Get It Right

Stele Bravegold found his stare fixed straight on Kay Williams. She was bounded by any number of straps to a sleek steel chair, fitted to perfect, upright posture. Stele could move only his eyes and mouth; the leather belt locking his forehead to the cold metallic throne allowed for only sight and sound. A quick glance to the left and right revealed Maggie McAllen and Brock Clapton, both in similar predicaments, frightfully fidgeting against tight bindings.

“Hey!” said Brock, “what’s going on here?”

“Huh? Who are you?” said Kay.

“Me?” said Stele.

“No, YOU!” said Kay, her voice echoing slightly through the steamed clean, solid steel room.

“I think I’m Maggie, but I- I don’t know,” said Maggie.

“You don’t know your name?” asked Brock.

“No, yes, I’m pretty sure it’s Maggie.”

“How do you know your name?” said Brock.

“Do YOU know your name?” said Stele.

“What’s happening?” said Kay, her voice straining.

Bickering filled the room, the sound of the four’s voices blending and distorting off the doorless walls like their stretched reflections. Finally, after Kay had resorted to continuous screaming, did Stele suggest that they take turns saying their names. After they had each introduced themselves in the best way they could, the four shut their mouths, focusing on using their usable senses to try and make sane of what could have been the inside of an alien spacecraft. All that they really knew, besides the feeling of being sucked into steel, was that their minds were working like all they had was a picture of a puzzle, but the pieces were missing, no matter how hard they searched.

Equidistant between them, possibly the center of the room, stood a peculiar knee-height table. If they remembered currency, then they would have thought the top looked like a dime placed on a quarter. Holding the two circles up was a sloping stereo system, its black speakers and brown body providing mercy to the eye in spite of all the stainless shine. It cracked to life and spoke.

“Er, uh, hello all! This thing’s working, right? Good. Don’t answer that. I have a lot of questions for you today, and you’ll each get your turn to answer, don’t worry. But only one that won’t kill you! Ha, ha! Anyway, so, uh, how are you doing, I mean, really doing today?”

The voice sounded vaguely Australian, but more so like a bad deejay volunteering at his local radio station. The four’s eyes darted back and forth, muscles tightening as they entered a game of rhetorical chicken, silently daring each other to answer.

“I’m doing…” Stele trailed off, Kay looking at him like his words were bombs.

“Fine,” Stele continued, “I’m doing fine.”

“Really? That seems a little disingenuous. Did you not hear the part where if you answer wrong, you die? Save this a mulligan, mate. It’s always ok to share your true feelings. Anyway, from here on out, I will ask you all a question. You will take turns answering and will have thirty seconds to do so until one of you dies. If you answer wrong, one of you dies. If you answer correctly, we move on to the next question, and one of you will not die. Get it right, or die. It’s quite simple, really. Got it?”

“Got it,” said Brock.

“Oye! That was a rhetorical question! You’re not supposed to answer rhetorical questions!” The voice snarked back; “Ok, folks. Time for your first question. Maggie, will you be a dear and answer it for us? Thank you kindly. Ok. Here goes: what is up?” The voice cut off with a crack from the stereo.

“What is up?” said Maggie.

“I don’t know, what is up!?” replied Kay.

“Don’t ask me!” yelled Brock.

“I wasn’t! I don’t know what’s up!” said Kay.

“What’s up? Oh, God! I can’t think of a single thing!” said Brock.

“What’s God?” asked Maggie.

“That’s not the question!” screamed Stele, his voice echoing attention.

“What do you know about up or God?” asked Kay.

“All I know is we can’t get out. And I know we’re not going to get out unless we come together. We need to stay calm and focus, alright? I got this-”

“Ten seconds!” the voice chimed in.

“Ah! Uh! Wait! I think I remember what’s up!” Stele said, words franticly slurring together.

“Well, what’s up?” said Maggie.

“It’s a movie about an old man and some balloons! Trust me! I got this!”

“Time’s up! Maggie, what’s up?” said the voice.

“A movie… about an old man and balloons.”

The four tossed hot, quick glances around the room.

“Well, technically yes,” said the voice, “Alright. Whatever. I’ll give it to you.”

The room let out a breath of relief.

“Next question! Brock, to you. What is the color red?”

“The color red?” asked Brock.

“Yes, you idiot, the color red!” said Kay.

“Idiot? Is that the color red?” replied Brock.

“No it’s not! Or, wait, I don’t actually know,” said Maggie.

“A color. . . hm. Wait, is that what goes around your neck?” asked Stele.

“I thought you were against asking questions,” said Kay.

“Fine! I don’t know what a neck is anyway. Brock, say the color red is, a, a color,” said Stele.

“But how do I know what a color is?”

“Well maybe red is a color? Consider just moving the words around a bit and you can see the bigger picture! Trust me, Brock.” Stele swallowed some vagrant, nervous spit. He was sure, steady, and determined to get the four out of-

“Mr. Brock!” the voice said, “what is the color red?”

“It’s a color,” said Brock.

“Wow. You’re serious, innit? That’s just, wow, so wrong, so vague. I mean red isn’t just that, it’s, nevermind, you’re about to find out, anyway. The votes are in! Chally ho!”

The dime and quarter table started to clink, turning like gears.

“What’s happening?” asked Kay.

“I don’t-” Stele’s voice choked to a stop. The straps tightened, pulling and pulling him into the chair, Stele’s skin bulging around the binds. Then, red. Stele’s skull squished under the pressure, popping like a pimple, staining the steel with the correct answer to the previous question. Red.

Brock burst out in laughter. Kay tried flailing about, learning the definitions of sticky, gross, and red. Maggie let roar one long, shrill shriek. For some reason, none of them considered the time. It was two o’clock in the afternoon. The voice waited until two o’three to talk again.

“Ok, ok. You all had your fun, eh? Best get your brains back in line before they end up like Stele’s, cause the next question is coming to you, Kay.” The voice paused. The quarter stayed still as the smaller circle on top spiraled down into an unknown shaft. The voice continued.

“Kay, just because I feel a little bad, I’ll give you a hint, just this once: black. That’s it though! No more hints! Oh, there it is! Look straight!” The dime had resurfaced, screwing slowly to a halt, carrying a visitor.

“Your question: What is that?”

“Is that a hint?” rasped Maggie.

“No, he already gave us a hint,” said Brock, still chuckling.

“What’s so funny you fucking slob?” said Kay.

“All these stupid questions!”

“Stupid? It’s either be right or be red!”

“Oh, we’re passed red already!” chimed in Maggie. “What is that thing on the circle thing? In the middle? What is that?”

“It’s black, right? It’s gotta be black!” said Kay.

“That’s the hint,” said Brock.

“No shit! It’s black, but what else?” asked Kay.

“I think I read something somewhere that nothing is as it reams? I think?” said Maggie.

“Wait, did you say read?” asked Brock.

“Five seconds!” the voice said.

“Yeah, read like a-”

“Time! Kay, what is that there, on the table?” asked the voice.

“A book. A big, black book!” shouted Kay in triumph.

“Ehhh… incorrect. That thing there is very specifically a little black notebook. So close, and so long, one of you!”

The table turned. Brock starting crying, eyes squeezed shut. Kay’s blonde hair went everywhere. Maggie didn’t see the point in screaming this time.

“I know what slob is,” Maggie said, spitting chunks of Kay out of her teeth, “She was right. You are slob.”

“Hey! You ever think about being nice?”

“I don’t even know what nice means.”

The voice cracked awake.

“They chose Kay? Why, I mean, she’s so cu- Oh! Hello again! The mic’s on, innit? Uh, no matter. Bravo you two, bravo! You’ve made it to the final round of, well, of what? That’s the question, really: what game show are you on right now? And before you go on answering, there’s two things I’ve got to tell you. One, fifteen minutes could save you fifteen percent or more with GEICO’s new health insurance, and two, this time, the one that lives is the one that answers correctly. You have fifteen seconds, courtesy of GEICO’s brand-new health insurance!”

“What’s GEICO-”

“Your time starts… nnnow.” The voice cut off. Brock and Maggie sat silent, like the table. The only sound seemed to be coming through the walls, barely emanating a mangled chant.

‘getetwi!’ ‘getetwi!’ ‘getetwi!’

“Do you hear-”

“Shut up! Just shut up!” Maggie snapped, stopping Brock cold in his steel chair.

‘getetwi!’ ‘getetwi!’ ‘getetwi!’

Brock’s lips quivered away the tears and the red; Maggie rolled the chant around in her mouth. Ge, get, et, it, wi…

“Time! Who’s got-”

“Get it right!” Maggie said, her words turning chant into cheer, chilling Brock to the bone.

“Corrrrect! Right-o! Ladies and Gentlemen, we got a winner! Oh wait, right quick. Give me one second… ok! I got it! Yes, that button there. Ok, thank you. Bye, Brock!”

“What? No!” The bindings stole his breath before they busted Brock open. Just after the third coat of red rained on the room, Maggie’s straps relented, freeing her first to wiggle, then to stand. The straps zipped inside the chair behind her, leaving Maggie to barely make out her reflection on the dripping wall. She was naked, soaked red, save for the indented linear marks where her bindings used to be. The wall slid open like an elevator, letting in an enormous glare and plenty of fresh air.

Suddenly, Maggie remembered signing the forms and the waivers, that her shift at Logan’s Roadhouse started in two hours, and that the real answer to “what’s up?” is the sky.

The glare died down, revealing a stage with thousands of screaming heads stacked behind, her family eagerly waiting, and a man in a lizard costume.

“Congratulations Maggie and the McAllen family!” the same voice from the room said, but this time it was coming directly from the lizard with the microphone. The McAllen’s rushed around their daughter, beaming and shaking her with excitement.

“Not only do you get the prize of life, but you get one hundred thousand dollars!” announced the lizard.

“We are so proud sweetie,” said Mr. McAllen, “so proud!”

Clapping, hugging, crying, laughing and going live on Instagram just at right stage were the Clapton’s, the Williams’, and the Bravegold’s. The lizard, sharing a clear resemblance to GEICO’s Martin, approached each of them, respectively.

“Congratulations to you, and sorry your child got voted off. Our viewer-voters are ruthless for savings,” he would start, and then continue to offer them their top-four prize winnings. When the lizard got to the Bravegold’s, the crowd had already begun to disperse, murmuring with a post-show hum.

“I hear your daughter was too sick to come, Mrs. Bravegold” said the lizard; “That’s a shame, leukemia is an expensive disease for a small child. And that is why I’m proud to give you, based off Stele’s performance, a GoFundMe in your daughter’s name with twenty thousand dollars already donated!”

Mrs. Bravegold melted, her limbs buckling under the weight of relief.

“What do you say, Mrs. Bravegold?”

“You’re so kind! Thank you, sir!”