We walked over to the table, and Rock picked up the box of cards while he explained the basics. He opened it…and took out two dice?

"Hold it. Dice? What the heck kind of game is this?"

"Raph, the dice are there to add an element of chance. That’s what you wanted, right? Game of chance? Neh?"

"Eh. So what do the dice do?"

"OK, first thing we do is roll the dice to see who starts. Highest odd number goes first."

I picked up the dice, mindlessly shook them, and rolled. Man, this is humiliating. Or maybe exhilarating, considering what I was playing for. The pressure between my legs was getting intense. My roll was a 9, which I knew was going to be hard to beat.

Rock then rolled a 5. "For your sake, Rock, I hope that’s not an omen."

"Oh, I know it isn’t. It’s a long game, and going first is strictly a bragging-rights proposition."

Rock dealt the cards out, starting with me and alternating, until we both had seven cards. He flipped the top card over, which read "Oddball—Get rid of me fast!"

I motioned toward my cards. "We look at these?"

"Yeah," said Rock. I picked up my cards and sorted them out. Three cards were green, two were purple, one was blue, and one was white, and read "Drop."

The heck was this? "Which cards mean what in this game?"

Rock explained the rules, but not clearly enough so that I understood all of them. I wanted to ask to see the print rules, but I figured he’d play by the rules, regardless. Say what you want about Rock, he’s a man of his word. And I knew his word even extended to keeping our bet going. If he lost, he’d cooperate, I knew.

But I didn’t want him to lose. Despite all the pain I was feeling down there, I didn’t want him to lose. I knew he wasn’t ready. But—this is hard to explain—I wanted to get it over with. Because this is why he wanted me here. And once I got him aroused enough, I knew he’d be putty in my hands. Metaphorically speaking, that is—once my hands got going on him, he wouldn’t be turning to putty, that’s for sure.

Why am I thinking like this? What am I turning into? Am I becoming the very monster he sees in me? I’m not a savage, I’m one of the good guys, why am I doing this to him?

Maybe it really was destiny. I don’t know. God, I hope he wins. I’ll just ask to be excused for a few minutes, leave him and Mike alone, go into his philosophy room, and jiggle my joystick on my own. I don’t want to hurt him yet again.

Now that I knew the rules a little, I rolled the dice. It was a 5. I picked up the top card, which was yellow, and immediately threw it out. I didn’t have any yellow cards, and I wasn’t going to start collecting them now.

"So you’re not collecting Yellows. Thanks for the info."

He was starting to piss me off. "Anytime," I fired at him in my nastiest tone of voice.

"Stop it, Raph," snapped Mikey.

"Mikey, leave us alone. This is for me and Rock to play out. I don’t want to hear another word from you, kapeesh?"

"I’ll say what I want, Raph. You’re not my boss."

"I’d hate to have to fight you, Mike."

With uncharacteristic bravery, Rock jumped in. "And you won’t. Not in my house."

I gave him my "Psycho Killer" look. "Hope that means you’re muzzling Mike, and not me. Because you know what the stakes are here. And you also know I can be the vengeful type…" I wasn’t trying to terrify him—just shake his confidence a little. No one spoke for a couple of seconds.

Rock looked at Mike with so much sorrow, it broke my heart. Why was I doing this to the guy? Am I really as hideous as he tells me I am? He’s going to have to face himself, I told him. Well, now I’m having to face myself. And the terror I feel at what I think I’m becoming is something I can imagine Rock feeling when he hates my guts. I don’t want to do this. I can’t do this. But I can’t stop. I have lost control. I’m as scared as Rock and Mike are right now. No, more so. I’m not supposed to be doing this, and I’m doing it anyway. I’m hurting the two souls I care most about in the entire universe—my favorite brother and my best friend. And I feel powerless to stop my own actions. I am being driven on by forces I do not understand, and which frighten me. I don’t want to hurt the people I most love, you must believe me. And yet, for reasons even I don’t understand…I must.

Rock and Mike tried to comfort each other, but I pressed on.

"Not a word from either of you. Nothing matters but the game at this point. Mike, you go back over to the couch and leave us alone. Rock, you only talk about the game unless I change the subject."

I read the looks Mike and Rock gave each other, and I was terrified at what I read in their eyes. I knew that they were thinking I was out of control. I knew that they both felt powerless. I knew that both of them saw the very worst in me at that moment, and that what they saw now would forever color their views of me. They didn’t know how much power they had. If either of them had said, "Raph, what’s going on? You’re not like this," or, "Raph, you’re better than this," or, "Raph, snap out of it," then I would have resigned the game at that instant, never to play again. Yet they felt they had less power than even I felt myself having. This was worse than even they thought. I had become an animal, and I couldn’t even control my own emotions. I have to lose, for all our sakes. But I can’t.

Mike walked over to the couch and sank into it. I had never seen him so despondent.

"Play, Rock."

Off the 5, Rock drew from the stock, and threw away a green card.

"Rock’s not collecting Greens, thank you for that bit of info."

I rolled a "yo", picked up the green card, and threw away my only blue card. I had 4 green cards, 2 purples, and a Drop. Which Rock said could mean the difference between winning and losing…hm.

"So it’s Greens you’re collecting."

"Stop me."

The two of us traded barbs over a couple of even rolls of the dice before Rock rolled a 7. He picked up my blue discard, and drew a card from the stock. He put down two purples—which I could pick up if I got a 7…that would reverse my hand, four purples, two greens and a drop. But Rock would see right through that.

I didn’t get the 7, though. I rolled a 9. I drew the top card—blue. I couldn’t throw that away—Rock was collecting blues. Que sera, sera, I guess. I put a purple on the junk pile.

A couple of even rolls later, I lucked out and got that 7. I picked up the two top draw cards on general principles.

I discarded the blue, followed by the purple. I now had 6 green cards and a Drop. I had to warn him…I was going to win if I kept doing this well…

"Rock, I gotta tell ya, it doesn’t look good from where I’m sitting."

"You’re only saying that. It’s too early in the game."

"Maybe not. You’re betting your innocence on it, remember."

"You’re bluffing."

"Maybe not. My advice to you is to start finding those Blue cards I know you’re collecting, ‘cuz I’ve got a very good hand at this point."

"Oh, I’m sure. I just quiver with fear."

"Whatever. Just don’t act surprised when I lay down my hand. Now play."

It was useless. Rock was so blinded by his own supposed protection, that he wouldn’t even take a hint to start preparing himself. I hope he’s got some really good cards up his sleeve, because if I play this Drop, and he drops a Green, then I’ll be on my way out.

Which I don’t want to be. I can’t keep doing this. I have to resign. There’s no way I can keep playing this, win, and then violate him. Every fiber of my rational being is screaming at me to stop. Yet somewhere, down in parts of my soul that I am afraid even to acknowledge, is the insane drive to play on…to play to win…to show no mercy…to be the worst thing I can ever be. And that, that part of me, is running the show right now. I can’t stop. Not now, not ever. I have lost. Even if I win, I lose. Because I will have become everything Rock hates about me, while showing nothing of the good I know he sees in me. Maybe he’s just got too much naivete, I don’t know, but there has to be something good in me if he wanted me here. And yet, here I am, one green card away from being that much closer to hurting him for life.

Rock rolled a 2. Please, don’t let me roll odd…

I rolled a 9. "Read it and weep, Rock." God, Rock, please say you’ve got a Stop…

Miraculously, he did, although I wasn’t happy with his verbal counter-thrust. "You might just have saved everything," I told him in my most encouraging voice. I drew a yellow card. Six greens and a yellow. One card. Please, Rock, say you’re close.

We traded even rolls of the dice, when Rock rolled a 7. I couldn’t help but throw a barb at him as he drew two cards from the stock, and lay two purple cards on the pile.

I then picked up a Big Red of my own, and drew two stock cards. One blue, one yellow. Hold the blue and throw the yellows, I guess. Only one blue card separates me from a solid green hand.

A couple of even numbers followed, and then Rock drew and discarded a yellow. I rolled a 6; Rock rolled a 9.

He triumphantly threw down a Drop. "Stop it if you can, Caliban."

I couldn’t. I rolled a 2, and set down two green cards. Better to throw cards I need than throw out cards Rock needs. "And I suppose you get to pick them up?"

"Yup," crowed Rock, as he picked up both of my greens and lay one of them on the pile.

I drew two cards, one yellow, one purple. "Damn. Times like this, Rock, I could hate your guts real easy-like." I said it as good-naturedly as I could. Inside, I was breathing a sigh of relief. Maybe he was being protected after all.

But if he was, wouldn’t he have rolled a 6? I’ve got a bad feeling here.

It was my turn. Or it should have been—the dice didn’t like me. Rock eventually rolled a 9. He drew and discarded a yellow.

I rolled a 9, drew a blue from the stock, and dropped a yellow. I had 4 greens, 2 blues (which Rock needed), and a purple that neither of us would use.

Rock rolled a 5, drew from the stock, and blanched. He put one of his greens on the pile. "Roll even, you monster." I kind of hoped I would.

I didn’t. Nine. I picked up the green, and threw one of the blues. He couldn’t pick that up unless he got rid of the Oddball, rolled a 7, and felt the suicidal urge to pick up an Oddball card. In short, I could throw the Blue with impunity.

Rock rolled a 7, dropped the Oddball, and drew a replacement.

I then rolled a 7. Two greens, anyone? No such luck—a blue and an Oddball. I decided to play it for all it was worth—throw the two blues down and hope he rolled odd, or at best a 7. I did it in my best pissed-off act, which he no doubt picked up on.

"Hey, Rock, time for your angels to intervene. They’ll give you a 7 sure as I’ve got a shell on my back." I honestly hoped they would. God, I don’t want to win this silly game. Rock shouldn’t be leaving his fate to two small plastic cubes.

Of course, I’m the one who got us here. By now I was kicking myself.

Rock rolled an 8. I thought it was over, but then I rolled a 6. Hope for Rock? No—a twelve. Back to me.

"Damn, Rock, it must be destiny…"

"Shut up."

"Hey, truth hurts sometimes." It sure as hell was hurting me.

As I rolled a 9, I knew it wasn’t going to be the right outcome. I dropped the Oddball and drew a yellow. There go two of the blues that Rock needs to save himself. Nice move…monster. "I think the fat lady’s warming up, Rock," I jibed, as I drew back to 7 cards.

Rock rolled a 3, drew, and dropped a purple.

I rolled a pair of sixes in a row, with Rock rolling a 4 in the middle, but then Rock rolled a 7. He drew two cards—and threw both of them out. One was a Swap, the other a yellow. Good thing he threw away the Swap—I had five greens, and I didn’t want to swap them out. Or maybe I did. God. I don’t know anymore.

I rolled a 5, drew another green, and threw away a yellow. Six greens, and only one purple. God, right now I’m thinking I need an angel…please, if anyone’s listening, stop this madness…for Rock’s sake…and mine…please…

Rock picked up the dice, and rolled a pair of 4’s. Wasn’t it Elvis who sang, "Lady Luck please let the dice stay hot/Let me see a seven with every shot"? I know ZZ Top covered it on their Greatest Hits album—not a bad bonus track. But any album that has "Sharp Dressed Man", "La Grange", "Legs", "Tush", and "Tube Snake Boogie" on it…hey, that kind of album doesn’t NEED bonus tracks. I’m just praying right now that neither of us has to find out the meaning of "Tube Snake Boogie."

Come on, Rock. Load the dice, do SOMETHING to get a 7…

But it was my turn again. I rolled…2 and 3, total 5. Damn it, give me evens from here out, don’t make me do this…

Thank God, I drew a purple card. I put it down and prayed the rest of the deck was just as useless.

Rock rolled an 8, as did I; Rock broke the dry spell with a 9. He drew a card and looked at it in utter despair. He lay down a green card on the pile.

I tried not to let Rock see just how scared I was right then. If I rolled odd, and didn’t pick up this green, he’d wonder why. I’d have to tell him. And then this chance might never come again. Damn it, I don’t want to do this. Rock doesn’t want to do it. Between the two of us, neither of us wants to lay a hand on the other. And yet…and yet, I can’t stop. If he thinks I’m a monster—and I know he does—then so be it. A monster I will be. But I’m not going to let this inhuman(e) part of me take over for good. Please, God, let me roll even…

I faced him as calmly as I could. "Right now, we could be looking at some serious destiny here. You’d better pray I don’t roll a 7."

"You won’t. The angels won’t let you."

I picked up the dice, and shook them. I looked into his eyes, trying to find something, anything, which would help me come back to myself so I didn’t have to hurt him again. I can’t explain what I saw. It was a look of confidence, of calmness, of an almost irrational peace…and I couldn’t stop for that. If he were as scared as I was, I would happily have thrown it in right there. But his eyes…his eyes seemed to be almost egging me on…encouraging me…telling me that even if he lost, that he already had made peace with himself. His eyes told me that, at that exact instant—and this I couldn’t believe—that he would have submitted himself to anything I asked of him. His eyes, God, his eyes, were telling me that he wanted me to win. And if "The Rape of the Lock" was right, then it was over.

I rolled. A one, and a six. Looks like good old Alexander Pope knew something Rock didn’t. I picked up the two upcards, counted my greens, put down a blue and a purple, and lay down my cards.

"Your angels have left you." There was no other explanation. Damn it, I wanted them to protect him. I wanted them to break this up before either of us got hurt. Right then, anything heaven would have dished out to me, I’d have accepted. Please, Jesus, Allah, Buddha, Zeus, WHOEVER THE HELL’S IN CHARGE UP THERE, STOP THIS!!

"You still have to discard those."

"Oh, I will. It’s destiny, don’t you understand?" By now, all I felt was despair. It was destiny. I really was meant to hurt him. God have mercy on my soul…please, God, help us both survive this without too many scars…let it be me instead of him, I don’t care, just…don’t let me hurt him. I couldn’t live with myself.

"I’m protected by the forces of the light, thank you very much."

"We’ll see. It’s your turn, I think."

Rock dropped that Oddball card with a 9, and I didn’t like the look he gave the replacement card.

"Destiny." The word struck terror into the heart of my soul. I don’t want to win this game, damn it. The dice had other ideas; they showed 5. I only had six cards left. Six odd rolls of the dice—less, if any 7’s turned up—and we both were going to end up with lifelong scars.

"I’ll get back in this," Rock thought out loud. Rock, please, load the dice, stack the deck, but win this game. He rolled. It didn’t help—a pair of 4’s.

"You won’t get back in it rolling a square pair, that’s for sure." I rolled again. Three. Five cards to go. God, please, help me lose this game honestly. I don’t care how You do it, just make me lose. I don’t want to face this any more than Rock does.

Rock rolled a hard ten; I rolled a 4; Rock rolled an 8.

Next thing I knew, a 1 and a 2 were staring at me from the dice. Odd number. I only have four cards, and Rock hasn’t even lain down yet…this can’t be…

Rock started praying to his angels right then, and, despite me keeping my "tough guy" appearance up, I was praying right along with him. Let him win, angels, for everyone’s sake.

Thank God. He rolled a 7. But whatever angel had given him that 7, there must have been a dozen devils beside it. Rock threw down two Swap cards with the air of someone who was utterly beaten. No, Rock, please, don’t give up. Fight this destiny. You think you’re only fighting for yourself. You’re wrong. Your prayers are mine as well. If you can win this game, Rock, do it at all costs.

"Given up on your angels?" I asked. I had to know. Because if he’s given up on even his angels, it’s over.

He was terrified. "No…I haven’t…"

"Call them. Maybe you know one or two to call on by name. Is there a patron angel of card games?" It was desperation at its worst. Rock, please, if you know of an angel that can help both of us fend this fate off, I’ll pray to him/her/it too. Say the name, and I’ll start sending it out to the stars. I don’t want to do this. Keep your shirt on, Rock. And your pants, shoes, underwear, and Utah Jazz baseball cap, too. Don’t give up hope…because both of us need it.

"I know Barakiel and Rubiel are supposed to be friendly to gamblers…" Rock was blubbering now. He had given up completely. There was no hope for either of us now.

"Well, call on them. Tell them you need their help. Maybe they’ll keep me on the even numbers…"

He prayed to them, but it was so terror-filled and painfully general that if the two angels had heard his prayer, they wouldn’t have been able to make any sense out of it.

I looked at him again. "It’s my turn now." An eight. Thank you, angels.

He rolled a 3, and drew a purple which he didn’t need. I evened out. Rock rolled a 9, drew, and discarded a Green. He was despondent.

I rolled again; it was a five. Only three cards to go. No sevens, please. I tried to warn him as gently as I could. Now, even I knew it was over. I was already preparing myself for the hurt. Now, Rock needed to do the same. I’m about to win the card game. But I’m losing the biggest game of my life.

Rock rolled an 8. It was over.

"Concede the game, Rock. It’s over. Maybe I’ll go a little easy on you if you just admit it’s destiny you’re dealing with here." God, I wanted him to concede. See if he really wants to make it easy on himself. If he concedes, then I just gave myself an out. If he doesn’t…then the only explanation is that…that…he really wants to be hurt.

"It isn’t. They’ll let you get ahead now, but then I’ll come back and blow right past you. Then you’ll have no choice but to admit that I’m protected by the light."

It was insane. I had three cards in front of me, while Rock hadn’t even lain down yet. And here he was, holding out hope that somehow, some miracle would occur and he’d be safe. It’s his call, I guess. If he wants it that way…then I guess I can’t change his mind. I rolled a 7, and dropped two of the green cards on the pile.

"Rock…it’s over. Surrender to me. Your angels aren’t protecting you. Or who knows, maybe you’re not going high enough on the cosmic ladder, ever think of that?" Because I sure as hell hadn’t up until that moment. Let’s get a few seraphim involved here. Because I don’t want to win this game, damn it.

Again, he prayed, this time to the archangels. I only hoped they were listening.

He rolled a 3, drew a card…no, please tell me he didn’t draw…

I rolled an 8, Rock rolled a 4, I rolled a 5, and…that was destiny.

I tried to frame it the best way I could. I tried to be as calm as I could. But I was horrified. Now, the two of us were going to scar each other again. Only this time, it would be for real.

I honestly don’t remember what I said to Rock. I just remember him looking at Mike, and the look on Mike’s face…no, not one of us was going to walk out unhurt that day.

With a mixture of guilt, shame, and terror, I led him to his room. God…please have mercy on us both…

Remember when the days were long
And rolled beneath a deep blue sky
Didn't have a care in the world
With mommy and daddy standin' by
But "happily ever after" fails
And we've been poisoned by these fairy tales
The lawyers dwell on small details
Since daddy had to fly
But I know a place where we can go
That's still untouched by men
We'll sit and watch the clouds roll by
And the tall grass wave in the wind
You can lay your head back on the ground
And let your hair fall all around me
Offer up your best defense
But this is the end
This is the end of the innocence
O' beautiful, for spacious skies
But now those skies are threatening
They're beating plowshares into swords
For this tired old man that we elected king
Armchair warriors often fail