one last hand

"when one is looking over the edge, one forgives all. no-one is his enemy and everyone becomes his friend. when one is looking down that long black tunnel, he remembers only the good times; and never the bad.

he stands on the edge. the train rushes past and he swears it touches his nose. the rush of air. he steps back, not because he wants to, but because his body wants to.

he's looking into the abyss and he wants it to look into him. he's a monster fighting monsters. there is no fear at the end, you have nothing to lose except everything, so why sweat the small stuff. he thinks of all the times he was sinned against and forgets them all. all those times those bastards failed him, the bitch betrayed him, his children disappoint and the holy forces cut him and made him bleed. forget all that. you are on the precipice. you are looking down now, wash your hands.

in the final instance, it doesn't matter. the path; the way; the route you took to get here means nothing. bits of paper to be torn and drawn on. the bridges you built will all be burnt. the castle will be ransacked and the straw hut will be pillaged. but you don't care. you are near at the end now. no reason to look back. no reason at all.

of course the good times. like faded photos they remain. like pages of a diary they remain. like the rising and setting sun they remain, like a brief flash of relief. a warm place to spend the unforgiving minute before it goes and you go. and you wonder if it's real at all.

it's the last throw. he has a small pot. it's sun up and he's been playing all night. his meager chips represent a night's work and he wonders if it's all been worth it. it's the last game. the final round before the players all depart. he gets his cards and doesn't look. it's the last hand, his final chance. he has nothing to lose except everything. he has nothing to leave behind. he pushes all his chips in the middle and waits for a chance to turn over his cards."