Winning the Lottery

The story of a man who gambled himself broke

I pull the handle. Nothing

I pull it again. Nothing.

I pull it for what seems to be the eleventh, and I get nothing again.

I feel my jacket getting lighter, with every pull a weight is lifted off of me. Not metaphorically, but literally. I can't control myself; cash is flowing out of my pockets like urine, as I hope that this time all three cherries will be red. Again, not metaphorically, but literally.

One cherry...two cherry...the joker puts me back on my seat. This time metaphorically; the animated character doesn't literally sit me down.

It's quite an attractive machine, with little puppets bouncing and swinging, continuing to tease me.

I slide my hand into my pocket and all that's left amongst the denim jungle is a scrawny bill.

I brace myself, hoping that this last pull would feed my addiction. I grasp the slot machine by the hand, and gently pull it down, as if I was shaking it. The images dance before me, and slowly, one by one, finish the show. A seven, a bull, and a red cherry. The curtain has closed sooner that I would've hoped.

Author's Note

What do you think? I'm thinking of putting this in a book of short stories/ scenarios