Short Stories

Go Fish

Dennis spread the deck across the table, paused, and scooped it back up with one hand. He shuffled the cards like a casino ace.

“One more game?”

I caught myself reaching for a water bottle with my stump and rubbed it against my forehead instead. Dennis didn’t seem to notice, or hid it really well.

“Deal.” I grabbed the water with my good hand and chugged half of it down.

It was something to pass the time and Dennis always knew how to distract me when I was down. I guess it’s an unorthodox way to help someone with a disabled wrist coupling. My hand lay on the table, arranged to hold the cards like people used to with their old hands of wood. It might as well be made of wood, for all the good it’s been. Be heck of a lot cheaper too. I drew a queen of hearts and slapped it on his side of the table. He tossed me a three.

“They say this weekend may be the hottest on record,” Dennis said. He looked at his hand.

“They say that every weekend, seems like.”

“Heard about a girl went and died looking for water along the 65.”

“Girl from Radcliff?”


“She didn’t go and die,” I said, “People don’t just ‘go somewhere and die.’” I scanned my cards. “Got any fours?”

“Sure people go out and die,” he said. He scooted me two fours. “She had no reason to go out in that heat. Any sevens?”

I gave him a seven. “You said she had a reason. She was thirsty. Any twos?”

“Still didn’t need to be out in that heat. Probably couldn’t pay for those fancy legs of hers. Any Kings?”

I threw the cards on the table, grabbed my hand, and stood up. “Go fish.”

I never liked Dennis much.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *