Chapter Two
Ben sat alone in the dark, drinking a glass of cheap Scotch and staring at his computer screen. This time, the words did not come. The little cursor kept blinking on the white page, taunting him. He looked around his crumby one-bedroom apartment, hoping inspiration would magically come to him, but it did not.
No matter how hard he tried, he found it incredibly difficult to write about experiences he had not actually been through. Since he had lived in a small town his whole life, he had not experienced much. He wanted to write a happy story as a form of escape, but there were not too many happy memories from which he could draw upon.
What am I doing with my life? the twenty-four year old asked himself.
Whenever his mind was not occupied with some task, it would default to self-loathing. He was on the cusp of one of those instances, and the booze and writing were not enough of a distraction to hold back the tsunami of pity that was heading his way. Eventually, it occupied his mind and completely stifled his creativity. Instead of fighting with it, he tried to use it as inspiration for a story — in a sense, ride the wave.
“Chapter One,” he dictated as the words emerged on the screen. “Ben was a pathetic man, a waste of existence, really. Both of his parents died when he was a boy and…”
He stopped typing.
Slumped in his chair, Ben cupped his hands over his face and exhaled a deep breath. He felt trapped, as if the weight of his situation was pinning him down. He shifted his attention to some meaningless tasks to distract him. He checked his email — there was nothing — watched some YouTube videos, searched IMDB, then took another drink. Now holding an empty glass, Ben was looking for a remedy for his despair, but the alcohol only seemed to make him feel worse.
Frustrated, Ben got up from his computer desk, went into the kitchen to pour another glass of Scotch. He looked at the clock on the microwave; it was nearly 1:00 a.m. Deciding to go to bed, he walked over and turned off the computer screen. A twenty-year-old television flickered in the background, providing the only light and sound. The evening news was replaying; they were announcing the week’s winning lottery numbers.
“Tonight’s jackpot is an estimated twenty-million dollars, Alberta’s largest jackpot. It has created quite the buzz. We took our cameras out and asked people what they would do with twenty-million dollars, and here’s what they had to say….”
The footage continued to play as Ben shuffled a few papers aside, looking for his ticket in the dim lighting. His apartment was a mess, which made finding a tiny piece of paper next to impossible. Ben went over to the TV and turned up the volume. As he continued to search, he could hear the broadcast in the background.
“The first number in tonight’s mega jackpot is… 40,” the news anchor said. He continued to read out the numbers as they came up. “The next number is 10…”
The next four numbers were read out, “30… 18… 20… 1”
That’s an odd set of lotto numbers, Ben thought. Fortunately for him, they were easy to remember. As he scrambled to find his ticket, he kept repeating the numbers over and over in his head, 10, 20, 30, 40, 1, 18 — 10, 20, 30, 40, 1, 18 — 10, 20, 30, 40, 1, 18…
Ben finally found his ticket, which was in his wallet, and recalled the numbers one last time. After cross-referencing the numbers on his ticket he found he was not even close. He had not even gotten one number right.
Last time I play the lottery, he said to himself as he crumbled up the ticket. He shoved his wallet in his back pocket and attempted to throw the crumbled ticket into the garbage bin. Even though he was standing less than two feet away from it, he missed completely — reminding him of yet another thing he was not good at.
Leaving the kitchen, he walked across the room and turned off the TV. The room went black. Being slightly inebriated, he tried his best not to bump into anything as he stammered through the small apartment. He ploughed through the doorway in his room and flopped face first onto his bed. With his clothes still on, he passed out into a deep slumber.
At around 4:00 a.m., the fire alarm sounded, causing blaring bells to ring throughout the hallways of the four-storey apartment building. Panicked tenants quickly shuffled out the nearest emergency exits and gathered on the front lawn in their robes and slippers. They stood with fright as they watched their homes being engulfed by flames. Evidently, the fire had started on the third floor and was quickly consuming the upper levels. Windows shattered from the immense pressure, allowing clouds of black smoke to billow out.
“Everyone, get back!” one resident shouted.
One of the rescuers had entered Ben’s apartment and found Ben still lying face down in his bed. He had not moved since passing out a few hours earlier. Ben lived on the fourth floor and his bedroom was directly above a blazing inferno, so it was imperative he woke up.
After a few forceful nudges, the man finally woke Ben up.
“Come on, Ben, wake up. We gotta get out of here,” the man pleaded.
A groggy Ben rolled onto his side and was startled at the mysterious man standing at the edge of his bed. He reeled up in a defensive position as he was not accustomed to having strange men suddenly appear in his room in the middle of the night.
“Who are you? What are you doing in my room?” Ben asked.
“The building is on fire, we have to get out of here,” the man yelled over the loud alarm.
In a haze of confusion, Ben rose from his bed and followed the elderly man, who Ben figured was most likely a neighbour.
“Who are you? How did you get into my apartment?”
“There’s no time for that, Ben.”
“Wait, I need to get my things,” Ben said, turning around to collect his belongings.
“Come on!” the man insisted, grabbing Ben by the arm and pulling him out of his room.
Just then, the floor beneath Ben began to crack and distort. He leaped from where he was standing just in time before the floor beneath him completely gave way. His bed fell through the floor, sending a thunderous crash of rubble to the apartment below. A large swirl of dense smoke quickly engulfed the room. A blaze of hellfire was quick to follow. The crackling fire crept up from the apartment below and climbed up the walls. This time, Ben did not hesitate. He quickly followed the man out of his apartment and into the hallway. There were no other people in the hallway, except the man, who was heading toward the exit stairwell.
Ben froze for a moment. “What about the others?” he asked.
“Everyone has made it out already, you’re the last one. Now come on!”
The hallway quickly filled with smoke and Ben started to cough heavily. He took a few staggered steps then collapsed.