Apologies good patrons. I forgot to open the Curio for new customers. I got distracted by returning clientele with demanding requests. Today's feature is a set of 3 shadow boxes, arranged in triangular pattern. Inside each frame is a large stone, a paper airplane, and a set of wool sheers. Some of you may already recognize the contents for what they are; game pieces. I hope you are ready to play. I know the subject of the feature will be looking for a partner soon.
***
John was just minding his own business after opening the convenience store at 5AM trying to do his job at the gas station. Filling automated coffee makers with water and pre-packaged coffee grounds, stuffing the hot case with frozen breakfast sandwiches. Trying to stay awake. He had arrived at 4:30 to do checks at the gas pumps and log the money in the safe. He was busy counting lottery tickets and didn't notice that he was being watched.
The door chime rang, an electric bell droning tiredly. John looked up to greet the first customer of the day and clamped his mouth shut. The guy looked rough. Ripped clothes, odd stains, dirty and exuding a very distinctive smell. There was a dark red stain on the sleeve of the torn up hoodie he was wearing that John hoped wasn't blood. He looked all sorts of twekked out on who knows what, probably meth knowing this town, and just stares at John. The man was sweating and his mouth is twitching, scratching his head like he wanted to get inside.
"Hey, man. Can I help you?" John asked to snap the guy out of his funk. The tweeker cocked his head like an inquisitive dog. "You looking for anything in particular?" The man started to shake and convulse, rattling from tip to toe. Then he stopped, standing stock still. John considered telling him to leave and started behind the counter to retrieve the store's landline to call the cops if need be.
"You know how to play Rock, Paper, Scissors?" The man asked John in a gravely, smoker voice. Shocked, John nods, very confused by the question. Shaking again, the man pulls his hands up, one open with the other resting in it balled in a fist ready to play. "Best two out of three. I win, you give me a pack of smokes. You win, and you don't get the curse."
John laughs. "Sorry dude, I'm not about to give you a pack of smokes for a game of rock, paper, scissors. I can sell you one, though."
"No! I don't have any money and I need to play!" he shouts. "Please, I haven't played for too long and my time is running out!" Desperation lined the last words. The man sounded scared. John picked up the phone and started dialing.
"I think its about time for you to go, dude. I'm calling the cops." John tells him. The man slams a rock on the countertop, right next to the glass lottery display. Then a wadded up piece of paper and a pair of rusty scissors.
"Hey, man. I'll just give you the smokes. Don't do anything crazy, alright?" John finishes dialing the police and grabs the first pack of smokes his hand falls on and tosses it on the counter.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
"No, God damn it! I didn't win yet! Play with me! Please?!" The guy looks like he might cry. Holding his hands up as if he had a gun on him, John humors the obviously drugged addled man and takes a step towards him, who nods yes vigorously and readies his hands.
"ROCK!"
"PAPER!"
"SCISSOR!" We chant together. John wins with paper. The man curses and readies himself.
"ROCK, PAPER, SCISSOR!" John loses to scissors. A black toothed smile breaks the man's face looking so happy, hopeful even. John is trying not to look down at the rusty scissors, also hopeful that he doesn't get stabbed.
"ROCK, PAPER, SCISSOR!!!" The guy screams. John loses to rock. Tears start streaming down the dirty face. He starts happy crying and laughing.
"Oh, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU! It's on you now kid. I'm sorry! You win some, you lose some!" He grabs the cigarettes off the counter and bolts outside, leaving the rock, paper, and scissors behind. John grabs the phone to send the call to the police, watching which way he's running. He stops to light a cigarette. Taking a big drag off of it, the ragged man holds the hit in his chest for a second. He exhales in a big puff, actually jumping for joy, whooping his elation to the oncoming sun.
The jump propels him forward a foot or so, but just enough to stumble into the highway and oncoming traffic. Right in front of an 18 wheeler.
The truck screeches to a halt, leaving a trail of burnt rubber and crazy meth head smeared on the asphalt. John recoils, no hearing the dispatcher on the phone. He notices the branding on the trailer. R&S Paper Goods, LLC. Hadn't John won his round with paper?
John reports the accident to the dispatcher. The driver is in shock. The traffic slows to a crawl for a bit as they give their statements to the police and the Fire Department and EMTs mill about, not really needed for a skid mark. After the police and emergency services leave, John goes back to work.
He walks into the store and sees the rock, paper, and scissors still on the counter. He had forgotten to tell the police about the strange incident that had incited the man running into the road. He grabs the big trashcan from the back room and sweeps them in. Small potatoes, John reckons. Especially since the guy got some very intense karma for stealing even just the pack of cigarettes.
Halfway through the day, John is restocking cups and goes to the stockroom to get a new case. Unable to find a box knife to cut the tape, he grabs a pair of scissors. They glide across the tape and cut the box open, the scissors sliding a little too far. John stabs himself in the palm. Not too bad, just a deep gouge with a little blood. Swearing at himself for being so careless, he gets a band-aid and continues stocking.
At the end of his shift around 2PM, John drags boxes to the dumpster and trips on a rock, skinning his elbows and knees. As he sits pondering how the tiny rock caused him to fall so hard, nursing his scrapes, he suddenly remembers; the man had won with scissors and rock. John had gotten hurt by scissors and a rock. The irony was not lost on him, hurt by scissors and rocks, crazy guy reamed by a paper truck.
He got up and dusted himself off. He was off tomorrow and going to a party tonight. Maybe he would be able to convince his friends to play a couple rounds of rock, paper, scissors. He kind of felt like he needed to play, if only to test out his theory.
***
Nothing like a mundane curse. Sometimes its the little things that get you. How many paper cuts do you think it would take to kill a man? Scissors and rocks already have pretty high scores and unless you count money, paper has a lot of catching up to do.
Much like me! The Curio being closed due to my own absentmindedness. Not much of a Curator if I don't display my collection. Stick around for more, we're approaching a certain time of year where monsters and beasties like myself can really let loose. I hope you enjoy what's to come.