THE AFTERHOUR

XI. A Game of Chance:

Jamien suddenly realized that he had been left speechless for a few seconds. The Entity was still standing there, waiting for an answer. It hadn't moved an inch. He didn't know what to feel. Was he to feel glad? That there was a chance he could get out of here? Or angry that this thing was asking him to gamble with his life? He decided to go with the latter.

"You mean to tell me, that you would like to base my entire existence, my life, on a game? Of chance?"

"The decision is entirely up to you. As you have said earlier: Everything is by chance, it shapes our entire lives, the people we meet and the outcomes we make peace with. Yet chance is an illusion. It is entirely meaningless, you hold no more control when you are alive than when you are dead. Chance is both the most powerful force in existence and nothing at all."

Once again, Jamien was silent. He wanted to be irrational, to yell, to disagree and to ask for another way. But the Entity was using his own philosophy against him.

"Explain your game then."

"Your chances will be presented by three memories. These are accurate and have not been altered in any way. One particular thing is hidden in one of these memories. I will allow you to revisit them, of course. Your task, is to tell me which one contains said object."

He took a moment to consider the Entity's offer. It seemed like he would have a 33.3 percent chance of getting out of here, provided the game is not rigged and a fair chance is provided. Looking at the Entity, he might hate it to his very core for what it had done to him, but somehow, he knew that the game was actually just that simple: Choose one out of the three. If he lost, he would spend another lifetime here and who knew how many others. But if he were to get the right one, he would at least have control of this. A third option was to not participate at all, but that would be the same as losing. He needed to at least try.

"I accept your offer. Now tell me which object I'll need to find and what the three memories are."

"You will know them when you see them, and as for the object..."

The Entity raised a hand and a red gem magically appeared out of thin air, spinning and floating in its hand. The gem was somewhat different in appearance from the ones that gave him his memories. It was thinner and longer, more like a crystal. It seemed to be shrouded in a red mist, constantly moving and changing.

"You won't see it in your memory, but I will embed it in one of them. All you need to do is to point out to me which one you think contains it."

The Entity closed its hand, and the spinning crystal disappeared, swallowed by the inky void that The Entity seemed to be made of. In a blink, it was gone as quickly as how it came to be.

"Can I at least have a hint on how to find it?"

"Certainly, in order to find the object, you will have to tell me in which memory you experienced the most happiness." - The Entity replied - "Should you win, I will grant you control of the Afterhour to do what you wish with it. But should you lose, things will continue to take their course."

"Of course" - Jamien muttered under his breath. That was what this whole disaster had been about: His happiness. He had been jumping through hoops ever since he got here just so the Entity could build the perfect world for him. This seemed to be just another test. But this time, he knew what to expect, he could finally win this.

"I accept your terms." - Jamien said to it - "Let us begin."

With a nod and a quick snap of its finger, three books started floating towards the Entity from shelves that he couldn't see all the way in the back. The books spun around in a theatrical manner around him then finally settled between him and the Entity. All three books were slowly bobbing up and down in the air in front of them in a perfect row, defying any laws of physics. Jamien took a minute to examine the books. For most parts, they were identical to one another, there was no writing or imagery to tell them apart. But they seemed really old, much older than any other books here. They looked so fragile that he was afraid to touch them, for fear they could just fall apart under the weight of a light touch.