“Bingo!”

Life is a game of Bingo.
We are the players,
and Death is the caller.
We all sit together in a large room,
anxiously waiting to get Bingo.

Death reaches into his trusty, old suitcase
and moves his hand around inside.
He smiles and picks a number.
“B7!” He calls and looks around.
“Bingo!” calls Grandma Ronnie,
smiling joyfully.
Then she picks up her bag
and leaves the room.

Again, Death reaches into his case
and randomly pulls a number.
“O67,” he calls, smiling at us all.
“Bingo!” calls Grandpa Joe,
and he picks up his cane
and slowly wobbles out of the room.

The same pattern continues,
and people all around the room
call out “Bingo!”:
Grandmas and grandpas,
aunts and uncles and cousins,
nieces and nephews,
mothers and fathers,
brothers, and sisters.
One by one, they call out “Bingo!”
and leave the room.

I start to become nervous,
thinking that I will never win Bingo.
But there is still a chance,
for there is just one number left.
Death excitedly reaches into his case
and calls out that last number.

“I26!” he calls, looking around the room.
I look down at my card,
silently hoping that it’s my last chance at Bingo.
When I see that I won,
I jump from my seat and excitedly scream.
“BINGO!!!” I smile and look around,
excited to share the news with everyone.

But as I look around,
no one is left sitting in the room.
I am all alone:
the last contestant,
the last winner,
the last one left.
Death looks down at me and smiles.
“Yes,” he says, a smug tone in his voice,
a sickening smile on his face.
“You are the last winner.
Congratulations.”

And with those final parting words,
I black out
and fall down.
Down,
down,
down
into eternal darkness.

With Death’s laughter
ringing in my ears.