I am sitting.
The chair creaks slightly under my weight.
The wood is old. Sticky.
The round table in front of me is covered in dark stains. Not blood, I think.
A black handkerchief is placed in front of each seat.
Three tables.
Five chairs each.
Fifteen players.
Three lucky ones.
Ray Lee is at my table.
Two seats on the left.
He's not looking at me.
Nobody is really talking.
Just heavy breathing.
Throats that swallow their saliva.
The smell of burnt bread still lingers.
Disgusting.
Why go so far in realism?
"Put on the blindfolds," said Death in a broken voice.
No one is arguing.
I'll take a tissue.
The fabric is rough.
Cold.
I tie it behind my head.
Total blackout.
Instantly
I place both hands flat on the table, as requested.
Fingers spread wide.
I can feel the table vibrating slightly.
Someone is sniffing.
Someone is crying silently.
Then…
She's here.
No steps.
No breath.
Just that pressure in the air.
Death.
– let's start here
– let's start here
– let's start here
I heard three voices simultaneously
– How many loaves of bread do you want?
His voice is clear despite the echoes.
It falls on my finger and moves with each syllable, stopping on the 3rd of my other hand.
– An immediate response or I'll pass.
- forty .
Silence.
I hold my breath.
And…
Two…
Three…
Four…
Ten…
Twenty..
Thirty…
Forty
The voice stopped right next to me.
– fold.
But it wasn't for me.
"Too bad," said Death calmly.
I understand.
I was 4 short of returning to myself
I missed that round.
My debt remains entirely intact.
Then she resumes
– How much bread do you want?
Her cold, fetishistic fingers stopped on the last one of my first hand.
– 45
Non
Shit
And…
Two…
Three…
Four…
Five…
Six…
Trent…
Forty…
Five
– fold
A finger falls.
Another sigh of relief for him, and a mistake for me.
Just one more
Then Death came to me.
I feel something invisible brush against my little finger.
– How many loaves of bread do you want?
My throat is dry.
I think fast.
There are five players at the table.
3 still have their 10 fingers and the one on my left has 8 left
It proceeds in a circular order.
She stops on the third one of my second hand and will start counting from there as well.
41
If I lose.
– forty-four, I said.
Forty…
And…
Two…
Three…
Four…
It touches my middle finger.
I fold before she even says it.
– fold
It worked.
Around our table, the others are trying.
A panicked guy:
- Eight !
Too short.
He plays at random
She inserts eight fingers.
She probably doesn't come back to him.
"How much bread do you want?" said Death.
bringing my attention back to my table
But the countdown stopped to my right.
Oh noooo
"Fifty," breathed the voice, trembling with excitement.
And…
Two…
Three…
Ten
Trent
50
A finger inside me.
Luck falls on the next one
I concentrate.
– How much bread do you want?
"50?" he said without conviction.
And…
Two…
It falls back on him, what luck, on the index finger of his first hand
– (My head is starting to hurt)
– 60, he said.
Silence
"It doesn't work like that," she murmured.
Silence
I'm calculating.
Always.
I'm starting to sense a pattern.
It retains the same meaning.
Always.
And above all…
She doesn't cheat.
She counts exactly by picking up again on the same stop finger.
That reassures me a little.
A little
– How much bread do you want?
She stumbles upon the last 10
Silence.
– Invalid answer.
She turns immediately
– How much bread do you want?
But the count paused again on the ring finger of the last 10
He screams.
– 20? 10… NoNo 40, 40, 40
Same penalty.
The rules are strict.
It's turning.
– How much bread do you want?
Stopping on the limb to my left
He folded two of them thanks to my miscalculation.
I can feel the sweat running down my back.
Others can ruin me unintentionally.
The guy announces:
– Ours.
Silence.
He is serious
I think for a second
I clench my jaw.
I feel a smile rising involuntarily.
Death counts and stops on my middle finger
– fold
I only have 8 fingers left now, why did he do that?
Staying in this darkness disturbs me greatly.
I calculate quickly.
There's still one 10 left.
Even though the tower is on my right
Death is before him.
– How much bread do you want?
He is trembling.
Silence.
I remain alone.
My hands are trembling.
I close my eyes.
I already know.
Three winners.
He could have warned me about the return game.