37th Piece

This is a response to the prompt...

The first sentence is ‘A minute of failure’

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A minute of failure. Only a minute and I managed to screw everything up. I look around and let out a shaky breath. I’m in a small dark room with a lone light bulb that flickers every few seconds. It’s in the middle of the room hanging from a skinny chain. There’s a small wooden table in the corner with a matching chair, both covered in a thin layer of dust. The walls that must have been a calming cream color are now covered in stains, the colors range from a dark brown to a blood red. My tired eyes skim across something scrawled on the wall. I turn my weak body towards the writing; it’s on the other side of the room which is about six feet away. In my condition it could have been six miles. I try to put myself into a sitting position but am greeted by a hot searing pain. I cry out in pain and close my eyes. A flash of white swirls into a blood covered memory. I hear screams and moans of agony, I did that, I made them scream in pain. A burning piece of wood lands in front of me and I take a step back, surveying the chaos I caused. Buildings everywhere are taken over by flames. People lay motionless on the smoldering grass. Children hug the legs of a parent gasping for air not filled with smoke. I was wiping away a stray tear when the plank of wood fell from the roof. I didn't look up from my disastrous decision when it made its loud arrival. The white flash comes back and I gasp in the stale air. No smoke. I stare at the words on the wall and wonder why I’m working so hard to just see some writing? Knowing my luck it probably says something like BRICK WAS HERE. I try to control my ragged breathing and roll on my back. I stop hyperventilating and sigh. It has always been torture for me not to know something, which is why I ended up here. Knowing that I would go insane not being able to know, I decide that rolling over there won’t be that painful. Moving onto my side I tumble my way to the wall. When I reach the writing black spots had started to cloud my vision. My body starts to shake and I have to use all my willpower to look up and see what the writing said. In a dark black paint that shone against the other colors on the wall, the letters form to say, GOOD LUCK. Good luck for what? Why would I need luck? I flop onto my back letting out a puff of air and contemplate who wrote that and what they meant. I hear a loud creak and someone dragging their feet heavily on the rough floor, kicking up dust on their way. I cough and a pair of gruff hands grab me by the shoulders. Judging from the build, and not to mention the smell, I know that they are a male. He slings me over his back and I struggle to stay conscious. In the end I found it easier to let the darkness consume me than to stay awake.