The Luck of the Draw
That man could have anything he wanted. That man could probably hook up with every single one of the women in that Vegas Casino. He could have bought that casino; he could have bought the fucking city! That man certainly had luck on his side. He was one hell of a gambler and he had a certain mysteriousness to him that would make any girl swoon. His eyes were an intense blue and he had a head of dark, chocolate-colored hair to match. His face was flawless; no blemishes, no wrinkles, only soft, tanned skin. He wasn’t too skinny and he wasn’t too fat. He was just the right size with just the right amount of muscles. He knew how to dress, too. He would probably die rather than being seen in something that wasn’t outrageously overpriced. But, of course, he was filthy rich so he could afford those privileges. He was cocky and witty. He was sweet and romantic (every girl’s dream).
But, that was the side of him that he showed. The real he, the other side of him, was something far too horrible to be imagined.
He could be disclosed and moody. Inside him was a deep, deep depression that continuously threatened to take over. It ceaselessly boiled in him with such intensity that it was almost overwhelming.
Finally, one day, it did. That depression took over his life in almost a blink of an eye.
That man sat there by his dining room table. He had just hosted a huge party with French champagne, Italian wine, the best food, the best servers, and the best people. All of his friends just thought it was just some party, that it was no big deal. But it was. It was a big deal and it wasn’t just some party. It was a going away party.
Laid out on the table in front of him was a gun, a brand new .22, and a deck of cards. Maybe he would still be lucky, maybe, if Fate decided to favor him for once, he wouldn’t have to. But, no. He knew that there was no turning back. It had taken over, and there was no way it was leaving.
So, for old time’s sake, he would decide on a game of 21. He dealt himself two cards without looking. Solemnly, he lifted them slightly. A seven and eight. Not bad, not bad, but he would have to hit. He gave himself another card. If he won, he died. If he lost, he lived. The odds were saying that would still be up and kicking for quite sometime. Well, that is what he thought. He slowly lifted up the card with a shaking hand. Holy fucking shit. Guess what, it was none other than a fucking six.
The luck of the draw.
He laughed. It wasn’t his normal cocky laugh, but a slightly hysterical cackle. He picked up the gun and put it to his head with a surprisingly steady hand. No more sadness, no more faking, no more hiding. He could finally start a new life as a new person in a new world. With these thoughts in his head, he shot himself right through the left temple. He fell to the ground dead.
Some people are just naturally lucky, I guess.