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Playing with Dice
Budjette Tan
He was the only one in the hospital cafeteria. The lady behind the counter had stepped out to go to the comfort room, leaving him and the day’s special that no one really wanted to order.
He felt small seated at that long, white table. He chose the one near the window, hoping to catch a breeze since the lady turned off the air conditioning. The night air was stuffy, made worse by the antiseptic they used to mop the floor that just seemed to punch him in the nose.
He adjusted his eyeglasses as he flipped open another book. His finger ran down the page, searching for the right spell.
In his palm was a 20-sided dice. It felt warm in his hand, like a piece of M&M chocolate. The dice clattered on the plastic surface of the table.
He got a 9.
Not enough.
He tried another spell.
13.
Rolled again.
6
Not enough.
He had been here since last night, since they brought his lolo to the ICU, and ever since then, he had been trying to roll a 20.
If he rolled a 20 then the healing spell would work.
In case the worse happened, he could try and cast a resurrection spell, but he knew he did not have enough Experience Points.
He flipped the page and got paper cut. And that was when he found what he was looking for.
As he sucked the blood on his forefinger, his eyes wandered from the book to his pewter cleric figure. They called him Benedictus. The Blessed One. Formerly known as Wodden the Wicked. Beneticus’ red robes looked like it was bleeding on the stark white plastic of the table.
His lolo helped him find the right name for his cleric character using a big book about saints. He loved hiding in his lolo’s library. No one bothered him there. It was his castle. His fortress. His secret door to worlds undiscovered.
Every Sunday, they would visit his lolo and he was allowed to borrow one book. His favorite was the one about the dragon who gave up his magic for a beautiful princess.
He closed his eyes, slowly breathed in, and he stepped through that secret door. He was greeted by the scent of old leather, of yellowed pages that haven’t been touched for ages, and his lolo’s favorite cologne.
He would usually find his lolo seated behind this black wooden table that cut the room in half. He’d sit on his lolo’s lap and they’d read a book and lolo would do all the voices of the characters.
What he really liked were the times lolo would open his desk drawer which had a secret panel underneath. That was where they hid a little sketch book covered in brown leather, kept safe by a leather string that tied around the book three minutes.
This was their journal, filled with drawings and doodles of their journey to a place known only to them; where the best mode of transportation were purple talking cats the size of elephants. Or one could rent a circular spinning shield and use it to fly to the other islands. This was the place where they were honored guests of the Queen of the Candy Castle and had to run for their lives from the Tribe of Rotting Houses. He smiled as he remembered all their adventures.
Someone suddenly hugged him from behind and the harsh hospital disinfectant hit him again, making him drop the dice.
It clattered under the table and came up 20. His mom began to cry and tried to tell him in between sobs that his lolo was dead.
On the way back to the ICU he wondered, how blessed is this place.
Room 9
How, if you listened carefully, you would hear the whispered prayers slip out of every room and float down the corridors.
Room 13
These white walls must be holier than a church, he thought. In a church, most people would nod off in the middle of the sermon or keep looking at their watches or cellphones.
Room 15
But here, when people prayed, they thought of nothing else but their prayers: please make him well, heal her, let him live, take away her pain.
Room 17
And yet, so many people die anyway. So maybe the prayers get trapped inside, can’t get out, can’t get heard.
Room 18
Maybe the hospital is built wrong, should have more windows and doors to let the prayers out and reach the heavens.
Room 20
He hugged his spellbook as he took little steps into the cold room.
He smiled.
His lolo looked fine, like the many times he’d catch him napping in the library.
Page 88 was where he got paper cut. At the bottom of that page was the Teleportation Spell. This allowed the spellcaster to send himself or anyone else to a place that was far from all harm.
And he rolled a 20.
Playing with Dice
Budjette Tan
He was the only one in the hospital cafeteria. The lady behind the counter had stepped out to go to the comfort room, leaving him and the day’s special that no one really wanted to order.
He felt small seated at that long, white table. He chose the one near the window, hoping to catch a breeze since the lady turned off the air conditioning. The night air was stuffy, made worse by the antiseptic they used to mop the floor that just seemed to punch him in the nose.
He adjusted his eyeglasses as he flipped open another book. His finger ran down the page, searching for the right spell.
In his palm was a 20-sided dice. It felt warm in his hand, like a piece of M&M chocolate. The dice clattered on the plastic surface of the table.
He got a 9.
Not enough.
He tried another spell.
13.
Rolled again.
6
Not enough.
He had been here since last night, since they brought his lolo to the ICU, and ever since then, he had been trying to roll a 20.
If he rolled a 20 then the healing spell would work.
In case the worse happened, he could try and cast a resurrection spell, but he knew he did not have enough Experience Points.
He flipped the page and got paper cut. And that was when he found what he was looking for.
As he sucked the blood on his forefinger, his eyes wandered from the book to his pewter cleric figure. They called him Benedictus. The Blessed One. Formerly known as Wodden the Wicked. Beneticus’ red robes looked like it was bleeding on the stark white plastic of the table.
His lolo helped him find the right name for his cleric character using a big book about saints. He loved hiding in his lolo’s library. No one bothered him there. It was his castle. His fortress. His secret door to worlds undiscovered.
Every Sunday, they would visit his lolo and he was allowed to borrow one book. His favorite was the one about the dragon who gave up his magic for a beautiful princess.
He closed his eyes, slowly breathed in, and he stepped through that secret door. He was greeted by the scent of old leather, of yellowed pages that haven’t been touched for ages, and his lolo’s favorite cologne.
He would usually find his lolo seated behind this black wooden table that cut the room in half. He’d sit on his lolo’s lap and they’d read a book and lolo would do all the voices of the characters.
What he really liked were the times lolo would open his desk drawer which had a secret panel underneath. That was where they hid a little sketch book covered in brown leather, kept safe by a leather string that tied around the book three minutes.
This was their journal, filled with drawings and doodles of their journey to a place known only to them; where the best mode of transportation were purple talking cats the size of elephants. Or one could rent a circular spinning shield and use it to fly to the other islands. This was the place where they were honored guests of the Queen of the Candy Castle and had to run for their lives from the Tribe of Rotting Houses. He smiled as he remembered all their adventures.
Someone suddenly hugged him from behind and the harsh hospital disinfectant hit him again, making him drop the dice.
It clattered under the table and came up 20. His mom began to cry and tried to tell him in between sobs that his lolo was dead.
On the way back to the ICU he wondered, how blessed is this place.
Room 9
How, if you listened carefully, you would hear the whispered prayers slip out of every room and float down the corridors.
Room 13
These white walls must be holier than a church, he thought. In a church, most people would nod off in the middle of the sermon or keep looking at their watches or cellphones.
Room 15
But here, when people prayed, they thought of nothing else but their prayers: please make him well, heal her, let him live, take away her pain.
Room 17
And yet, so many people die anyway. So maybe the prayers get trapped inside, can’t get out, can’t get heard.
Room 18
Maybe the hospital is built wrong, should have more windows and doors to let the prayers out and reach the heavens.
Room 20
He hugged his spellbook as he took little steps into the cold room.
He smiled.
His lolo looked fine, like the many times he’d catch him napping in the library.
Page 88 was where he got paper cut. At the bottom of that page was the Teleportation Spell. This allowed the spellcaster to send himself or anyone else to a place that was far from all harm.
And he rolled a 20.
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