Picture taken from Pinterest
‘The referee added some fourteen minutes.’ That’s all I could utter in a low, subdued tone. The guy just raised an eyebrow; he was a professional in the art of casting doubt in contestants’ minds, and mine proved no exception. With an insolent smile, he would keep timing under perfect control and the audience –a pack of robots implementing predictable algorithms– just laughed their time away.
‘Interesting data, young man,’ he put ironically. ‘But it’s the name of the individual we’re interested in, really… Can you recollect it, my dear?’
I depended on that sole question –the last one of the cruel show–. And, unfortunately, I’d run out of lifelines. There was much at stake, though: my last chance to win a free place in that space mission and flee from a dying planet.
‘So…?’ he asked.
I was running out of time –feeling at a loss–, when the queer name the shuttle had been given came to the tip of my tongue. Without hesitation, I hit the push button. In a second, the presenter’s malevolent sneer froze, and confusion showed in his dark countenance.