✓𝙍𝙤𝙮𝙖𝙡 𝙁𝙡𝙪𝙨𝙝 [ʜ.ʜ.•ʜᴜꜱᴋ]

Straight Flush

The rain poured heavily in hell, a rare occurrence that added to the somber atmosphere of the moment. Dark clouds obscured any hint of light from the blood-red sky above. With just an hour remaining before the countdown to the annual Extermination, I found myself alone in a desolate alleyway, lost in contemplation. This was my choice, my path to redemption, my way of seeking forgiveness. Sixty-two years of life, over a century of existence in hell-my soul, stained by sin, deemed irredeemable. My hands, once soaked in the blood of my own children, now bore the weight of a lifetime's worth of guilt and remorse, all fueled by my insatiable greed for wealth.

I was born into poverty in 1854, and by the age of twenty, I had found solace in the arms of a decent man who fathered two sons with me. Life seemed as perfect as it could be, until the day I discovered my partner's infidelity. From that moment on, it was just me and my children against the world. Living in a remote corner of the country, news traveled slowly to our little town. We were unaware of the looming plague until it struck our community with devastating force.

"Mother..." My eldest son's voice trembled as he reached out to me, his eyes pleading for an explanation. "Why? WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?!" His fists pounded against my back as I struggled to fulfill the unthinkable task before me-choking the life out of my youngest son. Tears mingled with the rain streaming down my face, each drop a testament to the agony of a mother forced to commit the ultimate act of despair.

In our poverty, we struggled to afford even the basic necessities. I couldn't bear to watch my children suffer like this, so I made the agonizing decision to offer them the only salvation I could provide as a mother who loved her children desperately.

"Why?... Have we done something wrong?" His voice was filled with confusion and pain as he uttered his last words of struggle.

"No, my dear, you've done absolutely nothing wrong," I sobbed, still clutching the lifeless body of my two children. "It's all mother's fault... It's all mine... It's all my fault."

Since then, I've been wandering, consumed by thoughts of money we barely had. Initially, I loathed it, until I found myself craving its touch between my fingers. The first time I held a significant sum was when I landed my first job. Fearful it would vanish, I hoarded every cent, neglecting to eat or spend on myself. But soon, my fortunes turned. I fell victim to muggings, scams, and deceit by others who lusted after the same riches.

It all changed in a dingy pub, where I wagered the last of my meager funds in a game involving white numbered cards.

"You've got a lot of luck on ya, missy," said the old man, pushing all the money towards me. While others eyed me with suspicion, the old man seemed more curious than anything, eager to see how long my winning streak would last. "Care to play another round with us?"

From that moment on, I began to grasp the basic rules of human interaction. I may not have been fortunate in many aspects of life, but when I held those playing cards and felt them slide between my fingers, I knew they would bring me wealth-more and more of it. The old man grew fond of my luck, so much so that he proposed marriage. I obliged, fulfilling his desires every night, even when it hurt, even when I didn't want to. It was a harsh lesson in the ways of men: they sought pleasure, not just from their own lives, but from what others could provide as well. And soon enough, I found myself wishing for the same.

"Whore!" he spat, his fist connecting with my body, sending me crashing into a shelf, shattering its glass contents on the floor. "You slept with my brother in broad daylight?! What have I done to deserve this? I've given you EVERYTHING!" His kicks rained down on me, each blow stealing the breath from my lungs. "I provided you with a roof over your head, I fed you when you arrived here nothing but skin and bones, and now YOU DO THIS?!"