The smells of channa bathure cooking nearby mingled with the autorickshaw exhaust, the open sewers and his nervous sweat as I faced him down. Flashes of colour appeared behind him but I stayed focused, hearing all the calls of the street sellers as cheers me.
As children we were professional carrom players, in the sense that it was what we did to survive. Each day was the same, searching the streets for people to play- listening for the wooden clack of the carrom men, seeking a certain look in the eye, the player down on his luck and happy to find a child to thrash, to get them back on track. Everyone thinks they can beat kids and ee traded off pride for a long time, hitting a different area each day.
I stopped him from pocketing the queen and scored the winning points. The gunda tried to not pay me but there’s always someone who’ll make sure they do. I disappeared quickly and found the others.
We shared the winnings, eating paratha together as we watched the street scenes after another victorious day. All we had back then was our love for each other and for carrom.
Written for Flash! Friday from the following picture prompt (we were also asked to add a Fire Element (include a progenitor/parent) or Ice Element (include a gamer)) and had a word count limit of 200 words with no minimum.
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