Castle Game #2: Mah-jong Solitaire [10/10]

[Cait]

The room changes one last time as we come full circle on four seasons. A year in five minutes leaves me contemplating my own wasted time – thirty-three years old, but I close my eyes and I’m thirteen again, watching Marcello die on a small television screen, surrounded by ten other kids huddled together on the floor. Like our solidarity would protect us from reality.

I don’t remember much of the rest of that year. Just people leaving through the front door and never returning, until a home of twelve became a house of four and I didn’t have anyone to lean on anymore.

I shudder at the memories as they flood through me, fast and relentless. It’s no wonder I’ve fallen behind in this game, that 015’s caught up as 007’s sprinting ahead towards that imaginary finish line.

He asks about our names, and it feels like a trap.

Something like giving away a part of myself to someone who’s about to put a knife in my back feels like too much power for one person to hold. But 007 plays along, already trying to make up for her earlier deception – Theo, she announces – before proceeding to make ten more matches, all but ensuring her survival for at least another day.

I don’t want to count how many I have, or how many 015 has. It’s too close for comfort. I go searching for the camaraderie that enveloped me moments earlier after seeing the hope trickle back into 015’s face, but it’s nowhere to be found.

Fear sets in, hard. It’s not enough to play nice anymore; I hate myself a little more.

“I’m December.” I meet my conscience halfway, unsure if I’m just leading myself into a trap. So I bite my tongue to stop the rest of my identity rising to the surface, spilling from my lips. Nieve, like the falling snow of Christmas. Donner, the name I gave myself to cope with the gaping hole in my chest that Marc left behind, and all the losses that followed. These are the things I’ll hold onto, no matter how painful they may be.

I don’t know what good it does to share these intimate details with the other two players sitting across from me, but as I reach forward once more – right hand to the centre of the table, and a shaking left hand to 015’s pile of matches – it feels like the least I can do for him.

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