Benton trod the dusty remains, unable to shake deserted dread. Weasel won the bet last night. Losing everything, he switched to souls. Benton feels broken; his body expecting the pain to come. Hoping for physical agony to block his regret, Benton drags on unarmed, head throbbing from tequila angst.
Graffiti graveyard looms ahead of Benton, and he knows his time is up. He stops sullen but anxious for release as the Groungers approach. The whiz of a chainsaw twitches his brow, but there is nowhere to run. Benton snivels, his wife will pay tomorrow. He lost her before losing himself.
curiouser contemplations 
Hmm. Wonder if the wife will meet the same fate.
My #FF This Week
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Hopefully she’s smart enough to pack up when Benton doesn’t come home…
Thank you for the comment!
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Ouch! Dark one huh?
Tay.
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Could be…or just the fall of the cards
Thank you for the comment!
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YVW milady!
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Dear Madamwriter,
Apparently I haven’t welcomed you to Friday Fictioneers. It looks Benton’s going to pay a high price indeed. And again, welcome.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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Hi Rochelle! Thank you for the comment and the opportunity to participate in the fiction fun. All apologies for any technical errors…blogging isn’t really my bag, but I’m proud of myself that my second attempt linked properly. I love the writing challenge, many thanks.
Angela
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A very different take. Well done.
Thanks and Welcome.
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I’m not surprised he lost her, too. Love the last line.
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Thank you!
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