The countdown for the minute had begun.
Just one minute — yet it felt like the edge of an invisible cliff, waiting for me to slip into an unknown fate.
The problem wasn't the time… it was the task thrown upon my shoulders:
To make the doll laugh.
Yes… to make a lifeless entity laugh. A creature not supposed to have emotions, and yet here it was, demanding laughter from us — as if we were actors in some absurd, senseless play.
My thoughts collided in my head like a flock of birds caught in a storm.
What should I do?
Where do I start?
How do you make a creature laugh when you don't even know if it understands humor?
That question repeated in my mind relentlessly — like a hammer pounding a fragile wall of nerves:
What should I do?!
I sat frozen in place, my body stiff, while anxiety gnawed at me like a beast devouring its prey.
I knew — with painful certainty — this round wasn't like the others.
It didn't just demand physical endurance… it required imagination, wit — perhaps even a touch of madness.
Then, amidst this spiral of hesitation, a voice emerged from within…
A small, innocent voice I hadn't heard since this strange land swallowed me whole.
My little brother's voice.
I remembered the moment vividly — sitting on the couch, scrolling through my phone, while he played with his toy car and suddenly exclaimed with childlike enthusiasm:
"Brother, do you know what joke makes most people laugh?"
I had looked at him back then without interest and replied coldly:
"I don't know. What?"
He giggled and said:
"Just say a really normal joke, then laugh like crazy! They'll laugh with you, even if they didn't get it."
I remember how I laughed at him back then, shaking my head:
"Brilliant idea, philosopher. If only the world were that simple."
But now…
Now, facing laughter as a test of survival… that idea was all I had.
What irony...
Who would've thought that a childish tip like that could be the only rope dangling between me and survival?
I closed my eyes for a second — not to escape the darkness (it already surrounded me) — but to gather my heartbeat, to summon whatever courage I had left.
This was my only chance.
I'd tell a joke… and then laugh like I'd completely lost my mind.
Fake laughter? Yes.
But if it earned me one more step toward survival — what harm was a little madness?
I lifted my head slightly and swallowed hard, bracing myself.
I had to laugh.
Not because anything was funny…
But because in this place… life itself had become the biggest joke.
...
I drew a breath, trying to summon whatever energy — or desperate bravery — I still had left inside me.
There wasn't much time… the countdown had started. The doll was watching.
I sat still, staring into nothingness — not because I could see, but because my entire focus was on one thing:
My little brother's advice.
Seconds passed, thick like molasses, before I finally opened my mouth. My voice was faint but steady, and I delivered the line exactly as he had suggested — no changes:
"You know… why does the pen disappear from a writer's hand?"
I paused.
I let that silence creep into the room — seep into the void — hoping it would stir some curiosity in that cold, lifeless doll.
Then, I continued, my voice gradually rising:
"Because… it got tired of correcting his mistakes!"
And then I laughed.
But not just any laugh — I burst into hysterical laughter, as if I had truly lost my mind:
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Can you believe it?! The pen vanished… because the writer kept making mistakes! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!"
I put my hands on my face, laughing, my body trembling as if something wild had awakened inside me — something desperate, afraid… but still trying to survive through laughter.
I laughed like I never had before.
A laugh soaked in exhaustion, dread, and the mental fatigue that had carved itself into my bones since this twisted game began.
A laugh not born from joy… but from those who laugh because there is no other option left.
A final laugh… before madness.
But as I laughed like that — a terrifying thought crept in:
Why… why don't I hear anything? Why isn't the doll laughing?!
Doubt began to flood my mind.
Did I fail? Was my brother's advice just childish nonsense? Did my laughter just make me look stupid?!
I didn't have time to finish the thought — a strange sound suddenly cut through my panic.
A metallic, distorted voice — caught somewhere between mockery and laughter:
"Buh...BUHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
I froze.
I couldn't believe my ears.
Was that… the doll's laughter?
Did I succeed?!
A shiver ran through my entire body — a wave of warmth overtaking the cold that had claimed me since the beginning of the round.
She laughed.
She really laughed.
My little brother's advice — that innocent, random statement I once mocked — was the reason I survived.
I laughed even more, but this time… it was real. A laugh full of astonishment and relief.
Then the doll's voice returned — still tinged with the aftertaste of laughter, trying to recover its seriousness:
"Ugh... that is cheating! I only laughed because you laughed like a madman! How could I not laugh in that situation?!"
Was that a complaint… or an admission of defeat?
She continued, as if delivering an official verdict:
"Finr... you earned a point. But in the next two rounds, the one who has to make the others laugh... can not laugh themselves."
My eyes widened in the dark, as if I'd just heard a new clause in the contract of suffering.
What?!
Is she serious?! How can someone make others laugh… without laughing themselves?!
But I didn't dare object.
In the end, I had won this round — and that alone was enough… for now.
Deep inside, another question crept in…
Was my laugh really funny?
Was Cairo nearby, on the verge of laughing, barely holding it back?
Maybe he was seconds away from bursting out, but remembered any reaction could cost him his life.
I smiled in the darkness — a smile no one saw, but one that was sincere.
Yes… it seems that the small things — the ones we mock or forget — might one day become our lifeline.
And I… in this strange, twisted world…
I learned that truth the hard way.