Second hand, Walter flopped a set of kings. He bet strong, CardShark69 called with a gutshot straight draw, and, boom, the river delivered the one card they needed. Walter’s screen flashed: CardShark69 wins pot: $1.20. The chat exploded with shark emojis. Walter’s face flushed, his mohawk quivering as he growled, “The odds, man! The freakin’ odds!” His wife, DawnBaby, knitting a hemp scarf in the next room, glanced over but said nothing.

Third hand, Walter slow-played a full house, queens over tens. CardShark69, holding a weak ace-four, chased a backdoor straight flush draw and—unbelievably—hit it on the river. The pot, $2.00, slid to the shark. Walter’s vision blurred. His face turned beet red, then a deep, furious purple, like a psychedelic plum. “Three times!” he roared, slamming his fist on the desk, sending his lava lamp wobbling. “The universe is rigged, man!” He typed a frenzy of angry peace signs into the chat, which only made CardShark69 spam more emojis.

DawnBaby, sensing the cosmic disturbance, glided in, her flowing skirt brushing the floor. “Walter, love, you’re harsher than a bad trip,” she cooed, wrapping her arms around him in a warm, smothering hug. Her lavender scent and gentle hum of “Kumbaya” seeped into his rage. Walter’s purple hue faded to a soft pink, his breathing slowed, and he sank into her embrace. “It’s just poker, baby,” DawnBaby whispered. “The universe always deals another hand.”

Walter exhaled, gave a sheepish nod, and typed, “GG, Shark. Keep the peace.” He logged off, grabbed his guitar, and strummed a mellow tune with DawnBaby by his side, the poker table’s sting dissolving into the night’s gentle groove.

THR Fan Fiction