The Ace

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Be careful who you let join in the game.

Submitted: April 04, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 04, 2017



The Ace.


You gather around the same old table in the same old darkened corner. Five chairs but one will remain empty as you, Greg, John and Henry take your seats. How many nights have you gathered together to do just this? Too many to keep count of, I know.


You each pick up your shots of whisky and, almost in time with each other, swallow them down. Henry lights up his pipe. It’s ‘No Smoking’ in the saloon but no one’s gonna say a word about it.


You put a pack of cards down in the middle of the table. John picks them up, shuffles them around and then the game begins. You don’t bother betting any more, just play from habit really. It’s a way to pass the time, nothing more.


And then a stranger approaches your table. A stranger dressed in black, with a hat pulled so low down on his forehead you cannot see his face. He takes a seat without asking, sees that you are playing pontoon, and nods when you ask if he wants to join in.


He wins every time so it’s lucky bets are off. But this time when he lays down his hand he holds the cards out to you. What do you see? The Ace of Spades! But this one is a special one, it speaks and smells of death. And you know when this stranger leaves the table you will be accompanying him and you won’t be back again.

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