Death's Ninth Piece 2 (End)
Death never cheats. But they have been known to use meta-strategy...
20250531
Part 1 here.
Pam took a deep, shaky breath. Her sweaty fingers sticking to the rolling cup. Shake once, twice…
Seven. Right before that snake.
“The game is yours.”
“What?”
“You now cannot hit a snake. So I cannot win.”
“Ohh.” Two was the lowest roll.
“You choose well, Pam.” Death’s murmur was peaceful. Mummy would praise them for being a graceful loser. “There are few games whose strategies I don’t know. Fewer still where I cannot puzzle out their strategies at a glance. This, however… gambling in its purest form. You put your fate in the hands of another power. One with a strange sense of humour, and an… impulsive temper.”
Death’s hood turned, towards what seemed to be an empty spot on the mat. And for a moment their voice held a hint of mockery. “Oh? Please. Everyone knows that I never cheat. Even when I am sometimes cheated.”
“I-I didn’t cheat!” Pam stammered earnestly. Confused and relieved and suddenly so, so tired.
“Indeed you didn’t. You are a good, honest child, Pam.”
Death leant close and, while Pam never saw anything within the hood, she clearly felt soft, wrinkled lips pressing against her forehead.
“Until we meet again. Live a good life. And please, listen to your body. Just because someone means well doesn’t mean they know best.”
When Pam awoke her headache had faded. She was fine, just as her parents had said when sending her to bed. The whole thing had to be a dream.
“Wakey wakey, sleepyhead!” Her mother patted her hair. “Goodness, we do need to tidy your floor. I nearly stepped on the game you and daddy were playing. If you’re going to do long games you need to put them on the table!”
“Huh?” Pam sat up and stared down at the snakes and ladders board. The orange piece was where she’d left it, three spaces from the end.
And at the end of the first row…
Pam’s hand drifted up to her head. Her fingernails were fine. Her headache was gone. It had to have been a dream.
But there was a black plastic piece sitting right where Death had left it.
She sucked in air, suddenly feeling faint. “M-Mummy?”
“Yes?” Her mother peered concernedly. “Are you still not feeling well?”
“No. I… I did need a doctor.”
Her parents were pale and apologetic after the doctor talked to them. It was years before they told Pam it was a miracle the blood clot resolved itself in her sleep.
They didn’t understand why she just nodded. Unfazed.
Just like they never understood why she insisted on carrying that little plastic playing piece everywhere. She always told them “In case I see them again.” and refused to elaborate.
But it was a memento always pushing her to live her best life. So when the day came to give it back she could honestly say “I made the best of what you gave me.”
Death never cheats. But they have been known to use meta-strategy.