My Week of Terror

Posted by | October 15, 2013 | Creative, Ormondian | No Comments


Monday 9th September, 11.50pm

The soft rustle of paper on carpet rouses me from a meditative slumber. Immediately my senses sharpen. My fists clench with anticipation. My mouth dries with fear. My eyes dart across the room, quickly scanning my accumulated supplies of home brand Nutella and green tea. Check. Enough bottled water within the room for the next 48 hours? Check. My eyes flick down to the document surreptitiously slipped under my door. It just seems so easy, doesn’t it? To take a life? But how can you overcome your own demons and slay your target when the shadow of paranoia and desperation lurks at every corner, fear nipping at your heels? My decision to play this game already haunts me. My target is seasoned. He has eyes everywhere and he knows I’m coming. I knew from the moment I laid eyes upon him: my task would be my downfall. Assassins had begun.


Tuesday 10th September, 10.58am

What is happening to me? Approximately 35 hours have passed since the game began. I leave the sanctity of my room only for excretory purposes. From my balcony, I hear the anguished cries of the dying. The echoing howls of betrayal and deceit haunted my dreams last night. I feel as though only now, at the bitter end, do we realise how primal we all are. Many of my comrades have fallen and I fear for my survival. Suddenly, I hear voices in the corridor. Unfamiliar voices. Unfriendly voices. Suspicion, terror and inevitability link arms and trample my conscience. I subtly open the door. The voices stop but their silence speaks a thousand words: I am next.


Tuesday 10th September, 9.34pm

The worst has happened. They have taken the lift and the Second Corridor. It’s only a matter of time. My mind buries itself in hopelessness and cries out against such barbarism. My belief in humanity lies shattered; my desire to kill quashed… My stomach aches for lack of real sustenance. My nostrils sting with the smell of fear and unwashed sheets. And still the voices outside whisper in the darkness. What have I got myself into?


Wednesday 11th September, 4.37am

Despite the early hour, the voices linger, wafting in and out of my dreams like pale wraiths in the mist. Faces of potential assassins haunt my conscience as I grapple with my inability to leave my room. I begin to hunger as my high-liquid/high-sugar diet serves only to flood my rapidly deteriorating digestive system. I wake to a cackling sound from the opposite end of the corridor. My blood freezes in my veins. Sweat trickles from my unwashed brow. I have barred the door but I doubt that I can hold it long. If there is no escape it will be a horrible fate to suffer but I shall hold it nonetheless.


Thursday 12th September, 3.08pm

They’ve been camping for 72 hours straight now and I’m beginning to lose touch with reality. I spend the majority of my time huddled in fear against the unnecessarily angled walls of McCaughey, clutching my pillow. Many have died over the past few hours and those remaining are merciless. My food stocks are running low and the lurking shadows are relentless. They move in the darkness and my ears ring with drums, drums in the deep. Soon I will have to eat, but I cannot bring myself to leave to safety of my room. What is left to eat? And will I live to see the light of day?



I have to leave. My improvised diet of tennis balls and old socks cannot sustain me for much longer and so, for the first time in 73 hours, I leave the safety of my room and make haste for the social sanctitude of the JCR…



After army-crawling down the McCaughey 3 fire exit and surreptitiously rolling across the Billiards Room floor, I arrive. At last, food. I gorge myself on my first warm meal in days, each bite laced with the delicious tang of success. I have survived almost 100 hours of the most deviant psychological torture imaginable and am at last able to reward myself. But how? A milkshake? Hang out with friends who don’t want to scalp me and collect ransom for my corpse?



I’ll never know why I decided to relax in the billiards room alone. Maybe it was my pride at being so resilient in the face of adversity. Maybe it was me letting my guard down for a moment too long. Maybe it was simply fresher arrogance.


The last thing I remember was the sound of footsteps upon the Billiards Room floor…