The Luckiest Man Alive

The rain poured down hard on the unkempt man swaying near the ledge outside of the hotel, twenty floors up from the ground. He was ready to put an end to it all. The Luckiest Man Alive couldn’t take it anymore.

That’s what the newspapers had called him fifteen years earlier when he had won his third straight World Series of Poker Championship. He had become famous; a household word. Even non-gamblers came to know his face as it began to show up in commercials and on magazine covers.

No one suspected his secret. It had started in the bathroom of a rundown bar where a small, illegal poker game was run in the back room. He was down to his last few dollars. He had no skills, no education, nothing of value. Gambling had entered his life at a very early age and taken it all. But back in that filthy little bathroom, he found what he thought was salvation. He pleaded with whatever higher power was out there for help. He needed to win this next hand. He would do anything.

As he ran the hot water over his hands in the sink, the mirror fogged over momentarily. Then, as if written by some unseen hand, the word “Agreed” showed up.

Randy never lost another hand.

The rain was lightening up a bit now as he prepared to make his leap into freedom. A last look around revealed a man dressed in a pinstriped suit out on the ledge with him.

“Randy,” the man said, “have you had enough?”

“Who are you? Are you the devil?” Randy said, stepping away from the wall, closer to the edge.

“No Randy, I am your guardian angel. You and I go back several lifetimes. Before I let you jump, I need to know … have you had enough?”

Randy thought for a moment and said “Yes.”


Written for a contest that allows 15 minutes for the story to be written.
The next day the newspapers ran an article on how the Luckiest Man Alive had finally drawn a losing hand.