Rapidly coming to consciousness, I can feel the cold metal of restraints against my wrists and ankles, followed by an auditory assault of children singing. The words don’t quite make sense. A quick look around reveals many people in close proximity, being held to a chair in a similar manner. Wait, no, not a chair. They’re those old desks that they have in elementary schools, with the chair attached to the desk and a small metal basket underneath. With a look of panic on their faces, they visibly strained against the metal clasps confining them. Everyone makes eye contact, and recognize each other from… somewhere.
Suddenly, the words being sung start to make sense- well, they don’t make sense, but they’re clear and enunciated now.
“Are you smarter than a 5th grader? Grab a pencil and a piece of paper. Meet your teacher, now we're back in school, so, are you smart enough for the 5th grade?”
Lights erupt onto 4 other groups of people held to desks, in a large circle, confused and panicked, and they look around and recognize each other in their individual sections quickly. With just enough time to process this, another light shines into the center of the circle, revealing a disheveled man in a suit holding a microphone in front of 5 people strapped into desks, who seem much less confused. They’re fairly far away, but they seem sad about something.
The man in the suit begins to speak, in a chipper southern accent.
“Hello, and welcome to a special edition of ‘Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader?’! Today, we’re joined by five contestants, who will be held accountable for their hubris!”
A jarring applause comes from every direction; everyone looks around for the source of the sound, but it’s impossible to tell where it’s coming from, or even if it’s real at all.
“Alright, let’s get started; Anthony! Go ahead and pick a category.”
One of the people near him looks up with a look of sadness and anger. A chalkboard lights up across from him, with ten boxes, in 5 columns and 2 rows. He pauses for a moment, then sighs.
“Geography. Third grade.”
“Great choice!”
The chalkboard is erased by an invisible force, and then replaced with a question. “Which Canadian province is located between Alberta and Manitoba? Yukon, Quebec, or Saskatchewan?
The lights reflect off the tears that begin streaming down his face. His voice cracks as he answers.
“… Yukon.”
“You reckon that’s your final answer?”
He pauses. “Yes.”
“Well, luckily, that is...” The lights flash red twice, and Anthony’s head hangs down. “Incorrect!” The man in the suit approaches his desk. “Now you and I know what that means, but for the folks at home, well… you’ll see soon.”
As the man in the suit opens his mouth, a chorus of voices pours out. Some are low, some are high, some are smooth, and some are gravely.
“Choose.”
Anthony begins to sob, and looks up at one of the groups of people.
“I’m sorry, Ashley.”
A woman he looked towards starts thrashing, and though she’s far away her cries are still audible. The man in the suit grins, and he walks towards her, the terror visible in her eyes even from this distance. The light above the group goes out, and when it turns back on, she is limp in her chair. The applause fills the room once again.
“Onto our next contestant- Robert! Go ahead and pick a category.”
Another man looks at the group I’m a part of- his face is familiar, but everything is still hazy. He looks at the chalkboard for a moment.
“Math, second grade.”
The chalkboard cleared again, replacing itself with a question.
“What is 18, plus 27, plus 55? Is it 95, 112, or 100?”
The panic in his eyes is clear. His chest was heaving from breathing heavily. He opens his mouth slowly, and says his answer through gritted teeth. “95.”
“Is that your final an-“
“Yes.” He says abruptly, looking at the floor.
The lights flash red once again. The man in the suit approaches Robert, and places a finger under his chin, lifting his head up to make eye contact. He smiles, and the voices come out of his mouth once again.
“Choose.”
Robert closes his eyes tightly, refusing to acknowledge him. Then his mouth seems to open against his own will.
“Fiona.”
I can feel the people around me turning their attention to me, and I watch as the man in the suit does the same. He walks toward the group, and the air seems to chill by his mere presence. He stops in front of me, and the light above us goes out. There’s still enough light to see him and the people immediately nearby. His finger is cold as it makes contact directly between my eyes. I keep eye contact. His eyes flash black.
The last sound I ever heard was the distant applause of an ethereal audience.