Rolling a Six
I held the die in my hands and visualised as clearly as I could.
That was all I wanted.
If I could make it happen, somehow make it happen, then I could do anything. After this… roulette tables. Craps tables. Lottery numbers. Anything I wanted.
I tried to see the whole scene as I wanted it to be; sitting at the table, hearing the die skitter and roll, seeing it finally tumble to a stop, six pips turned upwards towards the light.
Different images crept into my head, gremlins of my subconscious throwing out mischief. A five. A two. A one.
I tried to focus.
Six white dots, facing upwards.
I held the die tighter, wanting… what? Vibrations? Some sort of communal energy flow? Some part of my soul to flow through the palms of my hands and combine with the cheap plastic of the tiny cube and turn it into a tool I could command with my thoughts?
Any and all of the above.
I opened my eyes, and rolled.
‘Oh, goddamnit,’ I said, out loud.
‘Now I have to get a job.’