A Contest of Wills
The bell had not rung and yet both men were desperately gripping the rope. Tom was staring intently at the gun taped to the midpoint of the rope. He had lost the tug of war last round and had paid dearly. He would not lose this time no matter what. The man across from him looked just as determined, an animal ferocity straining his face.
The bell rang and the rope let loose. The two men strained with all their might, despite their weakness from hunger, pain and exertion. The gun lifted straight up into the air, suspended by the tension on the rope. It quivered in place before slowly starting to move towards Tom, his face lighting up in a maniacal grin. It was almost within reach when the other man began tugging the rope with an unnatural spike of adrenaline and the gun began moving quickly the other way.
Tom’s muscles began to simply give out and he soon found himself watching the other man ripping the gun out from under the tape. The gunman relaxed with relief and took a moment to catch his breath. Tom pleaded with the man. “Please no! Don’t let them take me back!”
The man lifted the gun to his temple and there was a loud crack. Tom wept as two sets of hands grabbed his arms and pulled him through the doorway.