A roll of the dice, a toss of the coin, a spin of the wheel, a deal of the cards…


Why is my life never simple, straightforward? Why do I always have to deal with this?


Because something will go wrong, it always does.


Two ones – snake eyes. The hiss from behind me as I turn in blind panic. The resonating explosion that tears through every fibre of my being. The heart-wrenching crackles as the lava fills the void I so recently occupied, burning away any trace of my existence from this earth.


New hand – a tall dark stranger. Lurking in the one place I fear to tread. In the corner of my eye I see him. I see him freeze. I see him vanish… Then I see nothing as I once more plunge into that unforgiving abyss.


Heads – a head at the window. Fleshless and pale, it stares hungrily at the tasty morsel beyond the glass. A crash at the door, a rabid swarm of rotten flesh and corrupted soul. Screams soon rent the air as slowly, surely, I am ripped apart.


A black eight – the eight black legs that scuttle mere inches above my head. The sounds of shifting gravel and the weighted thud as something lands behind me. The sensation of something crawling up my back, the fangs at my neck, the shock of the venom. The cold embrace of death.


With each new hand the cards are rigged, the dice are loaded, the wheel is skewed and the coin is biased. There is no win against the night. The night is the house. The house always wins.


Some claim to make their own luck. Such fools typically don’t last long. For the thing about luck is that like anything it will eventually run out. It is as sure as the sun rising in the morning.


But I wonder…


You’d love that wouldn’t you? You’d love to keep the world in shadow for eternity. To do away with the sun and allow your vile minions to roam forever. Or would you?


What keeps you going? What twisted fuel feeds the flame of hell? Is it pain? Is it the constant mental turmoil of any who fear that the next night might be their last? Of any who are gruesomely dismembered by the creatures of the dark? Of those who tremble, knowing that with each new corpse their number is more likely to be next?


For that is what this is. We all play games against the night; it taunts us, we fight it. Oh how we fight it. Until the last vestiges of strength leave our limbs, the blade jolts and shatters, and we are ground away on the millstone of our enemy.


For the games merely distract from the main event: the raffle. The raffle you do not want to win.


When your number comes up, it does not matter how many games you’ve won.


It is only a matter of time…


-------


Someday I’ll write something less dark, honest.


Written for MGB_’s Luck contest, doubling as an application to the Brotherhood of Open-Minded Bloggers (BOMB).


Inspired by playing rather too much Fallout and reading far too much fanfiction.


Thanks for reading.


- Torm