The cards in estebans hands had changed many times, along with that of his fellow players. As he watched them deal or fold one by one he always pondered when his time too would come to settle. Would he game on, raising every time? He was well aware the higher he found him self, the stronger his deck would get and the longer it would take to hit the bottom. He was more aware of with what consequence it would hit with. With age, in many walks of life, comes experience, but never with a gamble. For in this game we all find ourselvs so wrapped in, the odds are never stacked in your favour. Nor were they ever in Estebans…
He often looked at his life in this way, as a game to strategise and gamble with. He quite fancied himself as man who had made the most of every chance that had tripped and fell beneath him. Aware he owed a lot of his success to this he was far too self indulgent to ever call it luck. Scornfully he would pleasure himself believing others would have watched the oppertunities he had been afforded slip away. Perhaps there was a few he should have let slip, but it’s far too curious and painfull of a sugestion to ever dable in reflection and regret.
Esteban knew the game he was playing, the cards in his hands, and the outcome he wanted. Though he did not know his opponents, he had enough stock in his own to keep towing his own self manipulative beliefs. He hated to think his fate had anything to do with anybody else, but he knew, both from past experience and common sense that life is a serious of lines intertwined with different names at the bottom of them.
As he criss crossed, returned, sped up and slowed down, he never ever let loose on that grip in his hands. Always the plan, always the game play, and never the tell. If you were to stand behind a man, such as our subject, you would see his whole game. For how tightly he had it all pushed to his chest it was visable from the other side, of course such a man would be a fool to ever let you do so.
The only one and most certainly significant problem with Estebans supposed ‘plan’ was that he didn’t have a safety net. He was all in for the long haul, waiting for that final pay out, the one that would make it all worth while. He often caught himself repeating his manta, “For we fiascos of the fortune minded, only time will tell.”