Gina

“One.”

Neon lights flash, reflecting off the curved mirrored walls near the restroom where she died. The last messages from my little sister were of her new friends taking her gambling.

“Two.”

The second saunters into the private suite and picks up a glass of champagne. He smiles at the first and sits. Soft music plays in the background.

“Three.”

A third enters.

She was an innocent flower plucked for their pleasure. They didn’t care about her, only her wealth. They took it and her pride.

“Four.”

“Five.”

“Six.”

The casino owner enters the suite, my sister’s ‘friends’ on each arm. House odds weren’t enough for him. I lean casually against the wall near the slots. All the pieces are in place, their smug swaggering visible on the hidden cameras. I push a button on my iPhone and bells ring throughout the casino, followed by cheers. Guests scoop armfuls of tokens from the clanging machines.

A moment later the owner gets a call and I see his face turn red. I start the second app. and my voice echoes in the suite.

“Gina sends her regards.”

The men and women look at each other, confused, then frightened. They know what happened. Shards of glass and fuel fly through the room as the champagne bottles explode. I silence the phone as the room erupts in flames and the cameras melt. No one notices as I walk out with the rest of the gambling zombies.

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About A. L. Kaplan

I am a writer, artist, and parent.
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