flicks it up into the air. It spins, then starts to fall.

THUNK

It sinks into the wooden table, only centimeters away from Mark’s hand. Sighing in relief, Mark grabs the handle, yanking the knife from the table. His eyes glare at Jason, then look down at their hands. He rotates the knife, grabbing the blade. He then tosses it up in the air, closing his eyes as it leaves his hand. The silence feels like it lasts forever.

THUNK

The knife sinks into the table, about an inch between the two men’s hands. They’ve been at this game for hours. Neither of them thought it would last this long, thinking the other would flinch and give up. They feel lucky since their hands haven’t been stabbed, yet they both want to get up and leave so badly.

Once more it’s Jason’s turn. Wanting to end the game, he grabs the knife from the table, loosens his grip, and this time with force, flicks it high up into the air. He regrets it as soon as the knife leaves his hand, not knowing where it’s going to land. He waits, watching it fall to the table.

THUD

Mark screams, his severed thumb rolling off the table onto the floor. Blood squirts, going all over the table, the knife, as well as Jason’s hand. As painful as it is, Mark still doesn’t flinch. His hand stays put as he flexes every other muscle in his body.

Jason, feeling like he won, starts to laugh. 

Mark stops screaming, looking down at his hand. He rips the knife from the table, flashing Jason a look of pure hatred. He spins the knife in his hand, grabbing the blade. Full of rage, he whips his arm up, but the knife slips. The blood from his finger got on the blade, loosening the grip he thought he had. The knife shoots up, but not straight up. It flies forward, sinking into Jason’s forehead with so much force that before Mark realizes what happened, Jason’s head falls, slamming on the wooden table.

Mark looks in terror. “Come on man, stop playing!” He pushes at Jason’s head, revealing the knife deeply embedded in his skull. Once again Mark screams, this time standing from his chair. He looks around, all the onlookers shocked at what they just witnessed.

“I didn’t… It wasn’t…” He steps back from the table, panicking. He turns to run away but gets stopped by two bouncers, grabbing his arms.

The bouncers are big men, but even they have a look of shock and disbelief on their faces. One of them opens his mouth, “Playing games is one thing, but murder in our bar, that’s something we can’t overlook.”

The police arrive, taking Mark into custody. As he sits in the back of the cop car, Jason’s face is all he can think about. “If only he’d just flinched.”