Post by ThoughtShift on May 1, 2004 15:04:42 GMT -5
This is just a short story I wrote yesterday in about five minutes.
I was at a bar the other night, shooting pool, and this came to my head.
Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. I'll just post it here, as it's not that long at all. I'll link to longer fics out of consideration for the bandwidth of the bar.
Thanks to everyone who reviews it.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Shark
by ThoughtShift
"I don't know guys, I really don't know how to play this game..."
And the con was on. This was how he started most of his nights. Just walking into a bar, getting to know a few people, telling them that he was lost, couldn't find his way home, just needed to rest a while, maybe play a game or something if he could find an arcade somewhere...
No, there's no arcade near here. But how about this game? Whenever they got that smug grin on their face and said the name of that game, it sent his heart into tremors. Sent a shiver down his spine.
"How about a game of pool, kid?"
"Well, I guess..."
"You have to pay, kid. We only play for money."
He always let them think that they were pressuring him into playing for money. He always let them think that they were in control. He always let them think that they were conning him.
And that was the easiest way to con. Not to mention the fact that he was fifteen. He knew all the tricks to the game, too. Not pool, particularly, but conning. He knew that to get the good money in addition to his money back, he had to let them win a couple times first. He had to let them think that they were conning him. And the easiest way to gain someone's trust is to give them money.
And tonight was no different. He held the stick under his fingers like a retard, scratched a few times, blasted the cue onto the floor, even missed the cue. Then someone would try to help him. He looked pathetic, in all reality. This soaking wet kid, right in out of the rain, just trying to win some extra bus fare, and he doesn't even know how to hold a pool stick.
Take it easy on him, Charlie. He's just a kid. I mean, he can't even break, for Chrissake's! Just give him his money back.
Nah, "Charlie" would always say. I'll let the kid win his money back. He can break, just show him how!
Here's your grubby twenty, kid. On the table. If you beat me, I'll give you five to one. A hundred bucks if you can beat me.
He'd just get that dazed, starstruck look in his eye. He was so good at that. Really, Mr. Charlie? Thanks! I'll try my best!
The pool hall would laugh at him, but encourage him anyway. He'd played twice, broken the second time. Barely tapped the cue so that only one ball came away, then Charlie would proceed to take him to school, so to speak. Ten bucks a game he had lost. Get it back, plus eighty if he won. But he had to decide, would it get better?
And the answer was no.
He went to the end of the table, chalked his cue, and bent over the table, eyeing the shot. He curled his index finger and set the stick in the channel created by his forefinger and thumb, took aim, and blasted the cue ball.
Everyone watched in confusement and amazement as two striped balls, the "prettier" ones, fell into the corner pockets.
"Wow!" He'd say. "That was cool!" And after that, the only sounds were from the people watching as they ooed and awed over his miracle shots. Bank shot after the amazing break to sink a ball. Tap one in on the side after that. Put some backspin on that one, knocks the ball right in the hole. Another bank shot, a little tougher, but nothing he can't handle. Ball slides in smooth. as silk. And everyone just watched as he took the poor fool's money.
"Eight ball, side pocket." he'd say calmly as he made an amazing bank shot to tap the eight ball into the pocket. And calmly he'd set the stick down, pick up his money, and walk out. He always loved hearing what they had to say when he left, so he liked to hang around a little bit outside.
Boy, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were just conned, Charlie.
Whether it was twenty bucks or three thousand, whether he was conning or really playing. He never lost. Rumor has it he won forty-five thousand dollars from a professional, the world champion they said, and just walked away with his money, never said a word about it to anyone.
The boy would just smell the money in his fist and walk on. To the next bus station, to the next plane...to the next paycheck.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
And there it is.
Not my usual writing style, but I was a little bored and didn't feel like working on any other fic, so I decided to just write a really short one. More of an exercise really.
Let me know what you all think of it, thanks!
I was at a bar the other night, shooting pool, and this came to my head.
Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. I'll just post it here, as it's not that long at all. I'll link to longer fics out of consideration for the bandwidth of the bar.
Thanks to everyone who reviews it.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Shark
by ThoughtShift
"I don't know guys, I really don't know how to play this game..."
And the con was on. This was how he started most of his nights. Just walking into a bar, getting to know a few people, telling them that he was lost, couldn't find his way home, just needed to rest a while, maybe play a game or something if he could find an arcade somewhere...
No, there's no arcade near here. But how about this game? Whenever they got that smug grin on their face and said the name of that game, it sent his heart into tremors. Sent a shiver down his spine.
"How about a game of pool, kid?"
"Well, I guess..."
"You have to pay, kid. We only play for money."
He always let them think that they were pressuring him into playing for money. He always let them think that they were in control. He always let them think that they were conning him.
And that was the easiest way to con. Not to mention the fact that he was fifteen. He knew all the tricks to the game, too. Not pool, particularly, but conning. He knew that to get the good money in addition to his money back, he had to let them win a couple times first. He had to let them think that they were conning him. And the easiest way to gain someone's trust is to give them money.
And tonight was no different. He held the stick under his fingers like a retard, scratched a few times, blasted the cue onto the floor, even missed the cue. Then someone would try to help him. He looked pathetic, in all reality. This soaking wet kid, right in out of the rain, just trying to win some extra bus fare, and he doesn't even know how to hold a pool stick.
Take it easy on him, Charlie. He's just a kid. I mean, he can't even break, for Chrissake's! Just give him his money back.
Nah, "Charlie" would always say. I'll let the kid win his money back. He can break, just show him how!
Here's your grubby twenty, kid. On the table. If you beat me, I'll give you five to one. A hundred bucks if you can beat me.
He'd just get that dazed, starstruck look in his eye. He was so good at that. Really, Mr. Charlie? Thanks! I'll try my best!
The pool hall would laugh at him, but encourage him anyway. He'd played twice, broken the second time. Barely tapped the cue so that only one ball came away, then Charlie would proceed to take him to school, so to speak. Ten bucks a game he had lost. Get it back, plus eighty if he won. But he had to decide, would it get better?
And the answer was no.
He went to the end of the table, chalked his cue, and bent over the table, eyeing the shot. He curled his index finger and set the stick in the channel created by his forefinger and thumb, took aim, and blasted the cue ball.
Everyone watched in confusement and amazement as two striped balls, the "prettier" ones, fell into the corner pockets.
"Wow!" He'd say. "That was cool!" And after that, the only sounds were from the people watching as they ooed and awed over his miracle shots. Bank shot after the amazing break to sink a ball. Tap one in on the side after that. Put some backspin on that one, knocks the ball right in the hole. Another bank shot, a little tougher, but nothing he can't handle. Ball slides in smooth. as silk. And everyone just watched as he took the poor fool's money.
"Eight ball, side pocket." he'd say calmly as he made an amazing bank shot to tap the eight ball into the pocket. And calmly he'd set the stick down, pick up his money, and walk out. He always loved hearing what they had to say when he left, so he liked to hang around a little bit outside.
Boy, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were just conned, Charlie.
Whether it was twenty bucks or three thousand, whether he was conning or really playing. He never lost. Rumor has it he won forty-five thousand dollars from a professional, the world champion they said, and just walked away with his money, never said a word about it to anyone.
The boy would just smell the money in his fist and walk on. To the next bus station, to the next plane...to the next paycheck.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
And there it is.
Not my usual writing style, but I was a little bored and didn't feel like working on any other fic, so I decided to just write a really short one. More of an exercise really.
Let me know what you all think of it, thanks!
Hanazawa Rui
