Coins
Sometimes words fail me, you see. It's this block that I carry around with me. The block is about 3” x 3” x 3”, a little square of black rock that creeps into me and stops the words from making sense. Some people call it “writer's block” I call them “fucking stupid”. It's the same block on everything, of course. I'm much smarter than everyone else, so I can see mine. Ha-ha.
So the coin; I take a random coin from my pocket, and imbue it with a little of myself, then flip it. It's the best way to make decisions. If I miss the coin (as I have to catch it and place it on my hand for the toss to be valid, so to speak) then it is fated that I take no decision.
I'm very much the uncoordinated one, so this happens often.
The coin is spinning now though, taking a little of my soul with it. I don't get that bit back, but my soul is hardy, and grows back what it looses, so I don't lament the use. I don't squander this ability on just anything, on the really important “curry or chinese” or “she loves me, she loves me not” decisions.
The coin is still spinning, and oh shit, something else has caught my eye. A pair of nice legs, perhaps some cleavage... maybe just a bright car, I'm pretty fickle, and no my eye wonders, and the coin is arching down and…
I catch it anyway. I undersold myself earlier.
Heads. I always feel that heads is better than tails, more positive, regal almost. That'd be the Queen, I suspect.
Only, I can't remember what I was flipping for. Something important, about someone. Someone close.
Angrily I clench the coin, the dear, sweet coin that I'm now going to spend on a bag of chips. Take that you bastard.