The Value of a Life

The man slapped the revolver onto the table in front of Zeno with a rough chuckle. Zeno stared at the gun, waiting another minute for people to get extra bets in. He’d already placed a bet on himself. He grasped the revolver and placed it to his temple. His hand was steady and breathing even. This would be the fourth shot of the gun, putting his odds at 2 to 1 for coming out clean. People began chanting and stomping their feet, anticipating their winnings already. 

Zeno hoped for a soft click as he pulled the trigger. Instead, a loud boom, and his head snapped to the side. The crowd watched as he toppled from the chair and blood gushed from what was left of his head.

“Dammit,” Zeno cursed when black smoke swirled about his head and formed into a skull with the number 277 beside it. His life counter clicked down twice, once for the actual death and once for his bet, settling on 275. The excruciating pain had lasted for only a moment, but his ears were still ringing as he got to his feet.

Curses and cheers mingled as life counters adjusted around the room. The air was momentarily clotted with dense black smoke, so many transactions at one time. 

Zeno stumbled over to the bar and set a hundredth on the counter. A drink would ease the throbbing in his head. As he took his first sip, a hush fell over the crowd. 

He turned just in time to see what he thought was a 1 fading away beside the skull symbol at a young boy’s head. He must have turned too late, and the rest of the number had faded already. But as he sipped his drink, the tension in the air made him wonder. 

When he heard the whispers, he started to push his way back toward the center of the room. Surely not, he reasoned. But the mutterings continued: “His last life,” and “Only one.”

The participants all took their seats. They drew lots, and the boy would go second. The first man grabbed the gun confidently and pulled the trigger. A soft click. He smirked, setting it down in front of the boy.

Zeno had made it to the front and could see the boy clearly now. He was shaking as he reached for the revolver. The fear in his wide eyes was evident. He swallowed and put the gun to his temple.

“Wait,” Zeno cried out. “I must speak to the boy.” 

Angry shouts cluttered the air. “You can’t interrupt the match.” The facilitator glared at him.

Zeno didn’t know what had come over him, but he stepped forward and grasped the boy’s hand. No time to think things through.

“I pledge one life to you, to be returned to me if you win this match.”

The boy’s mouth popped open, and tears sprang to his eyes. His life counter swirled and switched to a 2. Before he could say anything, he was yanked back into his chair. This time, he didn’t hesitate as he reached for the gun. 

Click.

The boy exhaled and set the revolver down, waiting for his next turn. But it never came.

With the next pull of the trigger, a boom pounded through the room. 

The boy turned to Zeno, beaming as the smoky black skull by his head tallied the lives. Up by 5 for surviving a match, down 1 for the life returned to Zeno, settling at 6.

Still a paltry sum.

Before the boy could thank him, Zeno admonished him, “Why would you be so stupid as to bet your last life?”

The small boy flinched. “I’ve only ever had one life to bargain with.”

Zeno cursed. A Discarded One. He knew they existed, but he’d never met one, most likely because they didn’t live long. The cruelty astonished him, especially when looking into the face of this scared child, desperate enough to gamble his last life. 

“Come with me, boy. I’ll get you a meal.”

…

What do you think of the story, so far? Check back soon for part 2!

Thanks so much for reading!

-Clever & WTF