He wanted to know who his real friends were. Now, he’s praying he never found out.
Writer’s Prompt
The Sensory Trap
The satin lining of the casket felt like cold marble against Mike’s skin. Thanks to the neuro-stasis cocktail coursing through his veins, his heart beat once every three minutes—a rhythm too slow for any standard monitor to catch. He was a statue with a front-row seat to his own eulogy.
He’d heard his boss complain about the “paperwork nightmare” of his passing. He’d heard his brother whisper about the classic Mustang in Mike’s garage. But then came Sarah.
Sarah, whose grief had seemed the most jagged. She stood over him, her perfume—vanilla and cedar—filling his dormant lungs. Beside her stood Leo, the resident intern who had pushed the syringe.
“Is it done?” Sarah whispered. Her voice wasn’t shaking. It was sharp.
“He’s locked in,” Leo replied, his voice hovering inches above Mike’s face. “Total sensory awareness, zero motor function. Just like we planned.”
Mike’s mind screamed, a silent explosion behind a frozen face. Planned?
“Why don’t you come over tonight?” Sarah said, her hand resting on Leo’s arm. “After they close the coffin. After they… finish.”
Leo looked down into Mike’s open, glassy eyes. He saw the microscopic tremor of a pupil trying to constrict—the drug was wearing off faster than the math predicted. Mike was coming back. If Leo reached for the second vial in his pocket, he could seal Mike’s consciousness forever before the lid was lowered. If he did nothing, Mike would wake up six feet under.
Leo looked at Sarah, then back at the man who used to be his best friend. He reached into his lab coat.
Finish the Story
Does Leo administer a second dose to hide their crime, or does he leave Mike to claw at the lid of a mahogany prison? The ending is in your hands.