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Pokernight of the Gods

To: poker-night
From: electroblake
Subject: Pokernight of the Gods
Date: Thu, 20 Jul 2006 19:50:33 -0400

When you were a child you thought that maybe you were a god of some
kind, left here to mature and that one day you’d be welcomed into the
pantheon of your true family.  That was even before you realized that
you had these special powers.  That you could change your teacher’s
face if you didn’t like it, before you even realized you could make
the bully kid disappear when he was picking on you.  Make him
disappear along with any trace that he’d ever existed.  Poof!  Gone.
Never was.  That bully beat you up once.  His fist smacked against
the side of your face so hard blood splattered from your broken nose
and your head spun in reaction to the impact.  You started to cry and
you wished more than anything to be someplace warm and dark and
comfortable and the next thing you knew you were wrapped up in
blankets watching the evening news cuddled up to your mother on the

Many would have simply assumed the bully was a nightmare, but you
realized that you had the power to make your wishes come true.  The
next day at school you wished that bully right out of existance.  You
wished your parents back together.  You wished your three dead
puppies back to life.

As you got older your power developed to such a point that you didn’t
even have to consciously make wishes.  The world simply conformed to
the image of it you held in your head.  You made some friends.  Some
had been pretty already and you made them smart and witty, some had
been witty already and you made them pretty.  Sometimes you made them
pirates, sometimes you were all on board a spaceship exploring the
far reaches of the galaxy.  You’ve had many adventures with them,
enacted many dramas.  You’ve killed them all at least once, with guns
or knives or just in some thrilling escapade.  You always bring them
back.  They never remember anything you don’t want them too.  It’s
hard to know now how much of their personality is their own and how
much you’ve just made up.

Once you tried to simply wish a new friend into existence, from
scratch.  Someone perfect.  But it didn’t work.  You just kept
staring into empty space waiting for something to happen.  Then you
made a little figure out of mud, thinking yourself quite clever and
maybe even godly.  You hoped that someone was watching you so they
could see how very god like you were indeed when you wished life into
that sculpted mound in the image of human flesh.  The clay came alive
alright, but it remained clay.  In your heart you knew it to be a
fraud.  A lump of dirt pretending to be a person.  You made it very
pretty and you made it say very witty things.  You slept with it and
you fucked it.  You had children with it and you wished the children
away because they too were made of clay and you hated them as much as
you hated the clay made alive and finally you gave up on it ,
angered, and wished it back into clay.

Because you always think of it, the clay is always there.  In the
mountains, and in the puddles.  You think you must be crazy because
you’ve wished everyone else away now and roam the planet all alone
and that stupid lump of clay that proved to you that you were no god
is the only thing that remains, haunting you, refusing to leave you
in peace.

You wish away all dirt and now you live on a planet of stone and
metal and water.  You think you see its face in the sky.  You think
you hear its voice in the wind.  And because of your power, there is
a face in the sky.  There is a voice in the wind.  The being which
you could not create is holding you captive.  There is nothing but a
white room now.  No clouds to turn into faces.  No wind to tickle
your ear drums.

Now there is nothing.

And now there is Poker Night.

“first hand at nine”




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