Fodder: A Collection of Scenes

You can't Win with Fixed Dice

"Roll the dice again."

I stared intently at the stranger in front of me, his fingers trembling as he reached for the dice. With the polished gun pressed against his temple, he rolled. He had a 50/50 chance and got lucky. I relaxed as the gun pulled away, but now it was my turn.

I grasped the dice. My hands were sweating and my breath was speeding up. I turned my hand upside down and prayed that the dice landed on an even number. I closed my eyes, clenched my fists. The hot metal of the gun left my skin and I knew that I had rolled even.

Now it was someone else's turn. Same procedure, but this stranger wasn't as lucky as we'd been. The gun went off. My ears rang, but I still heard the thud of dead weight hitting the ground and felt the sickening sensation of hot sticky blood drip down my face.

"Last round!" The shooter's voice was high with excitement as he pounded his fist on the rickety wood table. He smiled widely as he glanced at both us. He slid the die toward the man.

The man was the one to roll, to decide, in random chance, who lived and who died. If he rolled even, I was killed. If he rolled odd, he was killed. He took the dice, pensively. I shifted uneasily in my seat, but he was oddly calm. He winked at me and threw them in the air, in slow-motion it seemed. My mind was blank. Where were my last thoughts?

The dice were about to hit the table, the gunman laughing, when the man whacked the gun away from his head. The gun fired, but missed, and he gave the gunman a proper right hook before bolting down the hall. The shooter yelled and grabbed his gun. I fell out of my chair as I tried to get up, but he wasn't going to shot me. He was after the stranger and I was left there alone. I closed my eyes to tears as I heard a single gunshot.

The dice were even.