Like the other four boxes he’d already looked inside, there was a number within, printed in a large font on a crisp sheet of paper.
Fuck.
“Fuck!”
Number eleven.
Close, but not number thirteen.
Aaron expected the harsh incandescent lights above him to turn red, an alarm to sound. The voice on the speaker to announce: “Sorry, better luck next time!”
Nothing.
Aaron slammed the lid closed, moved to another unopened box.
Twenty-seven inside.
Another: nineteen.
Aaron finally found his number—thirteen—in the second to last box. He snatched the piece of paper, gripped it tightly in one hand.
“Found it! I found thirteen!”
Still nothing.
Aaron noticed a small camera mounted in one corner of the room.
“I found it!” he shouted again, shaking the piece of paper high above his head. “Hey!I found it! Thirteen! That’s my number!” He pointed at his chest, jumped up to make sure the camera got a good shot at the two pieces of paper.
“See?”
No voice, no lights, no alarm.
Aaron took the paper and walked to the door on the right, the winner’s exit. Tried the knob but it didn’t turn.
“Hey! I won!”
Aaron gripped the knob in his calloused hand.
“Hey!”
He tried again, even used his foot to brace himself against the wall for leverage.
“Open the fucking door!”
One last attempt and Aaron dropped the sheet of paper.
Anger swelled.
He reached for one of the small boxes and grabbed it by a spindle-like leg. He swung it against the doorknob. The box shattered while the knob remained intact.
Aaron hoisted another box, smashed it against the knob, too.
His whole body had broken out in sweat now.
Something was wrong. Win or lose, this wasn’t right. Panic welled inside him.
“Open the door! Let me the fuck out! I won!I won!”
