Game

Anthony Mort was desperate. The last few weeks had brought nothing but despair. He had no one anymore, no one he could really open up to. No one who cared. He was internalising every fine detail of failure. As far as he could see he had two choices. Play or not play the game.

The game offered a potential way out. A way to exit his despair, a potential solution. The more he thought about it he realised it wasn’t a choice it was his only possible way out. Not playing the game meant staying where he was. He couldn’t face life like this. Anthony had another swig from the bottle and greedily swallowed.

He was alone.

He decided to play the game three times. Evening the odds up and really leaving it to fate. But he would spin the cylinder between pulling the trigger. There was a 1 in 6 chance he would die.

The revolver was cold and heavy. Anthony scratched his head then placed one bullet in the cylinder. He looked into the other 5 chambers. Empty.

He decided to play in the bathroom. Easier to clean up.

He closed and locked the door behind him. He sat on the toilet. “No” screamed his head, “don’t be found on the bog.”

He got into the bath and lay down. That was better.

He spun the cylinder, placed the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

Click.

No bullet in that chamber.

Anthony looked at the gun. A tear ran down his cheek. Maybe he should just do it without spinning the cylinder. That would increase the odds of dying each time. He would still only play three times. What did his Dad always say to him when things didn’t turn out for the best, “Give life a chance son.”

He put the gun to his head again. A strange noise was being made by this throat. A lump rose and he burst into tears and sobbed. His left hand tried to cover his face, his tears and his shame. He screamed out as he raised the gun to his head again and pulled the trigger.

Click.

Again he lived.

Anthony stopped crying. Maybe life was going to win, maybe he had to pull through this. Maybe life needed him now, even though no one else did. He wiped the snot from his nose. There was only a 16% chance the first time. The second time had a 20% chance.
 
This third time would be a 25% chance of death. 

 
For the third time Anthony raised the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

Click.

Anthony was still a live, lying in a bath fully dressed holding a loaded revolver to his head. 

 
“Not even this game turns out for me, the odds went to life.” he said out aloud.

Anthony got to his feet and got out the bath. 

The game was over.

Life had won this round.