Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Task Four - Roll It [REN]

ACE OF SPADES - 4

Perfection was a funny little thing, and Ren had every reason to accuse it of being so, for he'd gone over it time and time again, even held it in his palms every now and then. See, from a young age you are shown what is perfect and what is not, and if you are not, you're less likely to succeed unless some miracle is delivered to you. In Ren's case, he'd been the little delivery box sent and resent to others in attempts to make them perfect. To his mothers he went first, a little bundle of perfection that completed a perfect family.

Over the years he'd grown, an adorable mess of a boy, running around with the neighbours kids, playing soccer, playing nice, playing perfect. Little boxes sat upon the hillside and within them was a family of three, maybe four, sometimes five. All the lawns were green and manicured, all the houses were big and simple. All the parents would visit around and speak of the same things as they drank their martinis and lemonade. All the children were pretty, all of them were smart, and they came out all the same.

It was an intricately simple system of perfection. If you took a stroll down the street you would see exactly what Ren was soaking in now, a memory of simplicity that left no room for fault. Little boxes sat in rows, ticky-tacky little boxes, little boxes all the same.

That was what made perfection such a "funny little thing." There was a set rule, and if you wanted to achieve it, you had to be the same as the very model for it. The result left everything looking the same, indecipherable from the other. But if everything looks the same, it becomes a process of normalcy, and it becomes much easier to spot cracks in the little boxes. And as Ren toiled over this and a crack in the polished wood under his hands, he wondered where he'd gone wrong at sixteen.

Oh, I know this one! He smacked the table, pretending a button sat there. I didn't come out the same. Final answer.

Looks went his way but he ignored them, sighing in satisfaction at an imaginary round of applause. But I've got a little secret from one of those little boxes: the women who sent me away were far from the same. I guess it runs in the family, or wherever that donor came from.

He might've laughed at himself, had a warm hand on his shoulder not pulled him out of his mental spiels. A twitch settled in his bones and he jumped, a breath catching in his throat as he whirled on the person touching him. By then, they'd retracted their hand, but Ren still didn't appreciate the momentary panic he brought on.

When he saw that it was his new friend, his wide eyes settled down, and a smile replaced the worried frown. However, it wasn't that easy smile he was used to - it was forced, uncomfortable on his lips.

Milo caught on. "Sorry about that," he muttered, letting his hand drop completely.

Ren waved the apology away. "Not your fault. I'm just tired, I guess. Wasn't busy or anything, just thinking about where my sperm donor daddy might be."

Milo raised a brow. "Well o-kay."

A shared nod, a distracting scratch of the head, and then they were side by side, staring on at the Ace blabbering about something that nobody truly listened to. Ren was lost by "Hello, contestants," and was much more obliged to consider readjusting his junk.

It'd been a long night, but he still had his dignity. In public, anyways.

At some point an elbow nudged him and brought him out of his crotch-staring reverie. He glanced up quickly, looking for the lowdown on what he'd missed. Milo sighed. "Roulette."

With this knowledge, he scanned the crowd, a shrinking pool of volunteers that subtly left one young man standing upfront on his own; Emerson held an arm out and beckoned him forward. Adam was reluctant to step up, but he did it anyhow, and no sooner had he smoothed his magic tie of confidence was his bet placed and wheel spinning.