Hey everyone! This is my first post here even though I've been registered on the site for about half a year now. I've been writing on and off without having finished anything so I decided to try my hand at some rather-short fiction.
I want to try to develop a universe, telling its story through several, loosely connected short stories, kind of in the fashion of one of my favorite writers, H.P. Lovecraft. Here's the first take of one such story:
Up To Chance
It all started with that damn d20. Well, maybe I’ll give a little background.
My name is Kenny Hideyoshi and ever since I first started gaming I’ve had an obsession with unique and interesting dice. No less than once a week would I go to my local card or gaming shops to buy a new set of dice, I could never find any that really
fit me. That is, until a year ago today.
I wasn’t even out looking for dice. I was with a few of my buddies off on spring break in St. Augustine and just strolling through some local shops. I had found a dingy little shop tucked away in some back alley in which none of my friends were interested. I wasn’t even entirely sure it was a shop so I stepped in slowly, taking care not to track any sand inside, as I told my friends I’d be back shortly.
My eyes had barely adjusted to the dark, dusty shop when I was overcome with an overwhelming sense of dread. It might have been the shrunken head in a jar staring back at me, but I felt something in the pit of my stomach. A feeling that an ancient evil had just woken from a deep slumber due to my infractions and was staring deep into me with profound hatred.
I had found the shop keep after some effort, partly due to his ability to sit motionless for extended periods of time, and partly because his old, decrepit features fit in so well with his surroundings. He offered no help after I acknowledged his presence so I kept glancing about the shop.
Lining the shelves were what seemed to be old trinkets of wood, stone, and bone. There were larger objects as well, in the corners and lining the back walls, that seemed to be totems and statues of sorts. A few items had caught my interest, but it all quickly faded as my eyes landed on
it.
“It” was an obsidian, twenty sided, polyhedral object; it was almost as if the object was made to be a die. Losing all interest in the other trinkets, I walked up to the object and glanced back at the shop keep. He seemed to be either inattentive or apathetic so I reached out and grabbed it.
The moment I moved the object life seemed to again run in its veins. Colors indescribable seemed to swirl around beneath its ebony skin. Startled, I put it down. Almost immediately, the aimless swirling started to solidify at the top and formed into a character in some unknown language. It shone bright for a few seconds then faded out, returning to its original, black, state.
I had to have it.
I grabbed the die and walked straight to the shop keep, placing it and a five dollar bill on the counter. The shop keep finally stirred, reached a hand out, and daintily picked up the bill. I took this as a sign that we were both in agreement and placed the die in my pocket, walking swiftly out of the shop without a word having been spoken.
Of course I showed it off to my friends, who, being gamers themselves, were mightily jealous. It wasn’t even a week later that I used it in a session as my main die, having written down each of the characters, equated them to a number, and subsequently memorizing each character. I have played using that die exclusively even to this day.
There is… something special about the die though. It wasn’t until three months after I had acquired the die that I noticed something a little… magical about it. Like many gamers, whenever I found myself bored during a session I would roll my die incessantly. I had been doing this for months until I noticed that the die was almost… predictive. I had found that when I was waiting on another player to finish their turn my die rolls were always consistent to a certain degree. The harder I thought about the player’s intended actions the more consistent the die would roll. I had almost brushed it off as coincidence until I decided to try my luck, on a whim.
I concentrated as hard as I could on the current situation as I waited and was able to will the die to roll a thirteen… seven times in a row. The player I was waiting on then made his roll: Thirteen. It baffled me why I hadn’t noticed the die’s behavior before. I realize now that the die was watching, adjusting its prediction according to fate; realigning its characters to what I had interpreted them as, if you will.
Of course, at the time, I was so awestruck that I almost decided to get a new die and forget what had happened. It was with a slow and cautious step that I ventured into experimenting with what the die could do in real life.
After I had made the realization of the die’s power, its ability in prediction was almost perfect. For several months I had used the die’s power in daily life, consulting it obsessively for every decision I would make, every action I planned on taking. After I had used it to bring me fortune I let curiosity about its origins take me over.
I found that I was not the first in history to find such an item of power. Originating from Sumerian times, an uncatalogued number of artifacts have surfaced throughout history, making their mark on their respective owners then abruptly disappearing, lost forever in the mist of time.
The further I delved into the matter the more I felt a shadow linger over me. Questions raced through my mind every waking moment I had. I spent all of my conscious effort thinking about and researching these artifacts and left the die to decide the other, trivial, aspects of my life.
I have found myself growing distant from my family and friends, traveling abroad in search of answers about these artifacts, relying on the die to make enough money to pay for food and shelter. I was not surprised to find that I was being followed on my journeys by hooded men that were seemingly invisible to others.
Here I sit now, alone in an abandoned shack off the side of a country road with a singular thought in my mind. With die in hand, I sit thinking of the possibility that these hooded men are after my life, seeking my artifact. I sit, listening to footsteps approaching, too afraid to roll.
I apologize for the formatting, I was originally writing it for a much more narrow column, seeing it that wide on these pages makes it all look like one line paragraphs
It is a bit sparse, but that's precisely why I'm asking for help! I would love some critique, be it about technical things such as grammar or about the story in general.
It's my first time writing from a first person perspective, and I haven't had sleep, so please excuse and don't be
too hard on me
EDIT: I've changed my wording of flash fiction to "rather-short" fiction as it was pointed out to me that flash fiction may be misconstrued as fan fiction, which may cause copyright problems. I assure you that this piece of work is entirely my own, any similarities to a copyrighted work is purely coincidental and rather disappointing.
