\"Writing.Com
*Magnify*
SPONSORED LINKS
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1189192-Existentialism
Item Icon
by Cyn Author IconMail Icon
Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Thriller/Suspense · #1189192
Work in progress... again.
Viva Las Vegas.
         This was never how she had imagined Vegas, but then again… she wasn’t in Vegas. Instead, it seemed as though the lights went out.  Was it day or night? She lied bound and gagged next to another warm body from which was evidently unconscious.  Was it a man or a woman, and who? What had happened?

-------------

         Who could pass up a $83 bus ticket to Las Vegas? The city never slept, and for the next two days, Mary didn’t think she would either.
         Climbing the two foot steps and cramming her luggage through the narrow sliding doors, Mary now understood why the ticket was so cheap. The bus looked as though it had come out of the second World War. It looked like it was now used to carry bodies back and forth from the morgue. The bathroom in the back was so filthy, Mary was sure she could catch at least three different STD’s just by taking a seat.  The windows were almost tainted black from years of tar buildup. She could imagine being driven to the gates of Hell. It was careless just to open one’s mouth.
         Nobody questioned why the 73 people crammed onto the tiny bus rushed off at their first opportunity for fresh air. Mary blinked and turned away as she stepped  off the bus into the scorching heat. Beads of sweat had already begun to make their way to her furrowed brow, next stop, her eyes. Fifteen minutes… it was nothing, enough for a drink and a restroom break.
         Mary walked into the store, feeling a bit tipsy from the extreme heat. She went straight to the fridges in the corner.
         “$4.00 for a fucking coke?” The man stood around six feet even, a monster towering over Mary. He obviously looked upset at having to spend his gambling money on nourishment.
         Mary walked to the counter, two waters and a bag of Doritos in hand. The total came to $10.26 as Mary handed the old man a crisp $100 bill. She muttered about one less Dirty Martini in Vegas.
         “Hey… Where’s your restroom?”
         The man behind the counter smiled back, toothless. He had to be in his late 70’s, but he looked carefree, like he was planning on living forever.
         “It ‘round back”
         Mary nodded silently as she wandered out of the store, sipping on a bottle of water. The store was more of a shack than an actual convenient store. Chances are, the man lived here and took a long trip for supplies to sell, overpriced to tourists. People like her. The back of the building was as bad as the front. Instead of an actual restroom or outhouse, there was simply a hole. Mounds were in the distance for as far as the eye could see, showing that this was not the first hole dug for this very purpose.
         “Better than the bus.” Mary muttered loud enough for only herself to hear, although she was sure that nobody was near her. She squatted against a wall of dirt and closed her eyes and nose from the smell. Then, everything went black.

--------

         She was definitely in a hole. The question was where. Mary nudged the man beside her as he started to stir. She could see his eyes through the little bit of light that had filtered through and in to the hole. The man sat up and looked around, instantly terrified of the unknown. It took him under a minute to realize the situation he was in.
         “HELP! Please, somebody help me! HELP! I’m down here!”
         The screaming went on for a good five minutes before Mary was able to stop him and calm him to a point of reasoning.
         “Listen… I don’t know who you are and right now I don’t care. But, I have already tried the yelling part, and it did me no good. We need to figure out a way out of here.”
         “Do you… remember what happened?” He still sounded frightened as he struggled against the ropes holding him.
         “No. You?”
         The man shook his head vigorously enough for Mary to see in the dim light. His broad shoulders were a good sign of someone in great physical shape, yet the ropes still held.
         “Do you… have anyone who will notice that you are gone?” Mary knew that she was alone and for an instant, hoped that she was the only single person on the bus that day.
         “Yes, alone.” With that, Mary’s hopes were shattered like a light bulb under pressure.
         “Any family?”
         The room remained silent as Mary grew very impatient.
         “Well…?”
         “Yes. My wife. She’s already in Vegas. She doesn’t know how long until I’m there though.” He sounded exhausted and at the point of giving up. It was too early to give up.
         “Will she notice?”
         “A couple days, a week. Who knows how long before she realizes? It’s Vegas honey, time doesn’t matter there.” He had stopped struggling against the ropes and started to observe the chamber that held them. It seemed to resembled the showers of a Nazi Death Camp, but there wasn’t a chance they were in Auschwitz, Belzec, Chelmno, Majdanek, Sobibor, or Treblinka. 
         “Well… we need to come up with a way to get out of here……….”
         “John, the name is John.”
         “Okay, John. Any ideas?”
         “Only one Mary.”
© Copyright 2006 Cyn (sykcyn at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1189192-Existentialism