HIDDEN DEPTHS by Arthur Pitchenik

I was playing slots in the Golden Riches Casino last month and hit the jackpot. A Casino Attendant confirmed the win, recorded the serial number of my machine, took my driver’s license, and left for the office. My machine rained dollars on the screen and played “Stars and Stripes Forever” as I pranced up and down like a fool.

The Attendant returned, placed a check in my hand, and announced, “Congratulations, Mr. Benjamin Tabachnik, you have just won $87,763.” The players around me applauded and enviously watched, except for a little old lady in a wheelchair at the adjacent machine who didn’t even look up. She kept playing at the cheapest possible nickel-a-spin like a pigeon pecking thousands of times for a kernel of corn. She was at least 90, wrinkled and bent with age. Her name was Gladys. It was pinned to her shirt with a telephone number and address below. I yelled directly into her hearing aid, “Gladys, I just won the Jackpot!”

She kept playing as if I didn’t exist. I yelled again, “Gladys, wake up, I won a lot of money.” Still no response. She seemed oblivious to who she was, where, or what she was doing. She just kept on playing mindlessly at a nickel a spin with a lit cigarette dangling from her lips.

It really pissed me off, so I turned to the man on my left and whispered, “She probably has Alzheimer’s disease.” I also bragged that I won $53,742 on the same machine last year.

I saw Gladys again five months later playing her same slot machine compulsively as usual at the cheapest nickel a spin. She looked even more decrepit and disoriented than before with her electric wheelchair, thick glasses, and hearing aid. I had received a letter that morning and was in a horrible mood. When a government letter starts off, “We have a problem,” you know you’re in deep shit.

“Hello, Gladys,” I said, shouting into her hearing aid and slowly enunciating each word as you would to an idiot. “Do you remember me?”

“Hello, Benjamin Tabachnik,” she replied, without taking her eyes off her machine; you’re the asshole that won $87,763 five months ago and $53,742 the year before on the same machine. That totals $141,606. Assholes like you seldom pay their taxes. That’s why I reported you to the IRS.

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AUTHOR BIO:

Arthur Pitchenik is a retired physician with many previous scientific publications. Previous fiction publications include “The Doomsday Virus” narrated by Tall Tale TV, “The Gift” in Literally Stories, “The Godfather Cell,” a poem in The Annals of Internal Medicine, “Magnificent Reflection,” a poem in The Anthology of College Poetry and “They’re, Rich, You’re Dead,” an anti-smoking RAP song on YouTube.

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WHY WE CHOSE TO PUBLISH “Hidden Depths”:

Did you see the ending to this one coming? We certainly didn’t. Arthur Pitchenik perfectly sets up this flash fiction piece to give that perfectly logical, and unexpected, ending.

We frequently tell authors that what we look for in flash fiction is a piece that’s strong, tightly woven, and unexpected. And as a bonus, this one comes with two important messages: don’t piss off old ladies and don’t mess with the IRS.