How to Bluff Your Way Out of Boredom
Bet Harold’s got himself a crappy hand of cards. He’s bluffing, wants to win this round but loser is written all over his face. We’ve been together in this stuffy house too long, sitting in the dark too long. An earlier storm knocked out the electricity. Harold’s about to draw his next card when the doorbell rings.
No electricity and the doorbell rings. We stare at each other. Chills scurry across my skin.
“Go answer it,” I say.
“Who’d be running around in these storms?” He peers out the side window for a couple minutes, shrugs, then opens the door.
Parked on the welcome mat is a large red suitcase draped with a purple sash. One word is displayed in white bold letters: Congratulations!
“Carry it in,” I say.
Harold drags it over the threshold instead.
Attached to the handle, an envelope: For the lady of the house. Compliments of BFD
“Do they mean you?” Harold’s pinching his lips, staring intently at my suitcase.
“Of course not. They mean you.” I roll my eyes then roll the suitcase next to me. “Yes, they mean me. It’s mine.”
The thick muggy air of the dead house makes my chest raspy. We’ve been without electricity for hours, though it feels like years…
