The woman sleeping in the bed next to mine is fifty-some years younger than me. Now that no one knows where the doctors have gone, there's no point in staying in our wards. So we creep out and keep each other company.

"You've got to compete."

The voice over the loudspeaker keeps telling us that, and I cannot shout back. I'm old, and my heart is weak. I should have passed on a long time ago.

Now, that woman next to me? She, and her little girl, should be the ones to live.

I imagine myself, her, and the child.

We make an pretty picture against the imagined background of heaven, like the Three Fates. The maiden, the mother, and the old hag.

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My take on a human-created Judgment of sorts; with corruption and mistaken knowledge instead of an omniscient God. I am an atheist, and don't really know enough to write a religious story, and so this is instead a criticism of human nature.

Essentially, the characters have been hospitalized for years, and most are terminally ill. The "gamemaker" character is wealthy enough to pay to sustain one of their treatments much longer, and offers this chance at survival as a prize for his twisted competition. The other characters develop an almost religious reverence for him, believing that he really can answer all of their problems, even though all he has is money.

Please critique. I know that writing style in particular really is not my strong point.

updated Jun 16 '11 by MathesaurusRex