Hey. Syawn here.
- I’ve started a weekly challenge for my author. It’s a good way to keep her on track. This challenge will be to write exactly 100 words on whatever subject I’m wondering about at the time, every Tuesday.
Why Tuesday? she asks. Because today is Tuesday, and I’ll not let her put it off for one more day.
Why whatever subject you’re wondering about? What about subjects I’m wondering about? the author asks, affronted. Because if I let her pick, she would be all day dithering between one musing and another.
Why 100 words precisely? she asks. Because I said so.
Why “chance”? Because that’s where my mind’s dice landed.
So without further ado, I, my author, and I once more, wonder about chance.
Chance? In my country, Yaa, he’s the chief deity. Chance and his two daughters, one fair, one ill—you can guess which one people want Lord Chance to send forth to stir their lives. Snap your fingers to draw the Old Man’s attention to a plea; not too often or you’ll irritate him.
We toss coins and other tokens into shrines that are essentially wishing wells, but he has no temples or ministers. Unless you count gambling dens and con men.
If you do count us, weavers of our own fate and yours, consider me a high priest of Chance.
It took me the longest time to figure out Yaa’s religious system, if you can call it that. I certainly wasn’t getting a sense of any monasteries or, like he said, temples.
The presiding thought was that “the Maker made and went his way,” the Creatorship and abandonment theory. But I knew they had to hold to something more than fickle fate, I just couldn’t tell what…
Until I realized that fickle fate is exactly what they bow to, seek to appease, blame when all goes ill or beg for favor. Fortune, crowned and sceptered, worshiped with a dice roll.
I’ve never actually believed in Chance as an entity. There are some number that do, some number that never stop to consider, and some number that think as I do, but snap their fingers anyway.
I do snap my fingers; harmless cultural habit. Thinking your fate is in the hands of a fickle boonmaster? That’s a very harmful cultural habit, and I can’t remember a time I fell for it. Chance is in the hands of those who grasp it with both hands.
When you play at life, I say, play with loaded dice. Take it from Chance’s unfaithful priest.