This is one of my own works, a sequel to Richard Connell's, The Most Dangerous Game. This is still Mr. Connell's work.
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Rainsford laid down, sprawled out on the empty bed of, the now deceased, General Zaroff. He tossed and turned as the moon shined in on the room. He sweats buckets as he runs through the world that is his own mind.
In his mind, Rainsford relived the terrifying events that had begun, just three days ago. He remembered himself running through the woods, hearing Ivan and Zaroff pursued him with their vicious dogs.
Rainsford holds on for dear life inside of a bushel of leaves. He is suspended up in the air, watching Zaroff stand just below him. Zaroff brought his sight up the very tree Rainsford resided in. Rainsford's mind granted a moment of mercy as it made it clear to Rainsford, that he was dreaming; this relieved Rainsford.
Rainsford was much more calm as Zaroff gaze clawed up the trunk of the tree. Yet, when it came to the point where Zaroff was supposed to stop, smile, and leave, Rainsford was horrified when Zaroff continued looking up the tree, resting his eyes on Rainsford.
“Hello, Rainsford,” Zaroff said, a smile curling over his face, and a pistol pointed at his victim.
BANG!
Rainsford awoke with a scream as he shot up out of the bed, crashing to the floor. The Sun assaulted his eyes as he stumbled up to his feet. Rainsford panted heavily, trying to erase the memory. The very memory that had become one of the most significant moments in his life.
“Why?...” Rainsford asked himself. He was confused as to why he would still be scared of a ghost. Rainsford's mind wandered back to the night before. He remembered it clearly; this haunted him more than anything.
The general made one of his deepest bows. "I see," he said. "Splendid! One of us is to furnish a repast for the hounds. The other will sleep in this very excellent bed. On guard, Rainsford."
As Zaroff fixed his eyes on Rainsford, the very eyes that had seen death in every fashion imaginable, Rainsford was no longer afraid. Rainsford's fears and worries had left him. Instead, he replaced them with only hatred, vengeance, and the now overwhelming will to survive. Rainsford slowly pulled a long shard of broken glass from behind him. A piece of his own shirt was wrapped around one end to form a makeshift handle.
Zaroff quickly rushed toward Rainsford, yet all for not. Rainsford's blade had found its mark, spreading warm feeling of blood allover his arm and torso.
Rainsford looked down at the dying Zaroff, leaning on him, gasping. Zaroff then began to fall. Yet, as he fell, he whispered to Rainsford, the most destructive words imaginable
“You win...”
Rainsford held his head, the heat of the Sun beating down on the back of his neck. He trembles.
“Why?...”
Rainsford sighs, holding back tears of both sadness and fear. He was going to end this, destroy these memories with his bare hands, and make sure no one else would have to relive them.
Rainsford descended a staircase to a dark and dreary basement. He slammed the door to the room open, staring around to meet the eyes of several Spanish sailors. Each one was shackled to the wall. Rainsford took a key from a table near the door and began unlock the shackles of one of the men.
Just as the shackles are unlocked, the sailor wrapped his hands around Rainsford's throat, screaming at him in pure rage and broken English.
“Monster!” the man yelled, throttling Rainsford.
“I'm here to help you!” Rainsford gasped. “The man is dead!”
The Spanish man ceased his attack. He relinquished Rainsford from his grip.
“Si?...” the Spanish man asks.
Rubbing his throat, Rainsford said, “yes, si...” Rainsford then hoisted himself up, back onto his feet. “You must leave.”
The Spanish man understood this clearly and assisted Rainsford in unshackling his fellow shipmates.
As the men fled for the outside, Rainsford doubled back to the General's room. He rummaged through the man's drawers, much to his own personal protest. Eventually, he found what he was looking for, a box of matches.
Rainsford then headed for what he assumed to be the General's study. He lifted up several papers, newspapers, things that the General must have taken from his victims, before he slaughtered them.
Rainsford shuddered at the very truth of his own thoughts.
Rainsford took every stack of paper he could find, throwing them, here and there, throughout the halls as he made his way for the exit.
Once he had found the exit, he looked back at a long trail of books, papers, and other flammable things. Rainsford slipped the box of matches from his pocket as the sailors watched. Rainsford struck three matches, throwing each into the house after they ignited.
Soon enough, the paper caught fire. Then the carpet, then the drapes, then the walls, then the mansion in all of its entirety.
Several hours past. All the men could do was watch the massive fire from a distance, hoping it would catch the attention of a friendly soul.
Rainsford looked over the burning mansion from the cliff the men were perched on. The cliff overlooked the ocean that surrounded the island. Rainsford turned his head all around, looking out at the treacherous ocean that had brought him to this dreadful island.
Just a few minutes later, a large boat appeared on the horizon. Rainsford and the men looked eagerly at it, scanning it for its marks. Was it with the US? Europe? No...
