Choices
He rolled the dice. The singular red dot that faced him caught him by surprise. Yet at the back of his mind, he was all ready for this scenario. The worst possible situation. It's funny how you'd expect something to happen or rather you wished for it to happen only to have the total opposite to occur. Pretty much Murphy's law...and they said Murphy was an optimist.
He turned to face the others on the table. There were smiles, laughter, and for some, just plain indifference. He needed a six. Damn! He threw a stack of notes on the table. He got up, excused himself and walked out the back door. The stale stench of filth invigorated him. It felt so much better than the cloistered and smoky ambience within the room. He took out his crumpled pack of Malboro and lighted one up. His last one. He drew a long one and slowly let the smoke escape his lips. Halfway-through, he remembered his doctor's advice. He already had one feet in the coffin, what is one more puff going to do? He drew another breath, and threw the cigarette away. Then again, he felt he might as well continue living. Rosie loved him dearly and there was little Annie who liked her daddy to take her to the park.
Turning around, he walked back inside. He took his coat and left the den. As he walked along the cobbled streets, he fiddled with the two dices in his pocket. His lucky dices. They had brought him none that day. He took them out and threw them into the gutter. He was done with them. He would no longer have anything to do with dices and jackpots. Fancy killing poison with poison. In the end, they're all the same.
The lights came out of nowhere. He felt a crushing blow to his back and felt his body rising upwards and come crashing down onto the pavement. Pain smothered his entire being. The wheel of the car was the last thing he saw.
Across the street, a homeless man huddled into the darkness dragging with him a box of junk. A rat scurried back into the drain. The howl of a mongrel rang hollow into the night. The stars continued to glitter in the velvet sky.
He turned to face the others on the table. There were smiles, laughter, and for some, just plain indifference. He needed a six. Damn! He threw a stack of notes on the table. He got up, excused himself and walked out the back door. The stale stench of filth invigorated him. It felt so much better than the cloistered and smoky ambience within the room. He took out his crumpled pack of Malboro and lighted one up. His last one. He drew a long one and slowly let the smoke escape his lips. Halfway-through, he remembered his doctor's advice. He already had one feet in the coffin, what is one more puff going to do? He drew another breath, and threw the cigarette away. Then again, he felt he might as well continue living. Rosie loved him dearly and there was little Annie who liked her daddy to take her to the park.
Turning around, he walked back inside. He took his coat and left the den. As he walked along the cobbled streets, he fiddled with the two dices in his pocket. His lucky dices. They had brought him none that day. He took them out and threw them into the gutter. He was done with them. He would no longer have anything to do with dices and jackpots. Fancy killing poison with poison. In the end, they're all the same.
The lights came out of nowhere. He felt a crushing blow to his back and felt his body rising upwards and come crashing down onto the pavement. Pain smothered his entire being. The wheel of the car was the last thing he saw.
Across the street, a homeless man huddled into the darkness dragging with him a box of junk. A rat scurried back into the drain. The howl of a mongrel rang hollow into the night. The stars continued to glitter in the velvet sky.
