Chapter 1 — Empty Pages
A knock on the door pulled Andrew away from his phone.
He checked the clock, then his computer screen. Another two hours had vanished. His monitor showed a blinking cursor on the same empty page. He'd made no progress whatsoever.
“Come in.”
The door opened, and Uncle Steven walked in, holding a steaming plate of pasta.
“Thanks,” Andrew muttered, taking the plate and placing it on his desk.
“No problem,” Steven said cautiously. “How's the project coming along? Did you manage to write anything?”
Andrew's fingers picked at a loose thread on his sleeve, eyes fixed on the carpet. “Not really... But I still have time. Two more days.”
Steven's expression tightened. “Andrew, I know it's tough, but you've got to try. Elene is doing everything she can, but she needs you to meet her halfway.”
“I know.”
Steven lingered for a moment, then sighed. “Alright. Enjoy your dinner.” He closed the door softly behind him.
Andrew stared at the closed door, words of gratitude lodged in his throat. He knew Steven and Marge meant well. But saying ‘thanks’ felt hollow when he couldn't act on it. Without change, he was still the burden they'd taken in.
With a sigh, Andrew took the plate onto his lap and turned on the TV. The news was about to start. Andrew didn't care much for it, but he had promised Steven and Marge that he would try to be more aware of what was happening in the world. Besides, it was better than silence while he ate.
“Welcome to Australia Today: The stories that matter to you. Live from Sydney, it's 8pm on Tuesday, February 14th. I'm Julia Lanceford and with me, as always, is Brett Gillian. Thanks for joining us.”
Absent-mindedly, Andrew took a bite of his pasta. His leg was bouncing up and down after the conversation with Steven.
“There's a lot happening in the country today,” continued the voice from the TV. “The prime minister unveiled his plan to tackle the mental health crisis in Australia. Plus, who are the activists behind the transmission tower fires? And why are organ donation rates dropping in Australia? All that and more, coming up on Australia Today. But first, let's go to our reporter in Canberra for a live broadcast of Wellington's speech.”
The screen cut to prime minister Wellington, with his perfectly waxed hair. Politics felt like it was just a popularity contest.
Andrew took another forkful of his pasta. He wondered why people bothered to watch the news. They always repeated the same stories about some inconsequential drama.
“Good evening, Australia,” Wellington said. “When you elected me last year, I vowed to work on my entire political agenda. Since then, I have done my best to make Australia better in every possible way. First, we improved connectivity by rapidly working through the transport and infrastructure backlog. We added more metro lines, better trains, and many more such initiatives are still underway.”
Andrew's mood didn't really improve from the political babbles. He considered turning the TV off, but he'd promised Steven and Marge to give it a chance, so he decided to keep listening. It was the least he could do for them.
“Now, I want to talk about my next agenda item, which is the mental health of our people. Following the pandemic, we're currently battling an ongoing mental health crisis. Six months ago, we boosted funding for counselling and other services. Sadly, our data shows little to no improvement.”
Andrew thought of Elene as he heard this. She had been trying to help him for so long, but nothing seemed to work. Life was just miserable. No therapist could change that.
Andrew had been seeing Elene for a year, once every week. He didn't feel much better than when he started. Lately, Elene had suggested that he'd write down his feelings. Hence the blank document on his computer screen.
“One of the most tragic consequences of this crisis is that some people lose all hope and decide to end their lives. It pains me to think that some of our fellow citizens resort to such desperate measures. No one should feel so hopeless that death is the only way out.”
Andrew felt a pang in his chest as he listened to the speech. It hit too close to home.
“I have consulted experts who study this issue. We have explored solutions, such as offering a rehabilitation program. However, experiments show that the effects of such programs are often short‑lived. When the participants return to their old lives, they quickly relapse into their old patterns.”
“Another option we considered was to offer euthanasia more liberally, so nobody has to suffer. We were close to approving this option. But then, we found a more unconventional alternative to euthanasia.”
Wellington's voice came quietly from the TV in Andrew's room. But, in contrast to the beginning of the broadcast, it now had Andrew's full attention. He didn't even know what sparked his attention to the speech. Sure, the topic was relatable, but he doubted that the solution would be any good.
“People who commit suicide die at the lowest point of their lives. Everything seems dark and hopeless. Nothing seems worth living for. Unfortunately, we have learned that we cannot save everyone, no matter how hard we try. So we asked ourselves how we could save at least some of those who have given up on life. And if death is unavoidable, how can we make sure that they don't die in pain? That's how we came up with ‘The Ordeals’.”
“The Ordeals will be a contest for those who see no other way out but suicide. Those who join will be put in cinematic scenarios where they can be the hero of their own story. They will face real dangers, which could lead to a fatal outcome. But if they die, they will die in glory and leave a legacy.”
Andrew stared incredulously at Wellington's image on the TV screen. He expected him to say that it was all a joke, but he looked completely serious.
“We will use the money generated by this event to fund many mental health‑related projects. Because of the nature of this event, we expect that it will attract a lot of viewers and sponsors. This way, those who don't want to live anymore will help those who do.”
Andrew was shocked. Mike Wellington, who had seemed like such a decent person when he was elected, was now proposing and justifying a death game? Killing depressed people? It was sick and twisted, but Wellington made it seem like a freaking charity case. Even though Andrew knew he should ignore it, his heart was racing.
“Obviously, we can't let just anyone join this contest. Only citizens who have no outlook on improvement are eligible. We also exclude anyone under the age of eighteen. We will screen the applicants carefully and select sixteen citizens who can participate. The other criteria and further details will be explained in greater detail tomorrow.”
“In The Ordeals, contestants will face real dangers in three games. Their display of bravery and skill will be broadcast live to the whole country. In each of the ordeals, half of the contestants will survive. In the end, two players will remain, who will have become famous and can start a new life.”
Andrew stared at the TV screen with his mouth open. Why was he so mesmerized by this? Sixteen contestants. Two winners. That was a one‑in‑eight chance of fame. And a seven‑in‑eight chance of dying. Ridiculous odds, which he shouldn't even remotely consider. Yet here he was, calculating odds like he was choosing lottery numbers.
“That concludes today's announcements,” said Wellington. “Tomorrow at 9AM, we will have a special episode on Channel One to explain The Ordeals in more depth.”
The screen cut back to the news studio, where the two anchors sat. They looked unfazed by what they had just heard. They must have known about it beforehand.
“That was Prime Minister Mike Wellington, speaking from the Canberra congress hall. A very bold plan he has presented. Don't miss tomorrow's episode for more information.”
Andrew switched off the TV, but Wellington's words echoed in his mind. He lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Why did he feel so drawn to it? He wasn't ready yet to give up on life. He still had a chance to make things better, right?
His thoughts raced as he fell into a fitful sleep.
His dinner remained half‑finished on his desk.