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by David Wailing
Originally published by on 12/04/2018

A deck of cards sat on the table, surrounded by players. One drew from the top, hand trembling.

A Tarot card – The Tower.

He drew another. Its painted eye moved, blinked.

Another. A glistening rectangle that dripped blood.

Another. The ten of diamonds, half-torn. The one his grandfather slapped him for damaging, decades ago.

Another. A card the texture of his own skin that wailed like a baby.

Another. A mirror, reflecting his future face at the time of death.

He bolted from the table, screaming.

The deck was pushed to the next player. “Six to beat. Your turn.'

David Wailing Merits

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