Table 42

Table 42

A Story by Shadkim
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A flash fiction piece centered around a man named Beans, a frequenter to the Beans Casino where he does the unthinkable for his own reasons...

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Table 42
             
Table number forty two at the Bean Casino was empty until a man came stumbling towards it. His shiny black shoes scraped against the carpet as he grabbed a chair and pulled it up to the roulette table. His pin stripe suit appeared as if never worn, and his avocado-colored tie looked crisp and pressed. Tossed over his shoulders was a green scarf with the large design of money signs on either end.
 
Patrons looked up when he came in, noticing him taking his usual place. They actually lifted their eyes away from the hypnotizing lights and lost track of their fevered prayers to Lady Luck; this man had become a spectacle without trying. He was known as Beans, and no one ever asked for his real name. The origins of his nickname may have been found with the casino’s name, but his real ties with it were unknown. One by one the gnarled visitors steadied their hands and turned to watch Beans do the unthinkable.
 
After closing his eyes and letting the metallic stench of the table burn his nose, Beans sat back in his seat and rifled through his jacket pockets. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he lazily stared up at the ceiling, his fingers knowing exactly what they were looking for. Wads of cash, like green tissues, were fisted in both his hands; Beans tossed them onto the table carelessly and did not bother to pick up any stray dollars that caught the wind from the filtering air vents. Onlookers held their breaths as Beans hunched over the table, sifting through the pile. Plucking one green buck with both hands, Beans leisurely sniffed it like one would with fine wine, and tore off the corner. As all eyes rested on him, Beans stuffed the green paper in his mouth, chewed it, and swallowed.      
 
Beans ripped George Washington in half and crammed him in his mouth, kept eating until the dollar bill was gone, and then he reached for another. He ate as if he sat at a local bar, mindlessly consuming chunky, greasy French fries while watching the game. However, Beans was watching someone more entertaining to him than football. Along with the usual gasps and horrified looks coming from the patrons, he was able to draw the attention of the casino owner, called by his first name, Bruno. The heavy-set man looked at Beans with tiny eyes glittering with revulsion.   
 
Beans nodded to the cluster of patrons, recognizing that their dismay came from his decision to devour the green stuff; they tended to forget that their own money disappeared as fast as his. “I only eat the dollar bills,” he assured his audience, wiping his mouth with the end of his scarf. His lips curled into a smile. “After all,” he murmured, “they are pretty worthless.”
 
“Not so bad today,” the officer grinned, clasping a hand on Bruno’s tense shoulder. “He’s seems more in control, even though he’s playing with you.”
 
“Get him out of here,” Bruno growled, finding no humor in the situation. His face flushed with embarrassment.
 
The officer raised his eyebrows. “But sir, he’s your-”
 
“I don’t care,” Bruno snapped. “Just get him out of here.”
 
 

© 2009 Shadkim


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I like people's incredulity at something slightly different than what they're doing. Portrayed at a different angle, it disgusts instead of invites. If that was your point, great job writing it. I enjoyed it.

Posted 10 Years Ago


interesting piece. It seems Mr. Beans is a metaphor for Casino patrons :).. he ate his own money. I love this piece

Posted 11 Years Ago



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Added on January 3, 2009
Last Updated on January 3, 2009

Author

Shadkim
Shadkim

Tampa, FL



About
I'm 21, and I am a senior English Major at FSC. I don't usually write poetry - my passion is prose, specifcially things like fantasy, adventure, romance and mystery. However, I like to try out all dif.. more..

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