The Tavern

It was once again the Lord's Day, but he didn't think about it. He was probably going to Hell anyway, so he didn't bother with religion. The only thing he worshipped was Lady Luck. Lately, it seemed that she had forsaken him.

He cut his jog short, and depressed, took a quick shower. He walked out of his apartment and down the stairs. In the main lobby, he saw that weird custodian. What was his name? Oh, Saul. There he goes muttering again. Something about Madam Fouquois. The odd custodian soon walked away.

The tavern was a dark, seedy place, with the air of some place ancient. It smelled of smoke and alcohol. He had rarely been in the front, usually just going around to the back. The gloom of the place reminded him of a dark necropolis. Yes, that was a good way to put it. Necropolis. The bartender looked up.

"Hey, Ace," he said. It's been a long time since I've seen you here in the front. As a matter of fact, the game won't start for a few hours. Something wrong?"

"Just give me something of the tap," Ace replied. Ace wasn't his real name of course, but he'd picked it up due to his reputation of always having an ace in his hand. He nursed his drink slowly. Ace thought about the past week. It had been an odd one. Or maybe he had just noticed more, as though he wasn't just coasting through the week, just to get to the weekly game. Had he really been that numb these past few months? At the time he hadn't thought so. I've been here too long, he thought. It was just so hard to pack up and leave. Plus, he'd lose the game.

"I guess I'll stay here for at least a little while longer," he muttered.

"What was that, Ace?" asked the bartender.

"Nothing, nothing," he replied. "I'll see you tonight at the game."

He walked out of the tavern and headed for his room on the fifth floor of Thallow Flats. He reached his room, 523, and stumbled into the room, barely stopping to lock the door behind him. He was asleep before he had finished collapsing onto his bed.

He found himself in the deep forest again. It had become like a home for his unconscious mind. He walked down the path and came to the first fork. Instead of immediately turning left as he usually did, he stopped. He looked around himself. To his left, he saw the same squirrels and leaves. He looked to his right, and saw a drastic difference. He saw different squirrels and leaves at first, and farther down he saw more forks that he had yet to come to. From where he was standing, he could see the ends of three of the paths. One path ended at the base of an enormous mountain. Another ended in a beautiful garden. The final path ended at the top of a cliff, seemingly dropping of into infinity. He saw all of these ends, and the paths which led to many more and took his first step to the right.

He woke up, just in time to go back to the tavern. He went to the back door, to avoid the necropolis in front. What a word, he thought.

That night, he didn't find a single ace in his hand.