When the shit hits the fan it’s usually apparent. An unmistakable drama induced thickness of the air. An uncontrollable rapidity of breath. Like I said it’s pretty easy to tell when hell breaks loose its own gates to take a bite out of your throat. And in this case, you could compare this normal type of an affectionate, albeit daemonic, nip to the brutal mauling that was my current situation.
How many rolls of the dice can it take to destroy a human being? It only took me one. Well. Yeah, it took three to have me staring into death’s open door, but it was the first that lead to the others. It’s pathetic really, when you place the bet, no one in the room can win but you, but when the dice are cast all you can see in their ivory sheen is little ebony devils staring back at you armed to the teeth. That’s the truth isn’t it, the dice themselves are almost angelic, perfect cubes and brilliant diviners of chance, while the real malice and danger lies in the numerals, the little black dots assigned with weight, and value, and purpose enough to kill.
To be honest I’m a compulsive gambler. Not one of those that play to win or play just to play, but one of those, how was it put, lemons. Playing to lose has been of utmost importance to me since I learned to live, which, for me, was when I lost. Just a young kid fresh off my first published work and within a month I had already blown the first few royalties. Thank god it wasn’t a bestseller or it truly would have been a waste. Still, at that time it was all I had, and ever since I had the addiction. The loss was just so staggering that I learned I could live without anything. Enduring the pain of loss simply showed me that through it I could win. I guess it’s some kind of masochism, self-deprivation of the wallet and inner peace, but it worked for me, so I kept going.
“Welcome to hell on earth, Jacob” came a voice from behind me. The clicking of a gun was readily apparent, even in the eclectic din of the casino.
“I was gonna drop the payments off tomorrow “I said, hoping someone in the place would notice the threat to my life. Seedy casinos aren’t the best place to find a compassionate or observant crowd.
“We know you don’t have the money, you shit. You’re not getting out of it this time.” It was obvious I wasn’t.
The final roll of the dice that led to my premature end was the one where this goon comes in. the cause of this final nail in my proverbial coffin? Not my addiction. I had actually recovered from it by this point in the story of my life. No, just a resuscitated need for a vice. I had been having a particularly unpleasant night and two beers, a bottle of vodka, three tequila shots, and my finest chardonnay did nothing to improve it. Having downed all the alcohol in my home I turned back to the only other vice I knew. Probably under the influence of my first attempt at liberation from reality, I embarked on my second try at a downtown casino not unlike this one. It was here I bet away everything I owned and more. In one night I landed myself so much in debt to my friendly neighborhood loan shark that he sent his bulky friend to collect.
“Goodnight sunshine” speak of the sarcastic devil.
A loud bang went off and I ended up with a bullet through the brain. The hole in my head gushed as I toppled over and stained the already mottled craps table. The screams of the people around me drowned out my killer’s hurried yet casual flight. He cleaned and polished his small revolver and hurried off to tell his boss that an example had been made of another unlucky fool.
The second roll of the dice that led to my downfall was much more proverbial than the others. In this case it was more taking a chance than rolling actual dice. And it was truly a chance that at the time didn’t seem unreasonable.
Three years ago I was once again fresh from a first, this time my first support group meeting. I had joined gamblers anonymous in a desperate attempt to ditch the vice that made my life a living hell. At this point in my life self-destruction was, as it would again in the future, leading to my self destruction. I decided to give up the vice in return for peace of mind. It was there I first saw her. She was beautiful, large hazel eyes with long dark hair to match. Her smile, unlike that of many others, was not filled with contempt, indignation, or other emotions I learned to take for granted.  I fell in love. So did she. Only I still felt the tug of cards and dice and chance.
Three years later as I battled my addiction the need for vice overcame me and I realized I would never win against my angels and devils. Their trumpet calls and their searing hooks were far two strong for me, a mere mortal, to defeat.  I decided the only thing I could do was give in and hope for divine intervention to put an end to this sick comedy.
I broke up with the girl that day, that day I rolled both my second, and my third fateful die. I felt that I’d spare her the pain the anger and the hate she would feel seeing me lay waste to the lives we had built together. All at once I dashed away the house of cards we had put together so fragilely. Her half and mine.
The shit hit the fan and I died, but in that instant I never regretted taking the chance and loving the girl. I never regretted gambling that first portion of my weak life away, because I overcame it and met the girl because of it. I never regretted the life me and the girl had. I never regretted those things. I regretted quitting on the girl.