Playing Dice

The havoc had been liquefied into murk, an immeasurable concoction of time and space, his grasp of which formed a single bubble of consciousness floating mockingly out of reach. Colours, shapes, sounds, smells – all an indistinguishable flood of synesthesia that crushed his body into paralysis. Panic and desperation consumed what part of him he could still feel, gripping him to the savage rhythm of a labored heart-beat blasting blood through ringing ears. 1

Gasping as if his head had punched from beneath the surface of a dark ocean, he bent his mind towards the singularity of control that flittered above him. It burst with the fierceness of a bomb, and with it came a rush of crippling agony and bitter reality. Frantic figures crouched over him, poking and probing, silhouetted by a blinding white sun. He grunted, coughed and spluttered – he wanted to scream but a mouthful of salty blood turned any noise into a gargle. He tried to move but tight bonds of pain had bolted him to the warm tarmac that he was lying upon. Stars ebbed at the corners of his vision and his body felt as if it was constructed of air alone. The world swirled, images blurring into another nauseous haze – and then the white light engulfed him.2

Time slipped past and he was awake again, but this time free of the shackles of injury. He stood, shocked and bewildered, next to a crowd of men and women who busied themselves over a man on the ground. His clothes were homage to the colour crimson and his face was disfigured by a terrible impact. He squinted, the world seemed distanced as if he was viewing it through an unfocused lens, and picked out a maze of twisted metal – two cars that had been combined in a single moment of blazing horror. Three bodies lay side-by-side next to the wreckage, assorted in height order, blankets covering them from head-to-foot. Next to one was a blackened doll that was still being eaten away by glowing embers. He gazed down at his hands; they were more vivid and definite than their surroundings but no more horrifying. 3

From the hiss of indistinguishable noise came a sharp voice, cold and painful like metal scraping rock.4

“JONATHAN HORNER.”5

He looked up to find his focus concentrated on a single figure, a cloak of darkness that moved in a spectral fashion through the chaos as if it was nothing but a shadow. A cold breeze passed through his bones as it came nearer, its undetectable eyes behind a dark hood penetrating his mind. A gloved hand concealing long and bony fingers pointed accusingly towards him. 6

“You are…” John mumbled, a feeling of dread threatening to drag him to the ground.7

“THAT IS RIGHT. WE MUST GO,” the voice came from somewhere beneath the wreath of shadow. The words were like blades slicing through a place inside him that metal could not touch.8

“Wait… those people over there…” he started, thrusting a wavering finger towards the blanketed shapes nearby.9

“I HAVE ALREADY DEALT WITH THEM. THERE IS NO WAITING; YOU MUST COME WITH ME NOW.” John was blind to Death’s demands, his gaze fixated on the motionless shapes.10

“I killed them, didn’t I?” An indescribable feeling constricted his heart and choked at his throat.11

“NIGHTFALL COMES FOR EVERYBODY.”12

“But what if it wasn’t their time?” Trembling hands clawed at his disfigured face, “They died because of me!”13

“CORRECT.”14

“There must be something you can do… there must be something I can do to make you bring them back! Please, anything, I will do anything!” John pleaded, warm tears filling bloody wounds.15

“YOU FEEL REMORSE NOW, AFTER LIVING A LIFE LIKE YOURS?”16

“I never wanted anything like this to happen! Never! I… I have lived a horrible life… I am not proud of what I have done… but I have never wanted anything like this! I will give you anything, please bring them back!”17

“YOU HAVE ALREADY PAID THE PRICE. THERE IS NOTHING MORE YOU HAVE TO OFFER ME.”18

“What about a game? A challenge… that must be something that I can offer you? A game of chess, if you win I will accept death, but if I win you have to let us all live!” John pleaded with desperate hope that his words would penetrate the ominous blackness.19

“AN INTERESTING OFFER, BUT PREDICTABLE FOR A GAMBLER.”20

“What do you mean?”21

“YOU ARE A GAMBLER, I KNOW ALL THERE IS TO KNOW ABOUT YOU, JONATHAN. ON THEIR OWN TERMS A GAMBLER WILL ALWAYS SEARCH FOR AN EDGE - GREATER ODDS. I KNOW YOU WERE ONCE A CHESS PRODIGY.”22

“That was a long time ago, I was a child then! You are Death, surely that must count for something?”23

“I WILL ACCEPT YOUR OFFER, BUT ON MY OWN TERMS.”24

“What are those?” John muttered and gulped hard.25

“YOU CAN HAVE YOUR PRIZE IF YOU BEAT ME, BUT I WILL SPARE THEIR LIVES – NOT YOURS. YOU MUST DEFEAT ME AT YOUR GAME IN THE FEWEST MOVES POSSIBLE. EACH MOVE THAT YOU TAKE WILL PRESENT YOU WITH A CRITICAL MOMENT IN YOUR LIFE THAT WILL INEVITABLY LEAD TO OUR PRESENT CIRCUMSTANCE. IF YOU HAVE NOT BEATEN ME BY THEN, OR IF YOU FAIL TO PASS THROUGH YOUR LIFE DIFFICULTIES, I WILL BE THE VICTOR.”26

John gasped, but it was too late. The world seemed to decay, light bursting from every atom until there was nothing left but a vast empty canvass – a place where time could not flow, matter could not exist and consciousness starved.27

When the light finally dimmed enough for John to open his eyes, he found himself staggering through endless swirls of mist – vapors that paved the hard ground and billowed upwards, gentle wisps playing majestically in the slight breeze. He batted his bloody arms to try to gain a sense of direction, but soon a foggy path parted and a dark shape manifested before him. Next to the looming figure was a small table constructed of ornately carved skulls which presented a chess board like a sacred jewel. Two stone thrones on either side of the table were the only other features of the misty nebulous that surrounded them. 28

“TAKE A SIDE,” Death said slowly, his voice still raspy and grating. John approached a chair and sat down, a chill snaking up his spine, “WHITE. PREDICTABLE.”29

Death settled lightly in his seat, the cowl of his black cloak unmoving. An eyeless stare never broke away from John’s face. John took a few moments to calm his nerves, but it was useless, the anticipation of what was to come filled him with debilitating anxiety. By force of will he raised a hand, touched a left flanking pawn and slid it forwards. It moved as if a force other than his finger was behind it. With only a brief pause, Death retaliated by mirroring his move. 30

“Now what?” John asked.31

“NOW WE GO BACK TO WHERE IT STARTED.” Before John could say anything he was falling through nothingness again.32

There was a sensation that struck John as odd, but he could not understand what it was. When his vision solidified, shock hit him in the stomach. He was no taller than four-foot-two, and the odd feeling was the peculiar chafe that his school trousers always gave him. Everything was as it was then; his bag, his blazer, the quiet feeling of intellectual superiority over the other children, and the constant fear of social exclusion. A familiar sight materialised ahead of him and he gulped, he remembered it well. The bigger boys surrounded him, their fists shaking and their jeering laughs cackling over the noise of jingling coinage. An intense feeling of fear constricted his gut, a fear more potent than anything he had felt for many years. He begged the prophets of every major religion to deliver him away from the taunting bullies – he was that scared little boy again, every ounce of him, right down to the core. The only thing that was different was that this time he knew how it would play out.33

“Come on, Horny! Just sneak in and play on one of the machines, it’s only a few coins! You’ll be well cool!” The ring leader ordered. John struggled to speak, he felt as if he was shrinking.34

“You don’t want to get hammered do you, Horny?” Laughed another one, cracking his knuckles, “You’re always such a loser! If you don’t do this then that’s it, you’ll never have any friends for the rest of your life!”35

It was a feeling of absolute doom. Even though the young body was populated with an older form of Jonathan Horner, the idea of being a social reject was terrifying. The bright lights of the casino lured him forwards like a beacon of safety. He knew what would happen – what did happen. He went in, he won some money and the seeds of addiction were planted. This was where everything started and his dreams of academic stardom were gambled away. Death’s words echoed inside his skull; “If you fail to pass through your life difficulties, I will be the victor”. He would have to beat this, no matter what his gut told him.36

He turned towards the larger boys, his whole body trembling and sticky with sweat. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes tightly and let out a high pitched yell with every fibre of his strength.37

“No!” He cried. There was silence, save for the buzzing of machines and the distant hum of midday traffic. Slowly, he opened his eyes. The ring leader stood over him, his face purple with exasperation. Out of nowhere, a fist the size of John’s head swung towards him. It connected with a burst of pain and darkness took him. 38

His eyes snapped open and he found himself gasping for breath in front of the familiar dark cloak. The chess board glinted oddly in the pale light.39

“WELL DONE, JONATHAN.”40

“If I had done that the first time, would everything have been different?” John spluttered, trying to get a grip of himself.41

“I CANNOT SAY. DO WE SEE DESTINY AS AN INEVITABLE STRING OF EVENTS OR AS A CAPACITY FOR AN EVENTUALITY?”42

“I… don’t know…”43

“YOUR LIFE WOULD HAVE BEEN DIFFERENT. HOW DIFFERENT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO KNOW. LIFE IS MORE COMPLEX THAN A HUMAN MIND CAN GRASP.”44

John took a few minutes to scan the chess board; his pieces were like his army – ranks poised to do battle with everything that stood against him. Reluctantly, he reached out and marched a right pawn forward. Death was still for a few moments before sliding one of his own pawns ahead of his front line. John braced himself before falling back into the swirling grip of the mist.45

The first feeling was a sharp jolt of pain coursing through his knee-joints. He had staggered, alcohol tangling his legs like weakened springs, and tumbled to the damp pavement. His clothes were a patchwork of dull greys and murky browns and smelled of their months of unwashed use. A trembling hand went to his throbbing head, running his fingers through grimy matted hair. The skin on his face felt greasy and his chin was rough with adolescent facial hair. Within his gut were pangs of despair and a deep uncontrollable hatred of his homeless life.46

He dragged himself to his feet, the pale moonlight and the flickering street lights being the only light to guide him. The road shifted in and out of focus as he stumbled unwittingly into the darkness of a narrow alleyway. There, he realised why Death had chosen this particular night. A groan from the floor snapped his attention towards the quivering form of an elderly lady, fear wracking her every muscle. Her face was blotched with purple and red and her clothes had been torn in an attempt to steal everything of value. John collapsed and crawled towards her, clever eyes flicking up and down greedily. He saw it instantly, perhaps because he already knew where it would be, and reached out to her neck. The dim-witted muggers had missed the gentle sparkle of the diamond necklace in the gloom. She grunted and groaned as his trembling fingers delicately caressed it. He knew what he had done; he had taken it, left her for dead and sold it for piles of dirty money – his ticket out of poverty. His black heart was desperate, impossible to fight, the disbelief of his luck filling him with a sense of glee that he had not felt for a long time. With a quick jerk of his wrist it came free, sitting in his palm like the manifestation of everything he had hoped for.47

John stared at the glittering glory of his find, a crafty smile creeping across his lips. However, his gaze was slowly being pulled away. He caught the old lady’s eyes; they were wide and unblinking, seeing straight into his head. ‘This was it’, he thought, ‘this was where the stealing all began. This was where I turned sour’. The feeling of disappointment was stronger than he had ever felt, it was as if it was going to strangle his heart and cease his existence. He crawled over to the shaking body, slipped the necklace into her pocket and then pulled her to her feet.48

“It’s okay,” he mumbled in her ear, “I will get you to safety.”49

A flash of blinding light blasted away everything that he felt in an instant, and he found himself sitting in front of the familiar chess board once again. Tears were streaming down the bloody grooves in his face.50

“I can’t believe what I did,” he sniffed.51

“DYING WITH SUCH REGRETS IS NOT EASY, IS IT?”52

“I wish everything had turned out differently,” he howled, “I wish I just kept going to school like all of the other children! Why did I gamble everything away?”53

“WISHING IS A CONSTRUCT OF A MIND THAT KNOWS IT CAN NOT OR WILL NOT ACHIEVE SOMETHING. THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO CHANGE YOUR PAST.”54

“But… I can change my present…” John said, quietly. Death was silent and as still as he always was. John focused on the chess board once again, dreading what could come next. He had already seen enough of his life to fill him with as much regret as he could handle. He touched the king bishop pawn and slowly slid it forward two squares, drawing out the movement for as long as he could. His dark adversary quickly brought out his left castle pawn. He shut his eyes and felt himself smash the boundaries of space and time once again. 55

A rancid stench, almost acidic in John’s nostrils, instantly triggered recognition. There was a beat, a never-ending rhythmic pounding of bass that shook the walls and the sticky floor that he was sitting on. The cubicle was tiny and horribly defaced by its years of drunken occupants. The toilet, oozing and decorated with matted hair and feces, was concreted into white tiling that was now blanketed with a yellow slime. With a violently shaking hand, John began to pour a line of white powder along the seat, meticulously careful not to waste any. His entire body was crippled with craving, his mind engulfed by a single desire. The thin line was like a rope that his life depended on or a precious jewel. He hated himself with a burning passion and he despised the way a mere powder controlled him entirely. He bent over, lowering his nose towards it.56

A flash of bright yellow in the corner of his eye drew his head back and he crawled over to it. Trembling fingers peeled a dog-eared pamphlet from a tile and he brought it to his blurring eyes. ‘ADDICTION?’ it read, ‘If you are suffering from a drug addiction and wish to seek help to beat your habit, free-phone the number below. Our team specialises in rehabilitation and is a free-of-charge charity organisation. Call this number now.’ Was this a sign? Could it be mere coincidence that this leaflet was here, now? John fixed his eyes on the grimy lettering, his body screaming at him to cast it aside but his mind begging him to call the number. His hand slithered to his pocket, gripping the shape of his phone. Seconds passed, all the time the white powder beckoning him with its promises of sweet relief. He knew what happened the last time. This time he would have to make the right choice, the hardest choice of his life. It took every molecule of his being to do it, but in a wispy cloud the powder dispersed into the putrid air. He whipped out the phone and typed in the number. When he hit ‘dial’, the light enveloped him once more.57

When he opened his eyes, John slumped into his seat, his body crumpling with relief from the incredible craving. He looked up at Death, who simply nodded in approval.58

“That was the hardest choice I have ever had to make, and it wasn’t even real.”59

“REALITY IS PERCEPTION; THERE IS NO WAY TO DEFINE IT WITHOUT HAVING A BEING TO EXPERIENCE IT – A SUBJECTIVE WEATHERVANE FOR A SUBJECT THAT WILL ALWAYS EVADE THE LAWS OF TANGIBILITY AND EXPLANATION.”60

“It felt real… it felt just as it did then…” John said.61

“THEN, TO YOU, IT WAS. I CAN DEFINE A LIFE BY A SERIES OF CHOICES THAT THE BEING MAKES – REAL OR OTHERWISE, THEY ARE DEFINING BUILDINGBLOCKS THAT MAKE UP AN EXISTENCE.”62

“Do you always speak so cryptically?”63

“I ONLY MIRROR MY UNDERSTANDING OF LIFE, JONATHAN.”64

John sighed, his brain busy tackling a mind-numbing mixture of emotions and questions. He stared at the chess-board, the only plane of existence that he should be focusing on. He gripped his king bishop and sliced it across the board, a vicious attack at his current situation. The Dark Lord brought his king bishop pawn out of its ranks, protecting it from attack. He was now truly in Death’s territory. 65

“GOOD.” Once again the mist forced emptiness upon John’s eyes. 66

This time, John found that he was comfortable. He was sitting on a moth-eaten couch in a dingy room; it was cluttered with litter and waste and barely livable. He let out a raspy cough, his lungs burning and his stomach muscles convulsing with pain. He was ill, a pasty and shriveled version of himself rotting away in a stinking flat. Ahead of him stood Marie, his assigned social worker, a kind woman with fiery red hair who did her best to steer John onto the right tracks but invariably made any progress.67

“I know you have it in you, John,” she said glumly but with a hint of optimism, as always.68

“I don’t know… look at me, I am a lost cause,” John replied instantly, his mouth moving before he even had a chance to realise. It was as if he was watching a film of his life play out before his eyes.69

“Look, I certainly don’t make this a habit, but I like you John. I know you can get off the booze and get a job; all you need to do is clean yourself up a little. We’re friends aren’t we?” She came a little closer.70

“Yeah, we’re friends.”71

“Then, here. Take some money; get yourself some nice clothes and go down to the job agency. Get back on the rails, John,” she said, smiling. She handed him a wad of crisp notes and John instantly knew how much was there. She then said her goodbyes and left him staring wide-eyed at the generous gift clutched tightly in his tingling fingers. He knew what he should do; he should do exactly what Marie had said. This was a chance – finally a break from stewing in his apartment, slowly wasting away. Maybe he could get a job after all; maybe he could earn some money and find a hobby – something to take his mind off the constant need for alcohol. He got up, grabbed his scruffy brown jacket and made his way out to the street. 72

As always, John knew what was going to happen. Just as expected, his feet found their own way across the dirty pavements, weaving around the city. Ahead of him was his favourite bar, a run-down joint that reeked of cigarette smoke and urine. His hand found the bundle of cash in his pocket, the desire to spend it becoming almost like a giant arm dragging him towards the open door. His mind flashed back to images of the real events like a broken film reel. Vomit, defecation and betting – a night of catastrophic self-destruction that eventually ended with a stomach pump and a hospital bed. He wanted nothing more than to repeat it, to drown his sorrows to the point where nothing mattered but the basic human functions. He wanted all his care to be expelled from his body with the contents of his insides. His chin hit his chest, he had already beaten the drugs - alcohol should not give him any bother. This was different; this was despair rather than desire. He gritted his teeth, turned and stepped back into the white light.73

Death was waiting patiently, just like before. 74

“She was a nice girl, she should have known not to trust a waster like me,” John groaned.75

“SHE IS GENEROUS. IT IS A CONCEPT THAT YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND.”76

“I understand it, I just couldn’t control myself. As she said, I was off the rails.”77

“WHEN WILL YOU PEOPLE STOP BLAMING YOUR INADEQUECIES ON MEANINGLESS METAPHORS?”78

Frustrated, John slid his queen from its hiding place and brief smile passed across his lips. 79

“YOUR TIME IS ABOUT TO RUN OUT,” John heard the coarse voice hiss as he plummeted back into the mist. 80

He was overcome with the need to vomit when he awoke, letting it bubble from his mouth in a putrid broth. He staggered weakly from the doorway of the bar, crashing into a hard metal surface. The deepest depression and despair filled his soul, tormenting him with an agony that could never be extinguished. He wanted open its cage; scream and shout and end it all. He knew he was close to the end – there was a limit to what a human could handle and he was crawling towards it. He did not care about anything around him; there was nothing now that could dissuade him from his inevitable path to destruction. A new feeling took him as he ran his hand down to the handle of his car-door, unlocking it with a fumble. The clock in the window of the electronics store across the street read 13:05, and realisation kicked in with a painful jolt to the stomach. This was the day… this was today.81

John slumped into the driving seat, his trembling hands gripping the steering wheel, smearing sickly bile across the polished finish. Time really was about to run out. He turned on the engine, the unserviced machinery grumbling and spluttering. The memories of what would happen later were so fresh; there was no question of where this would end. The circle was about to be completed, he was about to drive into his self-created oblivion. At the same time, the thought of this was not unwelcome; rather he relished the notion of an end. He could not bend the tiny strand of compassion within him to consider the lives that were about to be taken with him, it was shrouded by the bitter darkness that was bubbling to the surface. His mind, twisted by alcohol, jumped to rash conclusions; nobody had ever helped him, so why should he consider the lives of others? He pulled out of his parking space, wavered, and hit the road at a terrifying speed. 82

John turned the corners with such pace that his wheels left dark skid marks in their screeching wake. Suddenly, a streak of red flashed past the window. He slammed a foot on the brake pedal and the car jerked to a shuddering halt. She had not seen him, thankfully. He watched Marie, her hair fluttering majestically in the wind, pick her way across the street and vanish around the corner. ‘Of course’, John thought, ‘there were people who tried. People who were daring enough to plunge their hand into the darkness and attempt to drag me out’. He opened the car door and stumbled out, hitting the ground with a heavy thud. Tears streaked down his cheeks and he collapsed against one of the car’s wheels.83

“Are you alright, mate?” A passing man asked. John nodded.84

“Sometimes we blind ourselves to what we really need to see.” A flash of sunlight on a watch blanketed him with a familiar foggy nothingness.85

As soon as John felt the cold throne beneath him, his hand darted to his queen, ploughing it into the space where Death’s king bishop pawn used to be. A look of determination contorted his face into a powerful expression that he had not worn in a long time.86

“Checkmate,” he said, the syllables sharpened with emotions brewed from new found revelations.87

“VERY GOOD, YOU WIN THE GAME,” Death said, his voice remaining as emotionless as ever. He stood up, the dark cloak wafting as if it was made of mist itself. John’s surroundings were falling apart again, exploding with the powerful white light that melted the hazy nebulous into a blank canvass. As if a great artist was washing their colours across the emptiness, a scene materialised gradually, solidifying before his eyes. He was standing with the two cars ahead of him, a masterpiece of chaos created by a lifetime of terrible choices. There were still people crouched over his bloody body, hands pumping at his chest in a last ditch effort to spark some life from within him. 88

“I won, now you must hold up your end of the deal. Bring them back, make it right again,” John demanded. Death remained still and silent, surveying the scene as if he orchestrated it himself. A feeling suddenly hit John, it was not pain; it was a feeling of absolute nihility. He looked down hurriedly at his hands and saw the rough texture of grey tarmac through them as if they were simply coloured lenses.89

“YOU GAMBLED IN DEATH JUST LIKE YOU GAMBLED IN LIFE. FITTING,” Death said, slowly. John turned to him, thrusting his arms towards the dark cloak wildly. As his translucent fingers touched the silky blackness, a cold darkness filled him, forcing him away like a repelling magnet.90

“We had a deal! Bring them back! Bring them back, Death!” John screamed, but his voice was fading with him, vanishing on the gentle breeze. The people around his gore-stricken body looked defeated.91

“GOD DOES NOT PLAY DICE, JONATHAN,” Death said, and as quickly as it took John to blink, the Lord of Darkness was gone. John screamed and shouted, dashing towards the bodies that lay side by side. The last of his energy was spent clawing at them, straining to utter the simple words; ‘I am sorry’. He panted and wheezed, desperate and frantic. His vision blurred and swirled.92

Then, within an instant, there was nothing left. 93