The Gambler-A Short Story

The perilous life of the gambler is that sort of person.

The Gambler

It is the same every Friday night. But, the decision has already been made. His amulet.

Time to go.

He drives a hundred miles to meet the boys at the club for the weekly poker game. In the prompt for this story, the directions were to “write about someone who thinks he is something he really is not”. He pockets his wallet and his gaze follows the line of the single bureau settling on the ancient, silver dollar quietly waiting for him. Old, but his meticulous care has maintained them in good condition. Never mind that hes lost paychecks and more in the course of the night. Not rugged , as a younger man with less gray would present, but scruffy and unkempt. Not to shave would be a decisive moment to change a routine established years ago.

Hes aloof to the fact that it makes him look ragged. Gazing into a mirror clouded with steam, he balls up one fist and wipes the glass clean with the fleshy part of his hand.

Staring at the green eyed reflection, he turns his head from side to side and scratches his jaw as if pondering whether to shave or not. Hes a gambler.

Notes on the short story: The Gambler

In December 2007, my sister, who is a freelance writer, sent me two books in support of writing fiction: The Pocket Muse by Monica Wood. The warm shower beats against aching muscles-shoulders, neck and arms; peels of wetness streaming down back, buttocks and legs…hairy, muscular legs.

He gets out of the tub, careful to step onto the blue and yellow striped mat, lest he leave a trail of moist footprints along the bathroom floor. He goes to win. Heels three inches or so. Ostrich. When hes finished he inspects the results with a keen eye, adds a stinging splash of aftershave, and goes about the business of gathering up his clothes.

Its Friday evening and as he zips up the fly of his too tight jeans, carefully tucking in the soft, black tail of his shirt, he looks around for his boots. His marker. Itd been far too long for any consideration of that. No, he doesnt think of pleasing anyone but himself. Its the prickly sensation that the stubs on his jowl create that is bothersome to him.

So, his shaving ritual begins. She adds photos and tips for success throughout the pages. Flash fiction is a type of writing that is derived from a prompt. He certainly doesnt agonize about the possible razor burn that occurs nuzzling up to someone, (anyone), with softer skin. The Gambler was my first story written January 1, 2008. It is a flash fiction. A wonderfully compact set of books filled with writing prompts of all types. I have: Endless Inspiration and Ideas & Inspirations for writing. The writer is expected to finish the story in a designated, but limited, time period. It is considered a useful tool to help writers overcome thought blocks and to spur on the creative muse.. Hes a winner

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