Dead Man's Hand
"And you ... whom will you dance with should choice overwhelm you into indecisiveness? No choice at all, in the end, will still be a choice. Perhaps, you'd lose all your options, like "poof, they're all gone, sir, better luck next time". What will you say to yourself then? Would you still carry around your heavy pride in those weakening arms of yours? Will you stitch that heavy, old thing once life has torn it apart a time or two?" The old man asked.
"I know what I am doing," the young handsome man replied not looking up from his cards.
"Of course you do," grinned the old man, "you'd never be one to lose your hand tipping it while paying attention to ... other pursuits. And such lovely lookin' pursuits they are, some just as lovely as your lady there. Ah, but, your mind is very firmly in the game that is in front of you. Those eyes of yours dancing around on those ladies are no indicator of your concentration of course."
"That's correct."
"Tell me then, young sir, how is it that I've stolen your most prized possession while your eye wandered off if indeed your mind is so firmly in the game?" The old one laughed.
"My ... most prized possession?" The young man replied, frantically checking all of his pockets.
He secured his expensive watch and his wallet- all seemed safe and sound. The young man tilted his head then and smirked.
"You had me there, old man, for a second, but it appears you bluff. I haven't lost any of my possessions at all."
"Have you not, eh?" The old man cackled.
"No, I haven't."
"Where's that pretty lady of yours then?"
The young man spun around to see his lady missing. He looked back to the old man sitting in the chair only to find that chair now empty. On its seat lay a dead man's hand and his lady's gold ring, the old man had indeed robbed him. Or, perhaps, the young man had really robbed himself.
