The dice

A cubic controller of fate. With slightly rounded edges, sometimes, to avoid pits in the wooden table at times when your little brother or sister controls it better than you.

Some like it better when it rolls, others when it is put, and yet others enjoy the dice most when they move it around in their hands.

It is the dice’s destiny to decide on destiny. That’s what it was designed for. It that’s the power we give it when we start to roll. To some it’s a game, to others dead serious. Yet what does it matter to the dice?

Does it look out of those eyes upon the face of his beholder? Does it see him six times or less, and know what it brought upon him? And if it does, does it watch in innocence, or does it feel its own strength? Does it cheer inside or regret the way it rolled out? Would it do it differently next time?

One moment, the dice embodies all possible options. The next, it unfolds a single one. As if you woke up from a dream. But you didn’t. You just rolled a dice.


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