Chapter 1
Pieces of driftwood washed to the shore, leftovers of what once was a majestic ship, the pride and joy of a whole nation. Among them, although hard to tell apart because of his tattered, salt-filled clothes, a man laid on the sand, waves still washing over his feet.
No one knows for sure how long has it been since he arrived there, and there was no way to tell since there was nobody else around. He jolted awake as he gasped for air, scrunching the sand in his fist, and heaving as the salt irritated his throat. He kept laying there, who knows for how long, breathing harshly and gasping in pain with every slight movement he attempted, his muscles tensing each time the water touched his feet - a memory of the waves which threw him left and right as if attempting to rip his body apart, like a predator stealing the prey of another.
The sun ascended, reached its peak, then began its descending to allow the moon and her daughters, the stars, to bring the night across the clear sky.
Cass, short for Cassino, finally got himself on his feet, but not before the night installed itself fully. He assessed himself quickly, without much to notice. Apart from a persistent ache all through his body, being thirsty and hungry, and slightly baked from laying there in the sun for so many hours, there was nothing truly wrong with him. Once again proof that someone up there, or whatever they were truly, loved him, that if his life could’ve been described in such way.
The only thing for him to do was to expect the come of dawn patiently, and then assess his situation further. He couldn’t tell where he was, but most certainly, he did remember how he got there. The Moon was rather bright, not a sight you could see from within the city with all the lights and the lights and then some more lights, but nonetheless an opportunity to rummage through the rubbish that washed on the sand alongside himself.
Funny how he never actually had an issue with calling himself what everyone else thought of him to be, a rubbish person; not that he cared of.
He looked around: at the sea, at the darkness surrounding, at the crunchy sand beneath his feet, and he thought how someone considered normal would have panicked by now, spiralling down into a foetal position and chucking away any single speck of hope they’ve ever had.
But not Cass. No, not him. After all, he got out of situations way trickier than that one. With thousands of thousands to return to loan sharks, with thousands over thousands lost down the drain; of casino after casino, which ended up putting his name and face on a do-not-enter list, threats over threats, and even attempts. Yeah, none of this allowed him to stay normal, and he often questioned whether or not he turned himself into a psychopath. Nothing phased him anymore. He wasn’t afraid, or eager, or hopeful... just addicted and angry.
His hands were already itching, for a round of blackjack, for a spin of roulette, to play confidently with chips in his palms, as if juggling fortunes. Oh, or that enchanting tingling when he pulled the lever of the slot machines; their lights and sounds, and that uplifting rush of adrenaline when all the right shapes aligned, and the jackpot bell rang through the whole place, drawing the attention of every single jealous player in that room. Cass could already feel his chest rumbling, and his heart yearning for the smooth surface of the game tables, as he brushed the sand with his gaze in the search of anything useful that would stand out in the moonlight.
A soft glimmer, maybe 5 feet away from him, drew his attention. Another one of the universe’s cruel jokes - a chisel, rested in his hand. Out of all the useful things he could have found, he ended up holding the one thing that reminded him of what he loved most since he learned how to use his hands. Handy. Talented. Some would go as far as to call him a prodigy. Wood in his hand was as obedient and malleable as PlayDoh, and people laughed, and plenty praised him that he found his vocation as soon as he learned how to walk. But becoming an artist proved hard; he ended up having more confidence in his gambling skills than in his ability to sell his art... Who knew he would become addicted to the money coming from that place? Or maybe he was addicted to winning... Night, after night, after night... Win, after win, after win... Then loss, after loss, after loss and then some more, but it was too late to stop because the Cass everyone knew, loved and praised was gone too.
With the chisel in his hand and the moon shining high, with nothing for him to return to except hundreds of thousands in dept, he decided to stay there and do what he loved the most. Out of the abundance of driftwood around him, Cass built the most outstanding slot machine his eyes ever laid on. But oh, how much was missing; he sighed, caressing it sweeter than any of his lovers had the chance to be. There was no music, no bells, no nothing; just a maddening yearning to have that spotlight on him once more, and the well-known thundering voice in the speakers shouting again...
WINNER!
