A Game of Chance

“So, are you ready?” Chance queried as he met me at his apartment door. I bit my bottom lip and glanced away, toward the yard in front of his apartment complex. I noted the green grass sprouting from the thawing ground, the marble sized buds growing in the nearby trees, the overcast sky, character to Spring around here, like a field of cotton above us, a comforting blanket of some sort. But one I would find no reassurance from. Spring had been coming on strong and that day seemed like a perfect day to sit at home and work on my story. But instead of doing just so, I’d come to Chance’s apartment, hoping that that day would be my day, if not, well, the story would never be finished. Inside, I sighed with the thought, but instead of turning on my heels and forgetting about the whole thing, I gave him a warm smile, staring deeply into his sorrel colored eyes, hoping he wouldn’t see my angst at having to be here. In truth, I’d have done just about anything for him, and I still would.

Instead of denying him the game, instead of telling him that I wasn‘t, as he said, ‘ready‘, I subconsciously obliged and answered his question,

“Of course I’m ready! You feelin’ lucky?”

“You know it. I’m Chance, remember.” Yeah, I remembered. I grinned as he whacked me playfully on my right shoulder. He returned my grin and stepped aside to permit me. Inside, Jim and Haley were seated on the floor, Indian style. Jim grinned and waved at me, his raucous red hair stood practically on end, his preferred style. I waved back. Jim was always the one to be relaxed and calm, despite his wild looks. I was glad he’d come to join us, I needed him to unnerve me. Haley, on the contrary, was wracked with fear, her face a pallid white. She looked faint. I’d hoped she wouldn’t. Faint, I mean. If she fainted, succumbing to her fear, her anxiety, her nervousness, it, too, would unnerve me and I wouldn’t be able to do it. And I didn’t want to disappoint Chance. Whether he knew it or not, he was the love of my life. But on some level, I sensed he knew a little about my obsequiousness to him. On many occasions (but no where near to the extent of this one), he’d used that to his advantage. Chance not only was lucky, he was smart.

“Hey, Haley.” I gave her a gentle smile, hoping she’d look up at me. She simply stared straight ahead, her eyes blank, seeing but blind. She didn’t even twitch to acknowledge that I’d spoken. Her throat convulsed as if she were weeping but trying to keep it under wraps. Her eyes, from my angle, appeared lachrymose, her mascara was smudged a little. Behind me, Chance closed the door. It clicked shut, enunciating the finality. I noted how Haley winced at the sound, recoiling a little. Our last chance to bow out, escape the twisted game we were to play, thwarted with the closure of the door. Of course, one still had external appendages like legs that could guide to that big, green, authoritative door and walk right on out without another word in edgewise. But who could say no to Chance? Who WOULD say no to Chance? I wouldn’t, nor would Jim, and especially not Haley. She had no backbone whatsoever, and a fear of being hated. She always said yes.

Therefore, instead of leaving, we remained to play the game of chance, to play the game of luck, and to play the game of death.

Chance strode from the shut door, in an impossibly good mood despite the future circumstances. I tore my eyes from Haley and watched him, my stomach knotting as usual whenever I was near him, my heart murmuring a rhythm, poetry to match his. He sat down in the empty space between me and Haley and produced the item we’d all been dreading to see. I hadn’t seen it when I’d come in, but I’d known it was there. The gun. A glistening, deathly black. He held it in his lap, caressing it, his fingers ran along it tenderly. And as if by magic, he produced a small white box from behind him. None of us had to guess what was in there, we already knew. Again, I wished I’d never come. But time is a line drawn that can’t be erased and redrawn. I could only watch just as my friends were watching.

“Are you nervous?” Chance asked, first Jim, then Haley, and once more, me. We all shook our heads, no, like obsequious servants afraid to pique the master.

“Good,” he grinned, complacent and popped open a chamber on the gun, “So no one wants to bow out? If you want to, now’s your chance. I won’t stop you.” He looked up from the gun in which he’d been gazing at, and looked each one of us in the eye.

“But I’ll be disappointed.” he finished, pretending to sulk and then he laughed obstreperously, his head tilted back in his joviality. In my time of knowing Chance, I’d often questioned the reason why I loved him so, at that moment, I’d queried myself once more. He slid a single gleaming bullet into the gun and snapped the cartridge shut. Out from the corner of my eye, I could tell Haley had flinched again.

Chance looked up from the gun and eyed Haley, noting her pale physiognomy, her lachrymose eyes, the way she shivered and grinned genially,

“Why the long face, Haley?” Haley didn’t make any attempt to answer him. The feeling of death just around the corner hung thick in the air. We breathed it, in and out, poisoning ourselves with trepidation and knowledge. Death was waiting, but not for Chance.

“Oh come on, you guys, live a little.” and at this Chance burst out into laughter, his head upturned toward the ceiling. Simultaneously, Jim, Haley and I flinched. Chance’s laughter lasted for another two seconds and then he settled down, perhaps letting it sink in how grim the situation was about to get.

“So do you want to pray or something?” Chance asked us all, but his eyes landed and stayed on mine. None of us answered.

“Okay then, let’s get this show on the road. You all know the rules.” We nodded, like zombies, and maybe we were.

“Well, we’re going to play a game of rock paper scissors to see who goes first.” Chance held his hand, balled into a loose fist, into the center.

“Whoever’s left last gets to go first.” We joined him with loose fists of our own.

“Call it, Jim.” Chance commanded, not wanting to be the only one that had a voice.

“Rock,” Jim’s voice cracked and he cleared it, starting over again, “Rock paper scissors, shoot!” Our loose fists moved to form objects, in hopes that someone would have a higher hand and get us out. Scissors, in my opinion, is the safest bet. That was my choice, as was the choice of Jim. Haley and Chance both picked rock.

Relieved we admitted our defeat and brought our arms back to our laps.

Haley’s arm shook, her throat worked a little, as if to hold back from crying.

"Are you scared, Haley?" Chance goaded, his eyes glinting cruelly. I think that was the only moment in my life that I ever lost love for Chance even momentarily. I hated him for making Haley even more frightened. In my lap, I clenched my hands into a fist, seething, but feeling utterly unable to do anything. Chance the Omnipotent, allpowerful Chance still had a hold on me that I was reluctant to break. I remained mute as did Haley, but she'd begun to sniffle a bit, tears were streaming down her face.

"We're gonna do this again." he grinned and then began,

"Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!" I closed my eyes, unable to look. But the relieved sigh Haley emitted opened them. She'd chosen rock, and Chance had chosen paper.

"Bree," he called my name softly. Obediently, I turned, in answer.

"Why don't you go first." I couldn't say anything, my mouth worked to form words, but my throat closed, blocking them.

"I-I-I-" I stammered...I didn't want to, but he had that look in his eyes. That look that I could rarely say no to. He held the gun, extended to me, and, though inside I was screaming "no, No, NO!" I took it, my hand shaking.

"That's not how it's supposed to be done," Jim cried, outraged, "You're supposed to go first! You're the last one standing."

"The last one standing is the one that picks the order." Chance answered quickly, his voice low and threatening. Jim started to object, remembering, as we all did, what he'd said previously, but a smoldering glare from Chance sealed his lips.

"Bree will go first," Chance said, eyes boring into Jim, "then me, then Haley, then you." Jim shook his head, obviously appalled at how Chance was acting, but he didn't dare state his sentiments. None of us dared.

"There are six slots, one bullet. Remember that." Chance stated. He didn't very well know the anatomy of a gun, but we all got the gist.

The gun weighed heavy in my shaking hand, if no one else had the bullet, I'd have to go twice. With this thought in mind, I gulped and raised the gun to my temple and waited.

"Pull it." Chance whispered, his voice riddled with amusement. I closed my eyes and squeezed the trigger, waiting for the blast that could, and probably would, end my life. Instead, there was an empty click.

"Nothin." Chance murmured to himself and then took the gun from my hands. He held it to his temple hastily, without a hint of nervous, not even an ounce of trepidation, and pulled the trigger quickly. Another empty click.

"Nothin, I knew it." he laughed and then tossed the gun at Haley. She shrieked, worn out emotionally, and shakily picked up the gun.

"I'm so scared." she wept, her face wrenched in fear and sadness, tears spilled down her cheeks in wide rivulets. Her eyes pleaded with Chance, trying to convince him that playing this game wasn't necessary.

"Just pull the trigger and get it over with." Chance commanded, his eyes, shiny with interest, glared at her. At that point, I wasn't very much fond of the monster Chance was starting to become, but I was helpless to stop him. Regardless of his evident cruelty, my heart still throbbed for him, what a sucker I was. Again, my objections to this goading were silenced by my love and fear. Instead, I, along with Jim and Chance, watched as Haley put the gun to her temple, bawling now.

Quickly, despite her evident fear, Haley pulled the trigger and then shrieked, obviously expecting a blast to be emitted, but she'd only gotten the same empty click that Chance and I'd received. Jim solemnly took the gun from her and stared at it for a while. Beside me, Chance started to wriggle a little. The odds were starting not to look that good for us. If Jim's turn wasn't the one with the bullet, then that left me...and then Chance. I didn't want Jim to get the bullet, nor did I want Haley, or Chance, but I wasn't looking forward to a death of this standard, either. If I died, I wanted to die in my sleep, not in a stupid game of Russian Roulette.

While in the midst of my thought, Jim had already pulled the trigger to find the becoming ubiquitous "empty click". Chance nudged me and Jim was holding the gun out to me. Relief shone in his eyes, mixed with an apology for being grateful. I gave him a gentle smile to show that it was okay, that I wasn't upset for his obvious relief. If I'd been in his place, I would've looked and felt the exact same way.

And once again, it was my turn. Only two slots left, and one bullet in it. As if in slow motion, I raised the gun to my temple, paused for a second and in that second my life literally flashed before my eyes, ending with the unfinished story waiting for me at home. I closed my eyes, the image of home, the secure sanctity of my room, in my head, and pulled the trigger for the second time.

Because my eyes were squeezed shut, I didn't see the look of shock on Chance's face when another empty click was emitted. In my mind, I'd heard the sharp report of a gun, slightly muffled by my head, my skull, my brain. In my mind I pictured my blood, pieces of my skull, and brain, splattering all over the walls and all over Chance. In my mind, I pictured Haley shrieking, Jim saying "Oh my God", and Chance...for some reason, some unknown reason that still disturbs me today, I'd pictured Chance smiling, not just smiling, but grinning from ear to ear...

"Bree." Jim's patient voice broke through the thickening fog of my thoughts. I opened my eyes to find that life still thrived in me. Relief inundated me.

"Give Chance the gun." I nodded and obliged gratefully, not yet registering what it all meant. The look of disbelief on Chance's face, however, made it all clear. There were six slots in the gun, five had been empty, one had a bullet, and apparently that one bullet was in the sixth. And who had the sixth? Chance. His eyes bugged out almost comically and I might've laughed had the circumstances been different.

"It's your turn." Haley stated, beginning to recover from her initial fear. Her eyes were hard with hate. In a way, I didn't and don't blame her. The way Chance had treated her, us, mocking us, like we were the ones that were going to get the bullet, had been cruel. But at the same time, no one, and especially not Chance, deserved to die.

"Chance..." I started to say that he didn't have to pull the trigger, but at the same time, I realized that I wanted him to. The part of me that had begun to hate him wanted Chance to pull the trigger and end this sick game we'd all become pawns in. Chance ignored me, I doubted he'd heard me,and stared, mouth agape, at the gun in his hand.

"It's your turn, Chance!" Haley shrieked, half laughing, I'd gotten goosebumps at the crazed expression in her eyes. Jim looked at her uncomfortably, trying to warn her not to goad any further, trying to make her remember that the one that held the gun wasn't really right in the head.

"Chance-" Haley began again.

"Haley, don't." I tried to warn her. I could understand why she would act like that, but at the same time, she had to realize by now that Chance wasn't one to be goaded, Chance wouldn't be mocked, and Chance wouldn't be disrespected.

Despite my protest, Haley growled her final two cents, her voice low, guttural, almost animal,

"I hope it hurts like hell, you-"

"Go to hell, Haley." Chance said coolly and pointed the gun at her. His eyes were calm, his chin firmly set, but his mouth twitched revealing his anger, his nerves, his disbelief, his shock.

"Just go to hell." he repeated and pulled the trigger. And this time, as expected, there was no empty click.

I can't exactly say that I was surprised that he could do such a thing. Chance had and has always been the type of person that one would instantaneously lable as "Crazy". But not everyone had solid proof of this, Jim and I did.

Chance is sick, not flu-sick, but head-sick. And to prove this, at Haley's funeral, he'd given a "heartfelt" speech in her memory, often breaking into wrenching sobs throughout. After, he hugged Haley's mother and gave his condolences with crocodile tears glistening on his cheeks. As if he wasn't the one that pulled the trigger and ended her life. No one ever saw that hard, cruel smile on his face as he turned to walk away from her. Only I had...and maybe Jim. And Jim's not been the same since Haley's death. I don't blame him. But now that we know Chance's true nature, we're more careful in how we interact with Chance, whatever he wants, we'll do. We don't dare cross him now...no, not after...

As I sit here at my desk and write this, I wish that I could say there'd been a happy ending. A part of me wishes that Chance had had the balls to pull the trigger on himself and end the game. Cruel, I know, but it doesn't matter because he hadn't. In the purgatory of my dreams, I replay the incident over and over. I can't help but wonder what Chance would have done, had Chance not been goaded so by Haley. I doubt he would have shot himself, that's for sure.

I guess this is where the story ends, the story I'd mentioned earlier is closer to being finished, but not finished. I want to finish it now because with Chance as a friend, with Chance having so much power over me as he does, I'm never sure if I'll live to see it finished. As I'd said before, then, even before the game of Russian Roulette, I would have done absolutely ANYTHING for Chance, and now, after it's over, even after Chance's true nature was revealed, I still would...