The Auction

“Damn! That bastard got me again.” Logan shouted. He clicked the mouse, raising the bid.

“How about that, you fucker?” Logan smiled to himself and reached for the bowl sitting next to the computer. He leaned back in his chair and crammed a handful of the buttery popcorn into his mouth. His eyes never left the screen. There were only five more minutes in the auction and he would win this one. He was packed and ready, he had to win. A high-pitched sound came from the tiny speakers hidden behind the computer. Red writing flashed across the screen.


He slammed the bowl of popcorn onto the desk and rubbed his greasy hands on his dirty jeans.
“This one's mine.” He doubled his bid until he was certain to succeed and stood from the desk.

He walked around the cramped room. The worn path between the twin sized bed and computer desk, was evidence of his incessant pacing. The modest room held his bed, a microwave, and his computer. He didn't require much else. He sat on the end of the bed and put his head in his hands.

It had been weeks since he had won an auction. He was feeling agitated. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He had to win, he needed to win. Then, a ringing sound came from the computer. He hopped up and rushed to the desk.
Green words flashed on the screen.


He clicked on the claim prize button and printed the files. A small map shot out of the printer along with a picture. He shoved the papers into his pouch and flung it over his shoulder. He switched off the computer and opened the front door. The warm and muggy night air clung to his skin as he climbed onto the motorcycle sitting on the porch.

The motor revved to life and Logan headed down the shadowy road. Just by glancing at the map, he had memorized it. His destination, merely a few blocks away. He swung onto the street and shut off his headlights. Counting the houses, he pulled to a stop in front of a modest red house. A tricycle sat in the middle of the yard next to a rusty lawn chair.

He killed the engine and approached the fence in front of the home. Trying to cause as little noise as possible, he lifted the gate handle and walked up the sidewalk. He tried the doorknob, and it turned in his hand. The sound of the door clicking open echoed through the dark house. The narrow beam of the flashlight illuminated a small living room. Logan crept through the house, careful to make little noise. He stopped at the first closed door and pressed an ear against the cold wood. Nothing.

He pushed the door open and stepped into the room. She was laying on the bed, wrapped in a bundle of blankets. The air conditioner ran in the window, providing the perfect amount of background noise. Cool air tickled the exposed skin of his neck, causing the little hairs to stand up on end. He opened the bag and pulled the long silver blade from inside and approached the bed. This was the best part. He pressed the blade to her throat and shook her awake. Her eyes popped open in surprise and her lips began to tremble.
“Please don't kill me,” she said, her voice quivering.

“But I have to. I won!”

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