THE BROKEN HEARTS CLUB
“WHERE AM I?!” The homely woman cries as her matted curly mane falls into her large open mouth, tears rapidly streaming down her red swollen cheeks. Her cry chisels a nail through the layer of ice around her and a domino effect of cries and whimpers cascades throughout the room. Of course she was the first one to say something—the first one to speak tends to be a fucking pain in the ass to deal with, not because they’re hard to crack but because, well, they’re just annoying, with all their questions and constant sobbing. “WHY IS THIS HAPPENING… am I dead?” Her question frenzy is followed by complete silence as her fellow shackled peers gape at her with total and utter uncertainty.
A single Edison light bulb hangs down from the ceiling on a thin frayed wire at the center of the bound strangers, swaying slightly as it flickers across each face at the table of newly conscious captives. Each person swallowing their heart in terror one by one as they open their eyes. Same reaction, always. At first stoic and pale as their eyes come into focus, then sheer horror washes over their face as they digest the scene—wrists and ankles shackled to an iron chair bolted into place, surrounded by strangers also shackled to their chairs, all looking around helplessly, calling out to no one.
“Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up…” One young man with his eyes tightly closed, and hands clenched into white-knuckled fists repeats as he rocks back and forth within his restraints. “Shut the fuck up, dude, we’re not dreaming—this is real,” the girl to his left hisses, with her short cropped hair framing her sharp facial features, bangs glued to her damp forehead. “Jesus, why the fuck is it so hot in here… And does anyone else smell that overwhelming stench of urine, did one of you fucking piss yourself?” She breathes deeply in and out of her mouth, and forcefully swallows her hysteria coupled with immense disgust, “Does anyone have any idea what the fuck is going on?” Her frankness circulates around the table of hardly recognizable faces.
She looks around the room at each person, one by one as they all feebly shake their heads side-to-side in bewilderment. She counts 6 people, including herself, around an excessively large circular table, and looks down again at her shackled body parts. She wiggles her wrists around in the shackles just enough to see that fresh abrasions are forming from the sharp metal etching into her skin. As she brings her attention back to her fellow slasher film cast moaning and screaming in vain like a hoard of injured cattle, she attempts to look around and get a sense of their surroundings.
And as the whimpering commences, this is where I come in. Wouldn’t want to leave them completely helpless for too long, although it is rather entertaining, we’re not complete monsters around here.
“GREETINGS!” A voice abruptly belts out beyond the darkness. “It has come to our attention that you all have, in one way or another, been hindered by former loved ones from your past. We feel that we are doing a service to you, to once and for all rid you of your pain! The guidelines are simple. Once you have accepted your loss and ephemeral solitary existence, you will be released. And don’t you worry, I know you all think that you are Academy Award winning actors, but phoniness is not going to do you any good here. Until then, make yourselves at home and get to know your new friends. You might be here a while. Thank you, and WELCOME TO THE BROKEN HEARTS CLUB.”