Three

A poem. Sort of.

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“I choose the right”, said One that night, illuminated under light of room where Two had set up three white upturned cups for choosing.

“You idiot!” Two shook with glee. “You only have the choice of three, yet somehow every time we play this game you end up losing!”

“You only cheat!” One stamped his feet, shaking too with gritted teeth. “If I’m to play again, this time you’ll need to keep it fair.”

Two mixed the cups up as agreed. He smiled and gestured to proceed. One said “I’ll have the middle please, I saw you place it there.”

“Again, you’re wrong!” Laughed Two, in song, “Twas in the left one all along, you stupid fucking dick! I just cannot believe you’re blowing it!”

“You’ve swindled me again, you twat!” Said One, his anger rising fast, “Your treachery’s the reason that I’ve got no hope of knowing it!”

“I’ll bet you still can’t fucking guess” Smiled Two, “Where I will hide it next and please try to arrest the rage, it’s just unsportsmanlike.”

“Well why not just fucking tell me, Steven?” One screamed. “Tell me where the fucking ball is! The fucking ping pong ball! I’m sick of it! I’m sick of this fucking game!”

“Careful there please, One,” Said Two, “Afraid that I must caution you. We’re meant to rhyme, use numbers to preserve our anonymity.”

“I’m sick of the fucking numbers and I’m sick of that fucking rhyming pattern!” Cried One. “Tell me where the fucking ping pong ball is, you cunt! I’m done! I’m fucking finished! It’s bullshit!”

Two’s eyes grew wide, he licked his lips. “Of course, I’d not begrudge you this. If you concede defeat, promise I’ll show the ball’s position.”

“Right, you win. I lose. Get the fuck on with it.”

Two smiled wide, glad as can be and one by one he took the three white upturned cups so One could see the horrifying truth.

“There is no ping pong ball.” Said One, the fury in his voice now gone, replaced by calm acceptance that – “Stop trying to fucking rhyme with me. Just – Give me a second, let me work this shit out… So I’ve had zero chance of finding the ball this entire time?”

“This entire time.” Two did confirm. “You useless, pointless little worm. A rat trapped in a maze, you squirmed with no choice but defeat.”

“But wait a second, Two,” Said One, “If all this time you’ve lead me on with your game that just can’t be won, then right from the beginning…”

“What are you doing?”

“I’ll tell you what I’m doing, dick! If regardless of which cup I pick I’m achieving all I can, your trick’s backfired! Two, I’m winning!”

“No!”

“I’ve won your crooked little game…”

“… Joel, please…”

“…Each and every time we’ve played, achieved the highest marks I may and that’s why you’re a bell end, Steven! And I win! Me! End the poem!”

____________________

More short stories and poems

Author: wtfranjo

My name is Franjo. And I will be a Football Manager.

21 thoughts on “Three”

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