(This was written as a short story for my Creative Writing class. Critique this, please? surprised )

Roulette

“Of the deadly sins, there are seven: Envy, Gluttony, Greed, Lust, Pride, Sloth, and Wrath. But, even more so than all of these, foolish naivety may be the most dangerous vice of them all. For while the Deadly Seven may damn thee for all eternity, those that are naïve can be easily dragged down with them, even without their knowledge.” –Naru 35:18

The fluorescent lights, the sounds, and chaos of the Mirage lit up the night sky of Sin City itself; Las Vegas. Extravagantly lit and decorated, the doors seemed to beckon people into its bowels, where it whispered promises of forbidden pleasures, dreams, and profits to those who kept their ears open to temptation. Even now, men and women filed into its doors, gossiping and whispering of things unknown to all but themselves as they left for their respective destinations. The inside of the casino was just as lavish as the outside, with warm shades of red adorning the walls and floors of the gambling floor and the lustrous mahogany hue of the bar beckoning the men to come in, have a drink, and try their luck at the game of love. A single camera, necessary for security, hung down from above, leering from its lone, black glass eye to peer down onto the single roulette table that sat in the middle of the gambling area.

On this particular night, a rather strange group lay assembled around the roulette table- a young woman, a middle-aged man, and a young boy. The woman, who looked to be about 23, purred seductively into the ear of the businessman beside her, frowning when he resisted her sinful coos and promising proposals. Her jet black hair dipped down her back as a drape would over a statue, lying completely straight down her back while making sure that her body frame would still be visible, even from the back. Her emerald eyes promised riches and pleasure, and her milky white skin was soft as silk to the touch. Her deep red lipstick, constantly being reapplied from being rubbed off by her nightly rendezvous, seemed to mirror the lust in her heart.

The businessman, Armand, huffed gruffly at the woman’s advances, pushing her roughly aside when she continued to pry. The ambitious, young businessman owned his own company at the age of 26, and ruled it with an iron fist. Using his business experience to gauge his chances, analyze the game, and make his bets to gain the most he could, his greed seemed to know no bounds. He pushed the small glasses up from its seat at the edge of his nose, running his hands once through his mousy brown hair before letting both rest on the roulette table. There was a game to be won.

The last member of the small group was little more than a child… clearly far too young to be gambling. And yet, the seven-year-old seemed right at home in the casino, though he seemed nervous to be standing at a table he had never sat at before. His glassy blue eyes and brilliant blond hair set him apart from the other two gamblers, but despite the age difference, he seemed to have no discrepancies about playing a game against older, more experienced players… rather, he seemed to be more concerned with how each of them felt, today. The naive child didn’t know what could be won or lost at the tables, believing that it was all just a game, with currency that carried no weight.

“Players, present your chips, please. Place your bets. Good luck to you, and praise be to Saint Ephraim.” As the dealer stepped forward, Bevelle, the woman, revealed her stock of chips; four red chips, the shade of blood, and six that were darker than the night sky. Armand reached into his suit pocket withdrawing two chips whiter than starlight, three more that were red, and five that were black. The child, Jimmy, reached into his dirty pants pocket, revealing a chewed wad of gum, a gum wrapper, two pennies, and ten white chips.

“Let’s have a good game, boys.” Looking at each of the others’ lot, Bevelle smiled nervously before placing down three of her red chips and one of her black ones on Black, and two black chips on Even. Purring as she slid her hand up Armand’s arm, he slapped her hand away before she could touch his lot of chips.

“Keep your claws away from me, harpy. I deal enough with your kind.” He growled, placing down two black chips on Red and one white chip on Even.

“How do we play?” Jimmy’s curious voice caught both of them off-guard as they turned to look at their smallest competitor. Each looked at their pile of chips before looking at the brilliant white chips- all ten of them- that lay before the small boy. Plans flew through their minds as they carefully spoke to the child, as softly and kindly as they could.

“Dear child,” Bevelle cooed, “Just… give me a few of your white chips, and place these red ones down on any space you like.” She smiled, watching as the unassuming child gave her two of his white chips in place of two of the red ones she had placed on the Black. In turn, he placed the newly acquired ones on 43; one of the only spaces he could reach.

“Don’t listen to that witch.” Armand snarled. “Black ones are worth more. Here, just trade with me…” Once again caught unawares, Jimmy swapped three of his white chips for three of Armand’s black ones. Jimmy placed one more of these black ones on Black, while Armand replaced his bet with two white chips.

“Now for the spin.” The dealer spoke, spinning the wheel and releasing the ball. The small white ball bounced jovially across blacks and reds, dancing across the numbers like a child frolicking through fields of grass. Meanwhile, two out of the three competitors stared intently at the small, carefree ball, all while Jimmy sat back, rummaging through his pockets to see if he had one last sour candy lying in the folds of cloth.

As the ball wiggled to a stop, they each stared down as the result: 54, Red.

“54, Red. Bets on Even and Red win.” The dealer called. Bevelle sneered as her two black chips were returned to her as two reds, but frowned when her bet on Black returned two red chips and three black ones. Armand sat back, content even though nothing was returned to him. Jimmy whooped as he got back four black chips, even as the brunette woman sneered at his newfound accumulation of chips. She also sent one bitter scowl towards Armand before, realizing how haggard her face would look with such a mask, she quickly let it disappear.

“The total: Bevelle has 13 chips- 5 reds and 8 blacks. Armand has a total of 7 chips- 1 whites, 3 reds, and 3 blacks. Jimmy has 11 chips- 5 whites, 6 blacks. Let the second spin begin. May the best player win; place your bets.” The dealer called, motioning to each of them.

“So… where do you work, handsome?” The beautiful woman purred, leaning casually on the table while making sure that her strapless crimson dress revealed as much of her flesh as possible. Completely ignoring the dealer, she kept her eyes only on Armand, who seemed to have no interest in her whatsoever. However, he did spare her a glance, looking her in the eye and answering her with a voice that sounded as cold as the blustering winters of the north.

“…I am the owner of Caesar’s Palace. I’m far above your lowly rank, you cheap whore.” He snapped, slapping her hands away as she tried once more to grab one of his chips, trying to replace one of his with her own. “I’ve dealt with millions of your despicable kind working up the corporate ladder, and have seen how far you beasts can drag us down. You’re a filthy wanton. Dare I ask where you spend your days?”

“Caesar’s Palace… impressive.” She didn’t bother hiding her surprise, but also realized now how much this man was worth. Why would a man such as he be playing a game like this? It just didn’t make any sense to her- she worked close enough to here, and knew that she would be called to come play this game at any time. But this man, with his economical supremacy, should be halfway across the world, living in a suite fit for kings… not tempting a woman like herself. She felt like a cat, with a piece of succulent salmon drifting just beyond her reach. “I actually work as a stripper here, and do other jobs after hours… a ‘professional entertainer’, as it were. I do enjoy my work, rest assured, and live well enough from it. As a matter of fact--”

“En-ter…-trainers? Jimmy worked the long word out of his mouth with careful consideration, not even catching his small error in his pronunciation. “They work in the movies, right? Are you a movie star, miss?”

“I am. But certainly not in any movies you’ll see anytime soon.” She smiled, but inwardly her mind worked in a frenzy as she tried to fit together the one piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit; how was he, a mere child, allowed to participate in what were supposed to be adult games? Didn’t he know better than to get involved in games like this? She decided to put it in the back of her mind, placing all eight of her black chips on Evens.

“You, kid. Why are you here?” Armand snapped, looking at his pile of chips for a moment before throwing out three blacks on Odds and the same number of reds on Black. He stopped his mind from calculating the odds, knowing that trying to predict Roulette results was utterly foolish. Every spin of the wheel was random, with no ties from one to the next; this game was a true test of luck, not skill.

“…I’m not a kid.” Jimmy puffed out his cheeks, and his sapphire eyes glowed with contained frustration as he tossed his six black chips on Evens. Though he’d meant to throw them on the number 2, it was far enough away to the point where it counted towards Evens, not 2. “Daddy said that I had to go; he was too busy to watch, too. He got a special letter or somethin’, I think, but he said it was an invite for me. Said it was for Saint Ephraim.”

“I see.” Armand mused, shuffling his chips as the young boy watched with wonder. “It’s a wonder why one such as yourself would be allowed into such a risky game… but praise be to Ephraim.” He paused, mimicking the usual devout prayer-stance of a typical believer. Though he had always been known as a heretic to those who saw his nonchalance towards the Saint of legend, no one dared raise their voice against him, lest they be found missing a week later. No one who stood up to the wrathful, greedy, and analytical man in his office lived, but those outside were much harder to dispose of. As such, he put on the sheep’s skin, and slunk like the wolf he was, keeping his ears constantly open for suspicions while trying to blend in with one of their number.

“Yup.” Jimmy smiled, looking up with a sense of awe. “Daddy said that Saint Ephraim knew the Stardust was gonna fall over, and said what would happen to here, too… I wish I coulda met him.” The child pouted, despite himself. He had always heard tales about the great Saint Ephraim, but heard from those old enough to have met him that he was a ‘raving lunatic, Nostradamus imposter that happened to get something right’. Not that he knew what that meant but he heard he got great power and success after that one stroke of luck.

“Now for the spin.” The dealer interrupted their thoughts as he spun the wheel, dropping the ball and watching the orb dance across the numbers, skirting around the two-toned slots with remarkable ease, stopping in its tracks only to push off the protrusions in the wheel to leap into another furious dance. Again, it waltzed across as the wheel turned beneath it, as if Atlas had suddenly turned the world beneath its proverbial feet. Soon, though, as the wheel slowed to a stop, the dance digressed into a simple walk before finally settling down on its selected spot.

“13, Black. Bets on Odd and Black win.” The dealer rang out, pointing to where the ball had nestled into its new niche. Bevelle smiled calmly as she received eight red chips, tucking them close to the rest of her number. Armand said nothing as he received back three reds chips and two white ones for his bet, and Jimmy looked overjoyed when he got twelve black chips back from his bet.

“The total stands as this: Bevelle now has 13 red chips, Armand has 4 white chips and 3 red chips, and Jimmy has 5 whites and 12 blacks. Last round; all bets are worth twice as much as before. May the best man-or woman-win. Place your bets.” He replied, looking nervously at Jimmy’s pile of black and white chips.

“Here, kid. Take this; you need it.” Armand mumbled, handing Jimmy one of his white chips as Bevelle gawked at his behavior. Did he know what he was doing, and was he more ruthless than she originally thought him to be? Looking over to the ‘generous’ man, she saw a small glimmer shine forth from his wrist; a watch unmistakable to those who had seen it before.

“You- how did you come by this watch, my dear?” She cooed, making sure to rub her body against him slightly as she pulled back his sleeve to reveal the jade and gold watch. She gasped as she recalled whose wrist it was once on- the president of the former competitor to Caesar’s Palace, Stardust had gone out of business just after Armand had taken over ownership of his casino. The man, Irian Djote, was known never to take the watch off, and would always gloat about its high price and the unique color of the jade.

“How do you think I got it, Madame Butterfly?” He sneered, looking into her eyes in a gaze that seemed to hold all the stress and madness he had experienced over the years. “I took it, hand and all. I couldn’t have him interfering with my work, Bevelle, the Crimson Butterfly. I believe you even entertained him a few times, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did. More than a few, as a matter of fact; with his brother being the famous Saint, he had enough money to have me hanging on his arm for months on end. He was my primary benefactor; his ‘donations’ were what allowed me to live in luxury and eat well for a while.” She admitted, turning her eyes down in shame and nostalgia. “And he was the one who gave me my title. I’m surprised you knew that name… I think the only one he told that to was his brother.”

“And he blurted it out to all across the streets. ‘The scarlet butterfly will mean the end of the Star’, he had said… the butterfly who would spread its wings for anyone with money, using her brilliance and seduction to turn even the most loyal of men astray. What a crazy ‘prophet’ he was.” Armand snapped, watching her eyes widen in recognition. She had been framed- that must have been why she was here! Irian’s death in his own casino had rocked Vegas forever, and not a few days afterward, the Stardust had fallen, with its foundations effectively destroyed by explosives. The ‘crazy prophet’ Ephraim, a former wedding priest in Sin City, had then ascended into the realms of glory, but no one had caught the elusive butterfly he spoke of…

“What are you talkin’ about?” Jimmy asked, placing three of his white chips on 35 and three more on 40. He was bewildered, completely innocent to what they spoke of…

“…Nothing, dear child. Nothing at all.” Bevelle, shaking with barely-contained rage, placed down all of her red chips on Reds. It was now or never, she knew… and this last spin held everything she held dear.

“Do not listen to that woman. She’s a… murderer.” Armand laughed, watching her glare at him with all the bitterness, hatred, and sorrow she held within her. Placing his three white chips beside Bevelle’s, he bet on Reds while placing the remaining three red chips he had on Evens. The dealer, remaining as neutral as possible in the face of all these events, turned his face to Jimmy with a look of genuine concern before speaking.

“…Are these your final bets?” The dealer asked, watching as Jimmy energetically bobbed his head, Armand simply nodded patiently, and Bevelle nodded faintly through her rage. Nodding his head in return, the dealer took in one deep breath before spinning the wheel, and letting fate take its course.

This time, the ball seemed to recognize the seriousness of the situation, jumping this time to avoid its own fate, as well. With one spin, it could determine many things… especially this time, with so much on the line. Leaping to avoid having to come to a lasting decision, though, gravity eventually took its course, dragging its bounding leaps into labored hops, then finally to sluggish, single bounces that held desperation in every movement before, suddenly, it jerked to a stop, as if pulled there by a mystic force. Jimmy leapt onto the table to take a look, but was not chastised by the dealer as he looked somberly up to them.

“And the result is 22, Red. Bets on Evens and reds win.” Armand stood up, content, pulling once at his tie to straighten it as Bevelle, who also received no chips from the dealer, ran up to confront him. With fury in her eyes, she struck him on the face, making sure that his face was scored by her sharp, red-painted fingernails and diamond ring… the one she had gotten from Irian himself before his death.

“It’s your fault. Yet another life, lost because of you.” She hissed, holding her ring as he reached his hand to his cheek, feeling the presence of blood marring his pale skin. Pulling it away, he looked as the droplets of crimson retreated into the valleys of his fingerprints, marking out his own identity with an almost accusing light.

“Saint Ephraim never approved of you, Bevelle. As his whore, or his wife. Irian deserved better. You are not blameless, either, and without the other wing of your heart, you can never again fly from your sins. And… one more life is meaningless. Live well, Jimmy.” He laughed, pushing in his chair and walking out of the casino, leaving only his victorious crow as evidence of his existence. Turning to the child, Bevelle’s eyes turned from furious spheres to sympathetic gemstones that threatened to spill tears on his behalf.

“…Farewell, little lamb.” Hugging the child close just once, he bewilderedly returned the gesture before she, too, picked up her bag and left as the dealer returned six black chips to the young boy. Taking a deep breath, he began to speak.

“Dear child, with these chips you now hold in your hands, you have accepted the burdens of the people’s sins. Tonight, we may finally atone for our wrongdoings on behalf of the teachings of the great Saint Ephraim. The chips that were white as snow were the symbol of all the lesser sins: unintentional sins, white lies, and petty theft. The red sins were the sins of moderation: theft, malicious lies, coveting, and most other sins… but the dark chips you now hold in your hands were the sins of pure evil- murder, treachery, betrayal, and the seven deadly sins: wrath, lust, gluttony, sloth, greed, envy, and pride. You now hold the Devil’s Total- 6+6+6- of these sins, and therefore must be tried accordingly.

“Jimmy, your original sins were white ones- unintentional sins in the form of foolish naivety and white lies. Bevelle’s sins were theft, lies, coveting, lust, betrayal, greed, and pride. Armand held white lies, petty theft, malicious theft, vicious lies, pride, greed, and murder. They are now cleared of their sins- you, however, now bear their sins, and those from the entirety of the world, on your shoulders. As our 954th monthly tribute, you must adhere to your burden through the entirety of the ceremony, lest our city be destroyed again, as it was in 2405. Take this responsibility, our sacrificial lamb.” Without another word, the dealer left, carrying Jimmy roughly as he screamed and cried tears of confusion and sorrow as he wished for nothing more than the company of others to guide them through this ordeal…he begged not for his life, but for one last hug from his father- the one who was supposed to have played the game of death in his stead.

He was nowhere to be seen as the young boy was taken roughly outside, through the dusty, drab ruins of what were once grand casinos and onto the remnants of Stardust, which sat as nothing more than a pile of rubble. Like a corpse, its remnants were cold, and stiff to the touch, but on the center of its ruins sat one heightened stone; what was once its cornerstone seemed to emanate a sense of life that no other structure had, with its surface appearing as if it were recently buffed. And indeed it had… to hide the stains of the countless victims’ blood that had been spilled on its face. The ghastly gray ghosts of the casinos seemed to stare in the forms of piles of broken concrete, and witnesses spilled forth from what was once a large parking structure to pay tribute to the lamb. Only one remaining casino- Caesar’s Palace- stood as a monument to casinos past, but only as a home to the elite of the city.

“Why--?” He asked, even as the confused, still shocked and frightened boy revealed the fear that they felt within them all; while he feared for his life, they feared retribution from a god that only existed in the mind of what everyone once called crazy, but now called a Saint.

Naught but a single man approached him, now; a thin, albino priest stood before him, clad in a pure white robe. His opaque red eyes carried almost a forced lack of emotion as he held out the Saint’s bible before him in his right hand, and a dagger in his left. Like Cain, the forgotten son of Adam, the murderous potential of religion lay prone in the left hand of their god’s messenger… always present, but hidden carefully from the view of their god. However, the glorious purity of the book would always be proclaimed as the favorable right hand- hypocrisy at its finest.

Tying his hands to the crude cross of stone that lay off to the side, they reversed it before dropping what was once the top of the cross into its holding place in the cornerstone of the Stardust. Feeling lightheaded from being tied upside down, the child moaned for a moment in discomfort as the rough texture of the rope bit into his wrists. Tapping the dagger at first the boy’s wrists, ankles, and then his neck, the executioner read but a single prose from his book before, snapping it shut as if to close the eyes of their god, he raised the dagger, aiming to sever the tendons he had marked before letting blood loss finish the job for him.

“Farewell, Child of Sacrifice. May we all be cleansed by his blood!” The executioner cried.

“Amen!” The crowd replied. “Praise be to Ephraim!”

A single cry rose from the child before the screams of pain commenced, as if lamenting all of their sins in one soul-shattering scream…
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Staring out from the window of his own private suite, Armand sneered as he watched the first splatter of blood stain the stone before, sighing, he drew the shades and reclined on one of the two leather couches that lay in his suite. It was all in a day’s work, he thought, pouring a drink before giving it to the man who sat in the other couch.

“What do you think? I thought she was going to lose, but she managed to slip out of it… So, was the kid good enough for you?” Armand asked, listening as the man who sat beside him took the glass, looking into it as if there were something very interesting inside.

“Though it would have been wonderful to see her die, I think you did well enough. I wouldn’t want that whore’s blood as tribute, anyways… though the sacrifice was a bit young, for my tastes.” The older man smiled, swirling his glass lightly and listening to the small chip of ice splinter against the side. That’s all these sacrifices were, after all; nothing more than the sacrifice of a fleck of ice within a wine glass of the man’s bloodlust. It wasn’t so much that he liked bloodshed… he was simply bored, and killing never got old. It gave him something to watch.

“Well, I’m glad I could be of service, then… though I did come close to losing. You rigged that last game, didn’t you? It’s the first time I’ve seen something as primitive as a magnet win a game of such magnitude.” Armand chuckled, looking to meet the other man’s eyes.

“Well, I couldn’t lose Caesar’s Palace, now, could I? You can’t very well run it if you’re dead.” The second man replied, smiling as he spoke.

“No, I suppose not.” Armand replied, picking up an old-fashioned ink quill before penning in something new in a small book. After a few moments of consideration, he asked, “How does, ‘the sacrifice must be older than 16’ sound to you? That way, we don’t get any more children in those lotteries of yours.”

“Hm… sounds good. Put it in Equion… no! Put it in Naru 35. All the rules are there.” The man replied, pointing to a place in the new bible.

“Ah—that certainly makes more sense.” Armand replied, placing a note there for later. He watched as the other man in his company downed more of his drink before speaking again.

“So it’s settled! Older sacrifices, a successful game, and yet more blood spilled on my behalf… brilliant! Let us toast to a job well done.” He replied once more, holding up his half-drunken martini as Armand poured himself a glass.

“Yes. To a job well done… Saint Ephraim.”