Win a Prize!

There was only one rule: don’t open the door...

'Step right up!'

The carny kept up his blare as he stood with the black-lettered rules leaning over him. On a simple plywood board, lacquered in white, the game was clear:

Hit the target! Don't hit the door!

It was clear what would happen if he missed his target: the door behind it would open and...

'Mister, take yer shot!'

He almost dropped the heavy plastic ball in his hand (dropping the ball; story of his life), and stared at the target.

It was his face.

But why...?

'First shot!'

He threw, but his aim was off. The ball sailed past it, hitting the door frame.

'Two more chances! I think luck is on yer side, sir!'

He wanted to punch the carny in the face (his too familiar face). The next throw actually hurt his arm (too much force). It glanced off the face, and he felt like he had been struck himself.

Where had he seen it before?

'All good things come in threes, they say! One more throw, sir, and you could win it all!'

The last ball was right in front of him, still as a stone. And he wanted to leave.

He picked it up.

He felt his sweat become intimate with it.

He threw.

The ball went through the face, hitting the door and...

He woke up, once again...

And he could see the carny's true features (Devil in all the details).

'Step right up!'

He was still at the stand, looking at the game and noting the carny's terrible smile. And he had to smile.

He was still in Hell.

'Three shots and you can win...'

But he never won.

He never could.

He just had to play the game.

-296 words

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