Wheel of Fortune
by Nick Black
Oh yeah, life’s been nothing but sweet for Jasper since he invented that flat round rolling thing of his. He has respect from the elders. A cave higher up the cliff, further away from the shit heap. Different females stumbling out that cave every sun climb. “You want soft company, you need a set of wheels,” he says. Ever the salesman.
Raquel said she invented it. Said Jasper saw and just copied. Jasper ran her off into the wild and she’s not here now.
He offered me a chance to get in on the ground because of that once I pulled him free from a bog sucking. “It’s a slice of log,” I said. He rolled it. It fell over. “It’s the future,” he said.
I don’t even know what that means.
I’m an idiot who lies in the open under dark cold skies. I don’t strut around with tiger big-teeth jangling against my chest. I listen to the shit heap buzz, and nod to the people coming and going.
Nick Black manages two small public libraries in North London. His writing has been published in lit mags including Entropy, Jellyfish Review, (b)OINKzine, the Lonely Crowd, Open Pen, Train Lit Mag and Funhouse. He tweets about things he likes as @fuzzynick.
Image of wooden wheel courtesy of Ancient History Lists.
