The Price Of Hope

20251028

Written for Bradley Ramsey's "First Indulgence" event.

Mack defined a good day’s busking as having earned enough for a hot meal and the ten quid minimum buy-in at the local casino.
One day, it’d pay off. He’d be the lucky bastard who walked out a wealthy man. No more living on the streets. No more scrounging. He knew, if he could just get that one break, he could finally get it all together.
It had to pay out eventually. Statistics, right? Roll the dice enough times and you had to land on triple sixes. Just hold on. Hang in there. And roll them dice whenever you can.
So he handed over his scraped-together money and coat and battered bag, receiving chips in exchange. His belongings he’d get back when he left. The money… well, it was the price of hope.
Had to pay out one day. Had to. Statistics.
That’s why he always did roulette. Pure luck. Like rolling dice. Get the number right twice and you got the Big Prize. A tenner could turn into ten grand.
Had to happen eventually.
He handed over his chips. Got yellow ones back. Nice; yellow was his favourite colour. That was a lucky omen, right? He had a good feeling about this.
“Here. On 33.”
Any number was as good as another, right? So he bet on his age.
The stretched out seconds between the ball releasing and the wheel stopping were agonising and sweet. Like a pure jolt of hope straight to the system. Some days, it was worth paying just for that. To pretend everything was going to be alright, any moment now.
The wheel stopped. The ball clattered and settled.
Thirty. Three. Thirty-three!
A huge grin split Mack’s face - then froze as he realised there was a decision to make.
“Well done, sir! Today must be your lucky day.” The attendant’s voice was warm. Congratulatory. Buoying. “Would you like to try for the Big Prize?”
Mack wavered. That right there was three-fifty quid. You could stretch that to a lot of minimal comforts - assuming nobody realised and robbed you.
But… that Big Prize, that would be life-changing.
His gaze flicked to the cheery yellow chips. Lucky day. You never know until you try, right?
“I-I’ll go again.”
“Bravo, sir! Do you want to change your number?”
Mack shook his head. Any more decisions would be paralysing.
“Then… Fingers crossed…”
They certainly were. Mack held his breath, his gaze etching the spinning wheel.
Seven. He slumped, his head almost smacking the table.
“Oh! I’m sorry, sir.” The attendant surveyed him, their lips pursed, then leant over and murmured “Tell you what - I’ll let you into the back room games. Maybe this’ll be your lucky day yet.”
“That was all my chips.” Mack mumbled.
“Not to worry! You don’t need chips back there. You’ll see.”
The attendant caught Mack’s elbow and guided him towards the far wall, and what did he have to lose at this point? So he followed through the door, past security and into a lounge.
“Ms Mallory? This gentleman would like a second chance at the roulette Big Prize.”
The woman reclining by the poker table scrutinised Mack with a wide, approving smile. “Is that right? Well, sweetie, back here you can bet whatever you have. Win, and you take home the big prize.”
“Whatever I have?” Mack looked between them, bewildered. “Surely you won’t let me put an old hat up against ten grand?”
“I’m afraid not! Let’s see…” Ms Mallory rested her chin on steepled fingers and fixed him with a piercing look. Then she smiled again. “How about wagering hope?”
“Hope?” Mack blinked, then realised she must be offering him a free round. And who’d turn down that? So he grinned and said “Sure, I’ve got plenty of hope to wager!”
“Excellent. Take a seat.”
Mack obeyed as she briskly shuffled.
“Do you know the rules for hold ‘em?”
“Er, I think so?”
She rattled them off. Simple enough. Mack nodded readiness.
“Alright then! One round. Hope verses the Big Prize.”
Luck of the draw. Mack took a deep breath and picked up his hand, his gaze flicking between his two cards and the three that were being laid out on the table.
Hm. Well, he had a pair of eights.
Ms Mallory paused with her hand on the turn card. “You all in, sweet thing?”
“Uh-huh?”
She flipped the card with a flourish. A four.
That meant Mack had two pairs. His pulse picked up.
“Got that hope mustered?” Ms Mallory’s smile was dazzling.
Mack nodded, his teeth painfully tight on his lower lip.
The last card was a Jack. Alright. Two pairs, that was pretty good, right?
Was he maybe going to win this? Would they really pay up if he did? She’d said it, was it on camera, could it hold up in the court of law-
“Showdown!” Ms Mallory flipped her hand with a flourish. “Can you beat a three, sweetie?”
“Oh. Um…” Mack turned his cards over. “Is two pairs higher or lower than…?”
Ms Mallory waved to the wall, where a large poster ranked the hands.
“Oh.” Mack drooped with a soft huff. “Ah well.”
“Indeed.” Ms Mallory purred, then beckoned with her crimson-tipped fingers.
Before Mack could blink, glowing gold poker chips flew out of his chest and into her hand. “Wh-what the…”
“A wager’s a wager, sweet thing.”
Mack stared blankly at her. Confused. But it didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered.
With the game over, he should leave. But standing up felt… impossible. Intolerable. Just breathing in and out was an aggravating waste of time yet he couldn’t seem to stop.
Ms Mallory leant back and poured the handful of chips into her mouth. “Mm-mh! Delicious. Now then…”
She smiled widely, her eyes glittering. “How about one more round? Since you seem to have some breathing you don’t want…”
Mack shrugged. Sure. Whatever. Meant he didn’t have to stand up yet. Or maybe ever.
“Excellent!” Ms Mallory started another shuffle, her grin widening.

Prompt was “A gambler finds a strange casino where the games in the backroom offer incredible prizes and stakes to match. Back there you can bet everything from money, to flesh, and more…”