Whose Line is it Anyway?

Reads: 65  | Likes: 1  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 1

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
“Goooooooood evening everybody and welcome to Whose Line is it Anyway! On tonight's show...

Submitted: September 26, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 26, 2018



Blinding lights above flash on, illuminating a red, velvet stage that opens to a crowd in front of me. The crowd's roars and applause wash across me, virtually paralyzing me with their intensity. After a few seconds of their intense energy, an energetic, charismatic voice blooms through the crowd

“Goooooooood evening everybody and welcome to Whose Line is it Anyway! On tonight's show, nicely trimmed, Wayne Brady! Well-marbled, Colin Mochrie! The bits that go together to make a hot dog, Ryan Stiles! Aaaaand appearing for his first-time debut since rehab, Alex Mertons!”

Holy shit, it's fucking Drew Carey.

“And I'm your host Drew Carey! C'mon down and let's have some fun!” he exclaims as he jogs his way through the crowd to the stage, straightening his black-framed glasses along the way.

I remain glued to the blue-materialed chair, trying to remember how the hell I ended up in this situation. As hard as I try, the last thing I remember is being blinded by the studio lights. The 2-piece band plays the shows's intro as I look to my right and see the other three contestants staring ahead smiling. I start leaning over to tap Ryan on the shoulder, but stop as the movement of reaching out causes shooting pains throughout my body like I had just spent the day lifting heavy weights the wrong way. Drew speaks up again, now sitting at his desk:

“Aaaand welcome to Whose Line is it Anyway! The show where everything is made up and the points don't matter. The points here are.... kinda like Canada.” He finishes, pursing his lips towards the camera with voracious laughter from the audience.

A small outburst from my right makes me look over towards Colin. He has his hands extended at Drew, with a look of fake hurt on his face as Ryan consoles him

“Colin! I'm just kidding around! I love Canada, just a joke, best country in the world...”

I rub my left hand against my eyes as I try to make sense of everything, as my right hands increases its grip around the wooden armrest. The dull soreness radiates through my body with my increasing heartbeat. I look behind me and see a canvas painted red and blue that extends up and out of my line of view for my current position. I look back at the audience but have trouble making them out through the bright lights. The back end of the room seems to be lost in the lighting as well. Suddenly applause fills the room again.

“....hat. That's right, we pull suggestions from the audience out of this hat here,” Drew says as he pulls up a top-hat in the style of an American flag from underneath his desk, “and our contestants have to act out what is written on the cards. They....”

I begin looking around for any kind of stage hand or director to let them know there had been some kind of mistake when Ryan's hand suddenly loops around my arm, pulling me up to my feet towards the stage. The motion sends pangs of pain throughout my body, but I find my footing and stumble to the left side of the studio with him, facing Drew as he pulls a card from the hat.

“The last thing you want to say to a police officer after he walks up to your car door after an accident.”

The audience's laughter cuts through the expansive room again. Wayne step forward and mimes sitting down with his hand on a wheel and looking out his window with a big smile on his face.

“I didn't deserve the chances everyone gave me!”

The audience shrieks with delight and applause as Drew lifts his glasses to wipe away tears from laughing so hard.

I begin to feel a little sick from the helplessness growing inside of me. I feel so disoriented, I didn't even understand Wayne's joke. I begin looking for a director again when Ryan shoves me from behind into the center of the stage.

The pain swells through me again, bringing me down to one knee with my arms wrapped around my body. I open my eyes and see everybody staring at me from the audience to Drew in complete silence, waiting. The heat from the lights mixes in with pain thudding throughout my body, causing me to sweat through my shirt.

“Uh, I- uhhh...” I stammer, “I-I don't think- there's been a mistake. I'm not supposed to be here.” I finish, looking around for any help with my arms still held against my body. The endless crowd and contestants continue to silently stare at me, the buzzing of the lights the only sound filling the room.

I'm about to push up from my kneeling position when a horrendously loud, all-encompassing gnashing noise fills the room and the stands holding the audience seems to rush towards me at an incredible speed. I hold my hands up in front of my face when the piercing noise cuts out and a noise like two wood-blocks being slapped together clacks throughout the theater.


Blinding lights appear before me, moving in my direction. As their distance goes from feet to inches before my face, I bring up my arms, but they roar past me and blink out into darkness. Lights above flash on, illuminating a red, velvet stage that opens to a crowd in front of me. The crowd's roars and applause wash across me.

“Goooooooood evening everybody and welcome to Whose Line is it Anyway! On tonight's show, nicely trimmed...”

Drew's back in the audience, enticing the crowd. I'm again sitting in the uncomfortable chair at the back of the stage with the expansive canvas behind my back, seeming to contain less blue than before. The three other contestants to my right sit with their back straight against their chairs and feet square on the floor, their hands gripping the armrest tightly while the 2-piece band plays on, seemingly a little out of tune.

Drew begins jogging through the crowd up to us, same as ever save for a small crack in his left lens, extending just past his eye.

The nausea from earlier takes hold and I lean to the right and vomit onto Ryan and the red stage. Nearly all liquid and tasted like something you'd clean a bathroom with. The convulsions rack my core, causing the pain to return in full across my body. I look up at Ryan, horrified of what his reaction would be.

He sat there the same as before, back straight against the chair, gripping the arm rests tightly, and staring straight ahead. Drew and the audience continue on as if nothing had happened:

“...love Canada, just a joke, best country in the world...” I glance past Ryan towards Colin, he sits there motionless like his other cast-mates.

I straighten up in my chair while wiping my mouth, looking to my left for anyone to help me. Off stage, gnarled and sharp metal litter the ground out of view from the audience. I squint my eyes at it, trying to make out any kind of distinguishing features when I notice silence has filled the studio. I look back towards the front and see the audience sitting stone-still, silently looking ahead while Wayne, Colin, and Ryan stood looking at each other from across the stage in front of the host's desk. Drew was the only one moving, staring angrily and directly at me, breathing heavily.

I stand up, the pains traveling throughout my body again, and lumber forward to stand in the vacant spot next to Ryan, still covered in my vomit from earlier. The room came back to life in an instant. The crowd cheers and Drew turns way from me to the audience.

“And for this next bit were going to need two volunteers from the audience.” Drew vamps on, scanning the endless crowd from his desk. “Let's seeeeee... you! Aaaannnd you!” he points to opposite ends of the gallery. However, two people stand up from the front-center and begin walking up to the stage. Had I just not thrown up, the sight of them would have made me do it now.

From what could be seen, the audience “volunteers” were an older woman and a young girl, but their joints bent at weird angles and their faces seemed to be glued back together after being smashed with a shovel. Dried blood covered nearly every visible parts of their bodies, parts of which sported deep cuts that offered glimpses of things no living person wanted on display. With every step they took, the sound of shattering glass echoed through the room.

I look back to the center of the stage. The other contestants had again moved without being seen and stood uniform and rigid behind two black stools. The two women sit down and turn their ruined faces to me, immediately followed by the audience doing the same. As I scan the crowd, their faces begin to fill in. They were all people I recognized throughout my life. Family. Friends, some from high school, some from the nightclub. They all displayed anger, sadness, or pity. Drew's voice once again cuts through:

“This one's for our newcomer, Alex!” My gaze snaps back to towards the host, both of his lenses are now shattered from each end of their frames. “Parents, you might want to have the kids go into the other room for this one, were trying something different tonight!” Pain screams through my front as someone slams an object into it, Ryan had appeared next to me while I wasn't looking and shoved something into my chest. My vomit had begun to dry on him and he reeked of sick and vodka. My hands push up through the hurt and grab onto the item. I look down to see he had pushed a handgun into my grip. Drew continues on:

“This game is called “No More Chances!”. Alex, before we start, what were doing before you came on our show?”

I stare up at him silently until Ryan again shoves me from behind, causing my already weak legs to give out, falling in front of the crushed women and onto the red stage. The crowd begins whispering amongst themselves.

“I.... I don't know.”

“You don't know?! Minus a 1000 points!” Parts of the audience laugh. Drew keeps talking, “You owe it to these women to remember! Look at them!”

I look down at the red stage, dripping sweat from the pain and buzzing lights. I whisper, “I don't want to.”

“LOOK AT THEM!!” Drew shouts as two pairs of arms lift me up and face me towards the women sitting in the stools.

They no longer looked pieced together, but sat frozen with looks of sheer terror. They stare straight ahead as the older woman extends her arm across the chest of the little girl sitting to her right, their faces lit as if bright lights sat pointed at them from feet ahead.

I begin sobbing, supported by Wayne's and Colin's arms, as I rested my weight against them. The pain throbbing throughout my body. My wails echo through the now silent crowd as the arms holding me shake me to my feet and leave me standing alone in front of the women. Drew instructs:

“Now shoot them.”

His command pulls me out of my stupor and I turn my head towards him, his eyes no longer visible past the shattered lenses. “No!” I shout, “I refuse to! I'm not going to cause their dea-...” I fall silent and slowly turn to the women.

No shots had rung out and I didn't pull the trigger, of that I am certain. But smoke rose from the barrel of the gun and the two women now lay on the ground, reverted to their broken state from before. The heat from the lights above feels searing. I feel something click into place but still didn't understand its meaning, like a blind man completing a jigsaw puzzle. Only after a few seconds did I realize another sound had begun to build while I was focused on the sight in front me, but once I noticed it, it filled the vast room instantly to ear-splitting levels. Sirens



My eyes open to the red and blue painted canvas being the only source of light. No longer static, the red and blue pulsed, quickly growing brighter and then dimmer, independent form the other color.The chairs sat empty on the ceiling, silhouetted against the glowing canvas.

Wait, no, that wasn't right. I peer around from my position on the darkened, red carpet. Seeing the entire studio seemingly attached to the ceiling made me realize I was the one upside down. I look back towards the flashing red and blue canvas, but now I am surrounded by a jagged metal frame and glass has been shattered across the carpet, my hands grip the steering wheel before me.

“....hat. That's right, we pull suggestions from the audience out of this hat here, and our contestants have to act out what is written on the cards. They....”

I look to my right across the passenger seat and see Drew sitting at his desk on the ceiling. His eyes still obscured by his lenses, each now independently reflecting the flashing of the red and blue from the canvas as he talks through the rules before repeating:

“The last thing you want to say to a police officer after he walks up to your car door after an accident.”

I look away from him and stare into the flashing canvas and begin to sob again as my grip tightens around the steering wheel, creating sound.

My tears run dry and through shuddering breaths I say,

“I didn't deserve the chances everyone gave me.”



A cool breeze flows through my missing windshield as the red and blue of all the police cars surrounding me reflect against the shattered glass on the road. Pain radiates through my body for every millimeter I try to move. All the trash left in my car now rests on the ceiling, mixed with old bags of fast food, little baggies, and empty bottles of vodka.

Ahead of me lies two headlights of another car, miraculously still working despite having been smashed in so they now faced each other. Still buckled in were two women, one older and one younger, unrecognizable from their former beauty.


I shift my eyes to my left and see an old, family friend with anger, pity, and sadness mixed into his face. The officer shouts at me,

“Boy, I just saw you were in out-patient and you swore to me you were done with this kind of livin! We all rallied around you and this is what you do?! What do you have to say for yourself?!”

I shift my eyes back ahead, the image before me being burned into brain. I can only cry with each sob sending blinding pain through my body.

What else is there left to say?

© Copyright 2019 For You Margo. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments: