Diced with Death

I thought I was really clever. I had it all worked out, how to avoid death. I had my dice: Specially carved from the knucklebones of a murderer, tried and executed, and dug up and carved all in one moonless night, a year and a day after his death. I kept them within reach at all times.

When Death did come, it was for the dumbest fucking reason. I choked on a piece of broccoli after congratulating myself for not dying falling down the stairs. I’d tripped at the top, see, but I knew enough about how to fall to roll with it and come out at the bottom with all my bones intact. Five minutes later, I take a big congratulatory bite of broccoli and then I’m choking and I panic and I’m on my knees and

And then I can breathe just fine, and I’m standing over my body. It’s still twitching, and I’m thinking that shouldn’t be so, I shouldn’t be officially dead until I’m officially dead, but

“We had to make time for your game.” Oh, thank god, it’s actually true. I fish my dice out of my pocket, but “You never win at dice.”

It’s because of the stakes, I explain. Death can’t just let people free to be alive again, so of course everyone loses when they set impossible stakes. So I make a different wager: He wins, I’m dead as normal. I win, I do his job for a year and a day. Death just smiled. He didn’t have a skull for a face, it turns out, just emaciated. Still a weird smile.

So we rolled, and he won. I didn’t understand what I’d done wrong. Was it just a roll of the dice? “No. You had it right. Bad stakes make for a bad game. But you had nothing to wager. If you’d found me while you were alive, maybe, but you let me find you. And by then, you have nothing left.

“C’mon, let me give you the tour.”

Train Related

Superman’s Dad was an important businessman. He worked in the city and worked very hard making sure that everyone in the city--actually, in the entire country!--had the stereo equipment that they needed.

He was also a stalwart aide to Superman. Superman’s Dad watched the jail and made sure Superman knew when bad guys were escaping. It was neverending work, since bad guys were always escaping from jail, and Superman’s Dad sometimes wished that someone would build a better mousetrap, but until they did, he would keep an eye on the jail.

More than anything else, Superman’s Dad was proud of his son, and also worried. He knew Superman did good, important work, but he also knew there was a lot of kryptonite out there, and a lot of evil geniuses. Even one was too many with a jail as leaky as theirs.

So, Superman’s Dad did what he had to, which was also what he enjoyed. He sold stereo equipment to everyone who needed it, and he helped out Superman. So as he rode the train to work, he read a book on prison design and another on superpowers. Maybe he would be the one to build the mousetrap.

Commuter Train

Cal missed Karen. He wished he knew where she’d gone, or why she’d left, or why she’d taken all his old football trophies. If she hadn’t cared about him, well, that was a surprise that stopped his heart like a fall into icewater. But not caring enough to stay in Will’s life was impossible to imagine.

He looked up as Will bumped into someone while playing Superman. He was so lively. Karen’s absence hadn’t hurt him yet. But Cal hadn’t been able to discuss it with Will so far. He didn’t know what to say. How do you tell your son that his mother might be gone? If she were dead, he’d be able to say she weren’t coming back, but he couldn’t even say that with confidence.

Cal retrieved Will, and went to apologize to the man Will had bumped into. Hetripped over a young woman’s foot on his way back, and he mumbled an apology to her, too. She reminded him a little of Karen.

Tonight, he would tell Will. He’d said that before, but this time he’d stop stalling and do it, and they’d go on together. That though made him feel better. Enough to go on.

Another Train

Even famous Pokemon trainers need to take the train. At least, that’s what he told himself every time he was on one. He thought he should have a private car, but the championship private circuit wouldn’t pay for more than the train. It made him angry. He had the most powerful Pokemon the world had ever seen, and here he was, on the train with all these normal people!

He called forth two Pokemon: floating psyduck and bulbasaur. This would give him a little more of the ease due his expertise. He let them clear some space among the other passengers, and once he had his choice of seat, he set them to training.

He trained his Pokemon hard. No pulling blows, no holding back, and no mercy when one was wounded. They had to take their lumps if they were going to overcome them. That’s how he had learned, when he was young. That was the way to get tough enough for a world that didn’t care about you.

Superman called out for him to stop, but then Superman’s Dad made him guard the jail. The Pokemon trainer just smiled. Even Superman couldn’t stop him from being the best.

Super Train

Superman was riding the train. There were bad guys everywhere, and he had to defeat them. But Dad said not to play with the other passengers on the train. He had to wait until they reached day care to play with others.

So he fought monsters no one else could see. There was the Joker! Superman punched him and took him to jail, which was Superman’s seat by Dad. Then he flew down the train car and grabbed Brainiac and flew him to jail. And then he saw a Pokemon trainer hurting Pokemon at the far end of the train, and he flew to rescue them!

He bumped into a person who yelled, and he ran back to Dad. Dad told him he had to guard the prison now or the bad guys would escape. “But the mean Pokemon trainer is over there!”

“You’ll have to stop him later,” said Dad. “If you leave, the bad guys will get out of jail.” So Superman guarded the jail. After a while, Dad leaned over and whispered, “Oh no! They’re escaping!” He pointed at the window behind Superman’s seat.

“I’ll stop them!” said Superman, and he started punching them back into jail.

Further Train

“That’s not it at all,” said Rupert, “I think you’re an oof!” He hadn’t meant to say that last part. A kid running up and down the commuter train car had run headfirst into Rupert’s stomach. Before Rupert could catch his breath and stall Jermaine’s insulted response, a tunnel cut off cell reception.

“Fuck!” shouted Rupert. Did Jermaine think that Rupert had called him an oaf? He’d wanted to say an amazing man, or partner, or friend--no, that gave the wrong impression--but it didn’t matter now. There was no time. Jermaine’s plane was about to take off--why hadn’t he mentioned the flight? And the timing of the damn tunnel was perverse.

He realized the father was in front of him, the boy back in his seat. “I’m sorry about Alan,” the father said. “I hope he didn’t interrupt anything important.”

Thoughts: “Keep hoping.” “No, my phone calls aren’t important.” “No, he just ruined my private life.”

“No,” Rupert said. “Anything that can be ruined by a child’s collision wasn’t built well to begin with. Sorry I yelled.” The father left, and Rupert wondered if what he’d said was true. If he could believe it.

He could, perhaps, try believing it.

More Train

Matt sat on the train in silent thought. It vibrated and occasionally jostled beneath him; the rythym lulled him. He stared, half out the window and half into nowhere, and daydreamed. Someone near shouted, “Fuck!” but Matt didn’t twitch or look.

He always wondered how he looked when he was sitting like this. Sitting still was a hard-won skill, and he hoped that it made him look impressive, stoic, and thoughtful. He thought about other guys thinking that Matt was impassive, imperturbable, badass. They were just reading and listening to music, but in Matt’s head they were quietly impressed by Matt’s focus.

And he thought about the girls on the train. He wanted them to think he was cool, interesting, and to wonder what he was thinking. Mysterious. Deep. He thought about what if one came over and asked what he was thinking, what he might say and how that might go. He’d be interesting, they’d talk, and she’d give him her number, and a cascade of interesting fantasies followed.

A cute girl got off the train. For a second, Matt wanted to say something. But he sat still, and nobody talked to him. In his head, they were nervous.