Fantasia Et Gloria: THE WICKED PLAYER (ENGLISH)

Year 2030 THE large room was cold and dark. The paintings that were hanging on the walls felt like ghosts eyeing mockingly at the scene inside the room. The windows were smashed by some hard object and its broken glasses were scattered on the floor. From those broken windows, entered the harsh wind and rain of the typhoon that was raging outside. The thunder was crumbling. The lightning struck here and there, providing a fleeting light to the bloody bodies lying on the thick carpet. Behind the open door stood a seventeen-year-old young man. “Mom? Dad?” His voice was shaking. “Shyla?” But his parents and younger sister remained unmoving. The lightning struck again. He saw the splatter of blood of his loved ones on walls, sofa, broken table... everywhere he looked. There was blood seething and pooling in the carpet. What a bloody nightmare it was. If only he could wake up… But, no matter how he pinched himself, or shut his eyes, that scene remained in front of him. A cold rush ran through his veins. This coldness was nothing compared to the freezing night wind and the rain. His stomach churned. He felt his insides going upside down. His hand flew over his mouth as he vomited. He didn’t know what to do. His brain suddenly lost all its ability to think. This is not real. Those words were the only thing embedded in his mind. The only words he wanted to accept. He felt a sticky liquid on his cheeks. The nauseating smell of iron filled his nostrils. He put his hands down and stared at them. The lightning flashed again and from that fleetinf light, he saw blood on them. One of those was holding a bloody knife. The police sirens blared outside. He heard the banging and opening of the front door, the marching of large feet in the stairs... but he just stood there wide-eyed while staring at his hands. His knees were trembling and most likely to give in at any moment. In fact, his whole body was shaking. But he remained standing. Firm, large hands grabbed him from behind and pushed him to the floor. They snatched the knife in his hand, cutting his palm in the process. However, his body was numb from the pain. He did not resist. The policemen were flooding inside the room—swearing, shouting and talking to him. But he couldn’t understand what they were saying. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on what's happening around him. “Call the ambulance quickly!” “Grab him before he escapes! Be on your guard!” “What a mess!” “This is not the work of a human being!” He heard the click of handcuffs on his wrists behind him. They pulled him hard on his knees. A tall, stone-faced policeman stood in front of him. “You are under arrest for multiple counts of murder. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court…” “W-what are you talking about?” Finally he found his voice. It was hoarse that it sounded like someone else’s. “... before we ask you any questions,” he continued, narrating the Miranda warning and ignoring him. “You have the right to have a lawyer with you during questioning…” “I’m not…” What would he say to express his thoughts? When what they saw was what they believed in? His mind was in shambles. “I did not…” The cop continued narrating. Then he looked accusingly in his eyes. “You are going to jail for the heinous crime you did here.” “I did not…” he repeated. His voice cracked. It took a second to swallow his fear and confusion. His trembling worsened with anger and despair. Warm tears escaped his burning eyes. “I did not kill them.” “You shouldn’t lie to the police!” The policeman looked past him and talked to the other policeman restraining him. “Take him.” “I did not kill them!” But no matter how he screamed those words, no one paid attention. No one heard it and no one wanted to hear it. His screams vanished in the howl of the wind and thunder… THE door opened beside him. The stone-faced policeman who arrested him a few months ago was willing him to get out of the car. Yes, the worst day of his life happened months ago. Three months to be exact. By that duration, his case ran. However, no matter how he pleaded and told them it was not he who killed his own family, the verdict remained not on his side. He was proven guilty by the court and bestowed a life sentence in jail. Now that he was eighteen, he was sent to this prison. He got out of the car. The policeman covered his handcuffs with a jacket and guided him through the thick, barred door of the prison. A burly man wearing a prison guard’s uniform was waiting for them. A slim man in white lab coat and thick glasses was standing beside him. “Is this the new one?” said the guard. “Yeah.” The policeman turned him over to the two men. “Don’t show mercy to this guy. He murdered his own family.” He wanted to object to that accusation but knowing that no one will believe in anything he would say, stopped him from doing so. He felt so helpless. He wanted justice. He wanted to clean his name and find the real culprit. He wanted to avenge his family. But he couldn’t. ‘Help’ already abandoned him. Before the guard took him inside, the policeman grasped his arm. “I’ll see you in hell.” Then he released him. He shivered as he looked at the man. A ghostly smirk was on the cop’s lips. What was he talking about? Well, right. This huge prison was hell but he felt another meaning on that smirk. The guard nudged him. “Move it.” He followed the two men silently. He was beginning to question why a man dressed in white lab-coat was there. They stopped at a closed automated door that didn't look like a prison cell’s door. It automatically opened when the man in the lab coat tapped his ID card in the sensor. “This way,” the doctor-looking man silently said. He let them pass before following. The door automatically closed. He always imagined prisons to be dirty, smelly and hot. It was only normal in this country to treat criminals like animals. But this facility wasn’t like that. It was clean, air conditioned, cold, and didn't smell like anything bad. In fact a whip of lavender could be smelled in the room. There were automatic doors in the hallways and no barred cells or other prisoners to be seen. An arising panic grabbed his mind. “Where am I?” The two men did not answer so he didn’t ask another question and waited, observing the turn of the events. The guard tapped the small window on the hallway. The person behind it gave a white overall that had small embroidery in the left chest saying, ‘P-1000’. “You can change in that room.” The guard gave him the overall and guided him to the room he pointed. He removed his handcuffs. “What is happening? Is this normal?” he asked. “Just change, please.” The burly man pushed him inside impatiently and closed the door. He was facing the four white walls of the bare room with no windows. The only thing inside it was the CCTV camera at the corner of the ceiling. Even though he was confused, he started to change his clothes. As he finished the zipper, the smell of the lavender strengthened. With a compact room like this, the smell in the air couldn’t get out and would just concentrate inside. It was nauseating. He coughed. It was starting to suffocate him… he felt dizzy. He walked towards the door. His strides were wobbly and his world was spinning. He noticed a white smoke filling the room. Panicking, he knocked as hard as he could. “Let me out! Anyone in there! Open the door! Somebody! Help me!” No response. He was coughing as his knees gave in. He fell on the floor trying so hard to breathe. Are they going to kill him? Suddenly, he remembered the smirk the policeman gave him. It haunted him as he lost his consciousness. Before the darkness swallowed him, he heard a voice in some speaker he couldn’t see. “You are chosen. Repent and justice will be yours.”