(An Extremely Dramatized, barely Spell-Checked, Mind-Dump of Today's Events In Difficult to Understand Chapters)
Chapter Four: White Hot Blindness
With twenty-four seconds left to play I was about to get pulled from the game. This is when the veil began to withdraw and I saw this for what it truly was: a sneak attack. The enemy had lulled me into days of peace and plenty; now in the darkest moments before dawn I saw the trap set before me. Naivety mocked me.
A more experienced bidder would have known what to expect, but who was I? I was a minnow swimming with sharks. At the height of my clarity I realized, bitterly, that after a commanding lead I was going to lose the race by seconds. Like milk on the edge of expiration, I felt myself starting to turn.
The old song, The Gambler started to hum in my ears. “You gotta know when to fold ’em...” I started the phase in my head and finished the thought out loud since living alone provides you the luxury of talking to yourself out loud all the time. It also increases the 'reality' or documentary feel of your miserable existence.
“Like milk on the edge of expiration, I felt myself starting to turn.”
Then darkness took me and I became ferocious, consumed by the most basic of animal instincts to fight back. What Max Bid? Suddenly, it wasn’t even about the item I was bidding on. At once, it was about defending my keep. Destroying my enemy. The prize was mine. How dare they? Some eight other vultures swooped in and tried to snatch her from my grasp.
At 17 seconds I upped my offer.
Rejection.
It took too many clicks to confirm.
At 14 seconds I upped my offer yet again.
Rejection and Panic.
“The old song, The Gambler, started to hum in my ears.”
I threw caution to the wind. My gambler took over and I submitted my last bid with 7 seconds to auction close. I pressed the Confirm Bid button and waited. It was out of my hands now but I still I was blinded. There were so many factors swirling through my mind as I watched the digits decline.
Six.
What if this person has no limit?
Five.
Was this a machine or just some bloke who had successfully completed Mavis Beacon and could put my 64 words-a-minute to shame?
Four.
Had I come this far to lose now? I was gambling that whoever was on the other side of the screen would underestimate me and shoot low in the final seconds. Had I shot too high?
Three.
I stepped out of my body for a while, waiting with my Mac's spinning pinwheel. The vinyls were an afterthought. Now, I just wanted to win. I wanted to vanquish my foe, to finish on top.
Two.
Wait, these dollar amounts are in British Pounds, are you doing this conversation math in your head, correctly?
One.
What conversion math? I burned with power, fear, helplessness and rage until the clock hit zero, still unsure if my last bid had gone through. Had I done enough?