vignette

“He’s back! He’s back!” The prisoners picked up on the commotion and strained earnestly to hear what was happening. Their world was small, consisting of a group of cells, one per family. It was easy to pass along information as vents along the top prevented any amount of privacy.

“What’s going on? Tell us!” The air was tense with expectation as the news flew toward them. “He’s back! The Master is back! We’re saved, thanks above, we’re saved!”

Families crowded together, the old ones holding their hands fervently while the young darted about gleefully.

“Quiet! Quiet!” shouted someone. “If we’re quiet we can tell what’s happening. Remember -- we need to be prepared when he wins!” And there was no doubt he would win. Whenever the Master appeared and The Game was played, he always won and people were freed. Occasionally, though, he lost, and that was a fearful time as the Guardian executed as many as he could get ahold of.

“Be prepared!” The words were taken up by everyone as they struggled to contain their hope. Even the young knew the serious time was upon them as they stopped to concentrate.

“Two to three. Deal. Eight to nine, then seven. King to space. Deal. Six to seven. Queen to King. Deal...” No one spoke as the play began. “Four to five. Three to four. Ace!” The play went on through the silence. Until finally, “Eight, Jack, four ... eight, Jack, four.” Everyone gasped and ducked their heads. The Guardian laughed evilly and shouted, “Bring the prisoners for execution!” A group of tall ones went, their heads held high as they walked proudly to their deaths.

“Again!” shouted the Guardian gleefully, rubbing fat hands together. It started once more as everyone held their breaths. “Nine to ten, Jack to Queen, two to three, Ace! Deal. Two to Ace!” The tension increased as the play continued, until once again, “Seven, two, six ... seven, two, six.”

“What? Oh, no! What’s wrong with the Master?” Worried faces, wringing hands, and soft moans expressed the common disaster as they felt another group being led away. “What are we going to do? What can we do?” There was no encouraging answer as they listened to the Guardian laughing darkly.

Again, play resumed. “Seven to eight, two to three, Jack to Queen. Deal. Six to seven. Deal. Three to four, King to space. Deal. Ace! Deal. Ace! Deal...” Things moved along swiftly this time, until finally “... Queen ... Queen ... King ... King ... King ... King!”

The place exploded as shouts of joy went up and everyone grabbed the little ones as the doors clanked open. They exited in droves, hurrying toward the primary marker so as not to be left inside. “I love it when the Master wins!” “Praise be to the Master!” “I knew he would do it!” The comments flowed with them as they made their way to freedom.

And in a different place a mother gently said, “Come on, honey. Time for bed.”

“Okay, mommy.” The little girl with the soft brown curls shut down the computer and, with Teddy Bear in her lap, turned her wheelchair toward her bedroom. “I love playing solitaire, mommy. When I win it makes me feel good.”