Who Needs Demons? (When I've Got Me)

I couldn't sleep, couldn't relax, so I listened to some music. Music was always my way out, before. Why wouldn't it work this time?

The soundtrack from my favourite movie fills in the silence. Nothing should be able to haunt me, now.

But something grabs me by the hair. It's Jigsaw. Normally, his victims are given the courtesy of being knocked out while they're being transported, but not me. Jigsaw has been informed that I would simply die if something scary were to happen to me, and he's also been informed that I want to die, so he's doing me a favour.

"Most people are so ungrateful to be alive," he tells me.

I’m hoisted on to a platform. Below me, I can hear the buzzing of tiny wings.

"Did you know that even the most average of wasp stings can kill you? They can, in excess."

I knew that.

"If you want to die, pull this lever. It will release the trap door that separates you from the floor below. If not, keep standing there."

A leash attaches me to the ceiling. I can't get the collar off of me.

"You're choosing to live. That's good. However, living means going through hardships."

Jigsaw has heard that I can't endure those.

He opens up a hefty chest. The lid obscures my view of the items inside, but there are apparently a lot, since he has to sift through them for a minute before he finds what he's looking for.

He pulls out a needle. I've skipped out on vaccinations because, apparently, I'd rather die from a disease than be pricked with a needle. Something about stingers and needles and thorns...

"This is mono. You'll be a carrier for the rest of your life."

He ties a thick elastic strand around my arm. I start to lose circulation, but I know it still has sensation.

"Any time you want to pull the lever," he reminds me.

He injects me with it.

"You seem fine. Let's get to the next level."

He leaves for a minute. There is a thud, a whimper, and the sound of clumsy footsteps, and Jigsaw returns with a man bound with ropes and a bag over his head. The man is forced to kneel in front of me.

"In order to live, you'll have to stab this man in the back."

Jigsaw rips the bag off, and I can now see Colin's face. He lets out a helpless sob. Jigsaw forces a knife into my hand.

"No exceptions. There are rules. You have thirty seconds."

I can't look at Colin anymore. I stare dead ahead of me in shock. I only have one conscious thought: I don't think I can do it.

"It's OK."

Colin speaks in an even, collected tone, with a confidence that I've never heard from him in any other circumstance.

"You already have."

There is blood on my knife. The warm liquid slides off the blade on to my hand.

I can hear the words "It's OK," once more, but Colin is already gone. I'm alone. Alone, with Jigsaw.

I don't pull the lever.

Jigsaw begins shuffling through the chest, again.

He says: "What's next?"