Playing Cards by Jason

Entering the kitchen was difficult. It had been ten years

since I had been in my parents’ house. Now it was empty. I

felt like an intruder, invading their space. I leaned over the

sink and opened the window to let in some air. The drawer

stuck, just as I remembered it, needing a tug to open it. I

saw them then, my Dads’ playing cards. The cause of all

our problems. The reason I left. His gambling addiction

that ruined our family.

I hesitated but picked them up. The wax-coated box,

stained yellow in the corners, smelt of his Marlboro's. I

opened the pack with a flick of the tab and slowly pulled

out the pack.

My fingers tingled. It was like breaking a family code.

‘Never touch your Dads cards’ my Mom said, ‘He doesn't

like you messing them up.’

I lit the gas hob and turned over the ace of spades in my

fingers, gazing at its shiny surface and the sixties

psychedelic motifs. I put the corner to the flames and

smelt the waxy paper burn.

Burn baby, burn I thought to myself. You are never coming

back now. Your cards were dealt and you lost this hand.