Time to Gamble

The writer looked nervous. She sat with her hands clasped together, thumbs and fingers wiggling and twitching like ugly worms. Her breathing was deep and even, as if she was making the conscious effort to appear normal. No sweat ran down her face, but she licked her lips several times.

    Opportunity grinned at her, tipped his hat forward to cover his eyes. With an air of bored grace, he stuck his hand in his pocket and with something clasped tight in his hand.

    'It's all a matter of getting the right combination,' Opportunity grinned. 'I know you don't really want to be here, but it seems life pushed you my way.'

    The writer shifted in her seat, as if trying to think of something witty to say. Opportunity grinned, then placed his hand flat down on the table. He did it smoothly and quietly, as if not to startle the writer and scare her away.

    'Everyone comes to see me eventually, whether they're ready or not,' Opportunity tapped each finger on the table. Then he placed his other hand on the table and spread out his fingers. His hands were surprisingly under-adorned, rings or ugly tattoos decorated his skin.

    'You, most definitely are not ready.'

    The writer mumbled something, not looking up from her clasped hands.

    'Pardon?' Opportunity laughed.

    'I'm ready,' the writer whispered. 

    'Good! Let's get this show on the road!'

    The writer looked grim faced and then nodded firmly.

    Opportunity lifted both his hands, then placed them behind his head and reclined on the seat, utterly as ease, like he was sunbathing on a scalding hot day.

    Nervously the writer reached out for the item. Her hand closed about the item.

    'All you have to do is roll them, and get a good score.'

    She nodded, and rolled the dice around in her hands.

    'Some prefer what I like to call the cocktail shaker method,' Opportunity shook his hands near his head like he was busy barman. 'Or the thinking too hard method.' Here he shook his clenched hand near his chin, like he was contemplating his place in the world.

    The writer shut her eyes, breathed in deeply, and then smiled. She produced a hammer from her pocket, and placed the dice on the table, still covering them with her hand.

    Opportunity lifted an eyebrow. 'Breaking your fingers for luck?' he laughed sharply.

    'Not exactly,' the writer replied with a sweet smile.

    And at that, the writer brought the hammer down on the dice several times. Opportunity let out a single strangled cry. He was quivering under the table when the writer knelt down to look him in the eye. She threw a handful of bits at his feet.

   'Thanks for the chance, but I'd rather not gamble this one away, I like to make my own opportunities, it isn't always a matter of luck,' she grinned, and patted him on the arm. 'But don't worry, you'll be back in business soon.'

   Opportunity quivered like a child under the table, and watched as the writer left through a different door.