My nose itches, but I stand still in anticipation, not daring to move. This place, as I’ve learnt in the past hour, has many rules in which everyone is expected to abide to, albeit some of them were downright ridiculous.
My favourite rule: Everytime I round pass the corner near the field with the bright red arrow sign, I get handed €200. My least favourite? The dice roll.
Whenever the dice lands, it costs such a rumble I nearly lose my balance.
“10!” I hear someone shout.
I quickly run 10 steps ahead and internally congratulated myself for not tripping over.
Pain surged through my body as I jumped and quickly hopped another step forward. Fuck, I must have miscounted my steps. I turned back to check, and indeed, now there were 10 steps between where I was standing and my original location.
This place, or The Board as the Makers call it, was certainly unforgiving at mistakes made, and did not tolerate disobedience. So when I saw what I had stepped on, I braced myself for what was coming.
My player picked up a card to read. Somehow, without her saying a word, I knew what I was to do. I marched over to the old lady across the street, hating every bit of myself.
“Ma’am, from now on your property shall be exclusively owned by me and you shall live out on the streets. Also, your €500 is now mine.” I took a deep breath as I snatched the cash from her hands.
Screw this place, screw their rules, I muttered under my breath as I walked back to my spot. I needed out.