Creepypasta: A Game I Cannot Win

Creepypasta: A Game I Cannot Win

So. It’s come to this. Eighty-one years of age, and before infirmity has a chance to claim my life I am forced to play Russian roulette with these five faceless men. But it’s not so bad. I know how this will end, and that takes the edge off my trepidation. I look up at the stairs leading up to the cellar door, seeing as we are in my basement, seated around a battered card table. I could make a break for it. But I smirk inwardly, because this will offer an escape in its own way.

I pick up the revolver and put the barrel to my head.

CLICK

Nothing. I smile and pass it to the figure to my right. He makes no move to pick up the revolver, as I suspected. I pass the gun to the figure to his right, who again, makes no attempt to pick up the weapon. This repeats until I have passed the revolver all around the table, and none of the faceless men have moved in the slightest.

I pick up the revolver a second time, and put the barrel to my head again before changing my mind and putting it squarely in my mouth.

CLICK

Again, nothing. I am disappointed, but I know death will come to me. After all, the mannequins I am playing this game with are inanimate objects who cannot move. One might wonder why I went to all this trouble, why I didn’t just blow my brains out with a fully loaded cylinder so as to leave nothing to chance. The truth is, my life has been an exercise in absurdity. The cards were stacked against me from the beginning.

So what better way for me to die than through playing a game I cannot win?

I pick up the revolver a third time after having passed it to each mannequin again. Perhaps in death things will at last make sense, but I’m not holding my breath.

BANG!