“Excuse me. I’m just so moved by your speech. Give me a second, please.”

We listen in amazement as the box proceeds to pretend cry for a minute straight, broken by sporadic absurd honks into an imaginary tissue.

“You know what? Executive decision. You pass.” We all sigh in unison.

“But.” There’s always a but. “If you don’t participate, you will die next round. As your teacher, I counsel you to look at this as an opportunity to examine how to live with your said dignity in a world that tries to take it away. I agree that this part may seem exploitative, but to die is easy, to struggle is hard. Ok. Aanya.”

“My name is Aanya Devi. I’ve had sex with two people. And one of them was with my brother.” Collective gasps.

Most of you are like ‘Omg incest! Ewww, that’s so disgusting. Who would even want to do that?’

Some of you smarter ones are like ‘We’re genetically predisposed to not be attracted to close blood relatives. Even animals don’t do incest.’

And accordingly, in the United States, barring New Jersey, Rhode Island, and Ohio, just the relation between close kin is punishable with time in prison anywhere from 1 year up to life and numerous levels of fines ranging from thousands to hundreds of thousands.

In essence, people who do that kind of shit are reprehensible, repulsive, genetically flawed criminals, right? You agree.

Do you know what that sounds like? It sounds like the same exact shit almost everyone was saying about gay people hmmm...oh just 25 years ago.

But that’s totally different!

I don’t think we’re genetically predisposed to want to procreate with a sex that we can’t have offspring with.

Have you ever heard of sodomy laws? Probably not.

Before 1962, sodomy was a felony in every state. And guess what? They included sexual acts between persons of the same sex. Impossible, right?

Did you know it took till 2003 before there was even a complete decriminalization of same-sex intercourse in the United States. Of course, Texas was one of the last ones.

Y’all are out there celebrating gay marriage laws but do you know the dark and dangerous path so many people had to take to get to that happy and bright point? Those years where it was totally fine to beat a homosexual half to death on the street cause they were just criminals anyways?

What’s wrong with two people falling in love, no matter how flawed they may be? Y’all are real close minded if you want to accept one thing and not the other.

But wait, what about all the deformed, mutants they’ll make? Every single culture dead or alive today has descended from incestuous ancestry so all y’all are deformed mutants, too.

Yea, but we know better now. Hmmm...let me see if I can think of some kind of practical solution to this problem. Whoa, by golly gee, I think I got it! What if, and this is a long shot, but what if they just don’t have kids? Wait, what?

Kind of like what same sex couple do? Or what if we use genetic screening to make sure the baby doesn’t have any diseases, just like every other fucking pregnant couple?

Genius, am I right?

Y’all are a bunch of hypocrites. Anything strange and unnatural, something that don’t fit into your box, y’all just flip out as if it’s the end of the world and just exterminate. Sorry, bout all the y'all's, got in the Texas mood.

Still, it’s fucking weird to fuck your brother. But I like weird.

“Next. Colin.” Colin looks like he’s dead, slumped in his seat, if not for the panting as if he’s short of breath, which he probably is. Aanya shakes him gently, trying to wake him but all he does is moan.

“Do you think we can skip him for now please, Mr. Turner?”

“Rules are rules. I can’t very well let everyone just skip their turn if they wanted to, can I?”

“Yes, you can. You just don’t want to.”

“Fine. I don’t want to. He’s lucky I didn’t kill him earlier. If he doesn’t answer in fifteen seconds, we’re moving on.” Aanya starts to shake Colin harder.

“Wake up, Colin. You have to wake up. Please.” Nothing. “Colin, please!” She’s on her feet, slapping his face. Trying to raise him from the dead.

“He was lucky to have made it so far. I’m going to have to call it. Time of death-”

“Just give him a bit longer. Please, Mr. Turner. He’ll wake up, I know he will.” Where is her confidence coming from? “Colin, if you can hear me. I know you’re a fighter. I know you’ve had cancer and you survived that. You’re still alive even though you’re arm was cut off. This is nothing. Just wake up. Please. Just wake up!”

“Looks like Colin cannot continue.”

“No! Stop! He’s gonna wake up! I swear!” When did she get so attached to him? Is this the Florence Nightingale effect? Sitting in front of Colin, Brandon has his eyes closed again, sweating furiously. I’m sure a lot of people wouldn’t want to see what comes next.

“Please step away from him, Aanya.”

“What? Are you going to kill me, too? Fuck you! Just kill me then. Natalia is right. This shit isn’t worth living for.” So many fucking martyrs in this class. Who knew?

“Aanya. Last warning. Step back, now.” Without a word, Brandon stands and grabs Aanya from behind, dragging her away from Colin.

“No! No! Stop Brandon! Let me go! Nooo!”

“Thank you, Brandon.”

“Stop! Colin! Wake up! I don’t want to see anyone die anymore. Please! Let me go, Brandon! I don't wanna do this anymore. Just let me die!”

“What a racket. Can’t a guy just take a nap?” Colin somehow wheezes out the eerily familiar words.

“Wonderful. It’s good of you to join us Colin. Aanya, can you please explain the current game we’re playing?” Aanya rushes to Colin, hugging him. They’re getting real close, real quick. I guess death or near death does that to you.

“Hey, you’re killing me here.” Colin winces.

“Sorry. Sorry. I was just so scared.” Aanya wipes away her tears.

“What’s going on? What happened?”

“Mr. Turner cut your arm off and I tried to stop the bleeding, but no one was helping me and then Brandon did but I thought you were still gonna die and Mr. Turner wouldn’t let us get you any help and he killed Ryan cause Ryan lied and he was going to kill you, too and I was so scared that I couldn’t save you. I was so scared.”

“Shhh, shhh. It’s ok. You did really good Aanya. Thank you. You saved my life.” With his good arm, or should I say his only arm, he hugs Aanya, calming her.

“Aanya. We’ve wasted enough time. Waiting. Again. I’m so nice, aren’t I? But we must continue the activity.”

“What’s going on? What do I have to do?”

“Just say your name, how many people you had sex with and your darkest secret.”

“Ok." He doesn't argue. Losing an arm made him understand the gravity of the situation. "My name is Colin-”

“Stand up, please.”

“Mr. Turner! He’s injured!”

“It’s ok. I got this.” Colin gasps for breath as he stands, leaning on the table with his one hand, and Aanya supporting him on the other side.

“My name is...Colin Sharp,” he pants, “I’ve had sex...with two people.” Beep. Green. Two people? I could’ve sworn that Colin was a virgin when he started going out with Brianna. “And my secret is that I cheated on my one true love.” Ah. There you go. The last part he says emphatically as if it was his final confession. He falls into his seat, his head dangling, unconscious again from the effort and the lack of oxygen to sustain him.

“Well, at least we got that over with. Brandon.”

He’s doing that stupid thing again where he scrunches his eyes like he’s concentrating and somehow seems to be squeezing sweat out of his scalp. After deciding on something, whatever it is, he opens them wide and stares off into the distance.

“My name is Brandon James and I’ve not had sex. I cannot tell you my secret even if it means I must die.” That fucking idiot. That’s what he decided on?

“Why?”

“I cannot betray my friend’s privacy.” Just say it, you dumbass. Save yourself. Who cares about shit like loyalty and friendship? When it comes down to it, everyone values themselves over everyone else.

“No one said you had to tell the whole story.” Haha, that idiot. The box was right. Did Helen say who she had a threesome with? Did Colin say he who cheated on his true love with? Hannah and Nick only mentioned Eric cause they were spatting. Yes, that’s a word. Overthinking things again, Brandon.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize I could use anonymity. Thank you.” Who the fuck was he thanking? The box? “I was an accomplice to murder.” Beep. Green. Wow. How do you end up being an accomplice to murder and have it as your darkest secret. You shouldn’t have gotten involved in the first place. If it was an accident, then you wouldn’t be an accomplice. If you're that tortured, go to the police. What would make you help a murderer and cover it up if you didn’t want to?

“Hailey?”

“My name is Hailey Bishop. I’ve had sexual relations with two guys and one girl. I’ve also had a dog eat me out using peanut butter. That’s my secret.” Damn. She’s kinky as hell. Hailey knows how to experiment.

“Alright, next aisle. Since all of you are avoiding sitting near me.” The first row near the box was empty. “Gessica, you’re next.”

“Gessica Meyers. I’ve had sex with fifteen people.” Beep. Red. “Sixteen people.” Beep. Red. "Seventeen?" Beep. Green. The girl didn't even hesitate on her last try. Did she have ice flowing through her veins? “And I’ve never loved anyone.”

Who cares if she's never loved anyone? Everyone is thinking the same thing as I am. How the fuck? Seventeen people? How does that even happen without word getting around about it? In high school no matter who you fuck, word gets around. It’s mostly the guys cause they can’t shut up about their conquests of pussy.

Is this the same angel that I had been pining over for two weeks? My angel?

The slut.

She didn’t even remember the number of guys she fucked. I can say slut cause I’m a girl. That’s how it works, right? Or I can say it cause I’m a slut, too. Does that work?

It’s just a fucking word anyways. And even the demeaning meaning attached to it. Why are you ashamed of being someone who fucks around? You should've thought about it before you spread your legs wide open.

I feel no shame of being a slut.

If you try to stop people from saying a word, you’re giving them power over the word. Like nigger or faggot. If you ban it, then they can use it to their benefit, they can flaunt your arbitrary rules in your face.

When they say cunt, they’re purposely trying to cause offense. Don’t give them that power. Shout your most offensive words off the rooftops, make it meaningless, and that’s when you finally take that word and null its power.

But yea, Gessica’s a fucking slut.

Who the hell did she fuck? Nobody in this school cause I would’ve heard, someone would’ve heard. Maybe she kills her victims like some kind of succubus or vampire. She looked pale enough.

What the fuck? I still couldn’t comprehend this. Who is she? What is she? I guess, this is the downfall of never talking to her. Now, I understand why I was always watching her, why I was drawn to her. She’s like me. She’s one of the masked ones. And hidden behind her mask, her true face. A pleasure seeking bitch.

“Diana, you’re next.” Oh, did I forget to tell you that the number four hottest girl in the school is in my first period history class? Well, she is and she looks even more spectacular, disheveled from the disorder. I don't know why.

She’s taken off her hoodie and the tank top she’s wearing underneath is quite delicious. How could I be thinking about that right now? Do you not know me yet?

She’s wearing black thick rimmed glasses which accentuates her dark hazel eyes and olive skin. When she stands, you can see every curve highlighted by the tightness of her top and her yoga pants, and let me tell you, she’s got some real nice curves, half hispanic, half white, she’s perfectly round in all the right places.

“Diana Ramirez. Seven guys.” Seven lucky guys got to fuck a goddess.

So the big question: why is she number four? Cause she’s an absolute bitch.

“My secret is I made a girl kill herself in middle school." Beep. Red. "On purpose.” Green. And she's a complete fucking psychopath, apparently.

We all thought she was a bitch cause her best friend committed suicide in eighth grade. But it seems like there was an attribution error, classic correspondence bias. Her best friend killed herself because she was a bitch, not the other way around.

Maybe she was born a bitch, a baby that cried through the night, threw up on the nice clothes, would take half a shit and then shit the rest right after being changed. All on purpose, of course. A demon baby. One percent of the population is a psychopath so if you know a hundred people, chances are you know a psychopath.

Although, most of them are probably in jail.

“Next.” Jordan better watch out, she’s Diana’s new butt buddy and it seems as though Diana’s on a killing streak. Well, not a streak cause it’s just one, but she might want to start her streak with Jordan.

“Jordan Bailey. Five guys. I’ve cheated.” Beep. Red. “I like to cheat.” Beep. Red.

“Make sure you answer the question completely. Partial answers will be marked wrong.” Like Ryan.

“I like to cheat by seducing other girl’s boyfriends.” Beep. Green. Looks like a couple of psychopaths have found their perfect partners. How sweet.

You can’t find that kind of connection in any normal relationships. Gotta be true love. Maybe they torture and kill cats together for fun. Why are all the fucking weirdos in this class? Or does every class have the same ridiculous ratio of fucked up people?

“Finally, things are moving along. Mohammed, go.” He rises, slowly. His face still a swollen mess.

“Mohammed Haddad. Zero girls.” Surprising. His jet black windswept hair alone could get him laid numerous times. “I am betrothed to an eight year old.” Beep. Red. Well that sucks. Now everyone knows he’s a pedophile and he still needs to tell us his real secret.

Come on guys, eight’s not that bad. I mean it’s definitely bad right now, but he’s not like fucking her or anything. I’m sure they’ll wait till she’s of age, not sure what that is in Muslim years. But when he’s 26, she’ll be 18. Could be worse.

“One of my cousins tried to recruit me for ISIS.” Beep. Green. Haha, a pedophilic terrorist. CNN should be on this shit.

"Next."

“Salvatore Esposito. Zero girls. I have a deck of yu-gi-oh cards hidden in a shoebox, in the back of my closet.” Beep. Green. That sneaky bastard.

“What?”

“That can’t be his secret.”

“How did he just pass?”

“Quiet, please. Moving on. Adam.”

“Adam Schapiro. I’ve done three girls. I keyed and slashed the tires of my ex’s car.” Beep. Green. I was there for that one. It was hilarious. Sam broke a rib when one of the tires popped, sending the knife flying back at him. He could’ve died if the knife had flipped around.

Adam’s real nice and never gets mad, like literally, never mad, like Buddha status, but he found out Karen cheated on him after three years together and apparently was doing it all through middle school and into high school.

That’s what happens when you start having sex before you’re 13. Love knows no bounds. Or more like sex addiction knows no bounds.

He couldn’t even think of a good revenge plan and ripped this one off of a movie. But at least we’re finally back to some normal people secrets. Jesus. That other side of the classroom is fucking crazy. Well, mainly Brandon, Aanya, and Diana. Maybe a little of Ryan, Hailey, Gessica, and Jordan.

“Next.”

“Henry Miller. I’ve never done it. I watched my friend have sex.” Beep. Green. “But I wasn’t like peeping or anything. They asked me to.” Thanks for the explanation. You’re not a total creep, just a partial one. But hmmm...it had to have been either Adam or Julian. It couldn’t have been Sam. These guys have all been on the same soccer team since they were in kindergarten. Their team color was pink and they called themselves the pink piggies. Kids are stupid.

“My name is Samuel L Jackson.” Beep. Red. Nobody laughs. The fucking idiot. Read the crowd. Nobody's in the mood. He was always doing idiotic jokes, that nobody really thought was funny. It’s more cringey than watching a stand up comedian bomb for an hour straight.

Didn’t he see the two dead bodies on the floor? Maybe humor was his coping mechanism. Wait. No. Eating was definitely his go to. There was just nothing to eat, right now.

If he had a superpower it would be whipping snacks out of nowhere, hidden in some deep crevice or fold.

“Sorry...uh...my name is Samuel Rosen and I’ve never had sex. My secret is uhh...I’ve skipped school to jerk off all day.” Beep. Red. It sounded pretty tame.

“Crap. Crap. I don’t know. I thought that was it. If that’s not it then I don’t know what it is.” Shouldn’t have made that joke, you retard. I’m surprised this hasn’t happened earlier. It seems like most people know that one thing that they wouldn’t tell anyone, ever. Except for Sam.

“What do I do?” He looks around at us for help.

“Well, we kinda all knew that already.” Seems Mr. Black Box is allowing the phone a friend option.

“Yea, it’s not a secret if it’s obvious.” Don’t tell me Sam has nothing really dark or shameful to hide. What happens then? Does he just automatically die?

“I’m screwed. I’m screwed. What do I do? Do you guys know that I jerk off in your bathrooms?”

“Yea, we can hear it and it’s gross.”

“That’s why we’re always yelling at you to wash your hands.”

“Please don’t do that anymore dude.”

“Sorry guys, it’s just sometimes the girls we hang out with are so hot.” The sad fuck. He knows he’ll never get a chance with any of them.

“This isn’t a group discussion. Please finish your answer, Samuel.” Time's up. Sorry Sam.

“Please, Mr. Turner. I don't know what I'm supposed to say. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to end up like...”

Ryan. He’s definitely gonna end up like Ryan. He has no fucking clue at this point what his secret is.

Well, it was good knowing ya Sam. Thanks for all those sweaty warm half melted chocolates you pulled out of your ass. You were the best of us, well not really. Only when we played Halo, you annoying shit, rocket launchering all of us to kingdom come.

Your tombstone will read, chubby lacksadaisacal soccer player, full time Halo player, vending machine.

At least it’s better than Ryan, the public masturbator and semen sprayer.

“Please finish your answer.”

“No. I’m not going to answer.” What does he think that will do? “If I don’t answer, you can’t kill me.” Oh, he most definitely can. He can kill all of us right now if he wants to. “Remember, you said there are rules you have to follow as well.”

“Yes, and one of those rules is to finish the activities. Please answer or we will have to move on.”

“What about Natalia? You let her go. Please Mr. Turner. I don't know my secret. Please just let me go.” You’re honestly comparing your blubbering ass to that fierce piece of ass?

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can let your case slide. I’m going to count to three. One.” This is how you deal with a five year old.

“No. No. I’m not going to. You can’t kill me. You’re not allowed to. You’re not allowed to.”

“Two.”

“Please. Please. Just let me live. Please save me.” Come on Sam, you could at least try to answer.

“Three.” Either way, goodbye.

“Ok. Ok. Wait. I’ll answer. I steal money out of my mom’s purse to buy chips and candy at school!” Beep. Green.

Are you fucking serious?

That was the darkest most shameful secret? I don’t even know what to think anymore. Wasn’t that too late? Not that I wanted Sam to die. I didn’t care if he did or not.

“That was cutting it close. You’re lucky I’m nice, Sam. Other teachers wouldn’t be so forgiving.” What a favor he’s doing us, by not killing us. I couldn’t tell if he was serious, that sarcastic shitbag. Not that I had any right to complain.

“Kayla.”

“Kayla Lewis. No sex. And I almost got raped.” Almost? Your darkest secret is you almost got raped?

Get over yourself. Rape is such a sensitive issue and it’s become such a hot topic that it’s been blown out of proportion.

So much so that many women believe that rape is worse than murder.

Are you fucking kidding me? If you think that then just kill yourself after you get raped. Problem solved.

They claim rape is so emotionally scarring that the majority of rape victims end up committing suicide. WRONG. 13 percent attempt suicide. Far from the majority.

Still, that might seem bad at first. But you know what’s much worse. Battery.

I would totally get raped rather than get my fucking ass beat. You think you have PTSD from getting raped?

Wait till every fucking sound gets you jumpy and you flinch at the slightest touch. You want me to prove it to you?

Battery victims will be five times more likely to commit suicide than non crime victims. But rape victims will be four times more likely to just CONTEMPLATE suicide.

Not even attempt, but contemplate. How can you even compare the two? I’m not saying like rape isn’t bad but there are worse things. Much worse things.

How do I know? You caught me. I'm a rape survivor. That's my secret. Woop dee doo dah.

I was raped by my step dad for three years.