“I’ll have what he’s having.” Hank pointed over to Kal, a full plate of desserts piled high, with one piece of red velvet cake hanging precariously on the edge with artificial red gunk filling oozing out the side. Hank put in his order to no one. No one was there. He hadn’t met anyone but Kal. He did sit in the red chair as he was told. He did get pulled forcefully several hundred feet deeper into the earth as he held on for dear life on the chair.
He did wait for Kal to take his turn to the bottom. And he did change into his jumpsuit, Hank’s was tomato red. And he did follow Kal into a room where there were two chairs and a table, where Kal’s plate of deserts was lowered down in front of him from up above. Like magic.
“Um…I’ll have what he’s having? Anyone?”
Kal shook his head. “I’m afraid you won’t. Chosen ones do not eat this kind of food. You have a special diet. Because let’s face it‑you’re special. I get to eat what I want because I can be replaced. You can’t. Not sure what level of special you are, but it must be a pretty high level of special. They have you in red. I’ve never seen red in my 20 years of being here.”
“Twenty years? You can’t be more than 12 years old. That is impossible. Impossible. I can’t and won’t believe you. Twenty years…not possible…”
“Shhhh. They’re coming. I hear them. They’re coming,” said Kal. “Remove,” whispered Kal to the ceiling. His plate was lifted back up and disappeared into the ceiling.
“Don’t look them right in the eye. Eyes down. Eyes down.”