’Tis the night before Christmas, and the prison gates had finally closed behind him for the last time that morning.
The air outside felt too big, too cold, too full of choices. He walked the streets in clothes that didn’t quite fit, carrying nothing but a cheap phone and the $200 gate money they’d handed him.
By evening he was in a small rented room, snow tapping softly against the window. Everyone else seemed to be with family, laughing somewhere warm. He had no one to call, no tree, no presents. Just silence… and the familiar itch.
He opened the phone, deposited the entire $200 into Stake, and loaded up dice. First few rolls were small, cautious, almost respectful. Then the old rhythm came back: increase on loss, chase the streak, believe the next one would fix everything.
Hours passed. The balance climbed to $800, then crashed to $40, then somehow crawled back to $300. He didn’t cash out. Not tonight.
At some point he looked up and saw the clock: 11:58 p.m. The room was lit only by the glow of the screen and the faint streetlight filtering through frost on the glass.
He paused the auto-bet, stared at the frozen reels for a long moment, and whispered to no one, “First Christmas as a free man… and I’m right back in a cell I built myself.”
For the first time in years, he closed the app without placing another bet. He left the $300 in the account—small, fragile, but still there.
Outside, church bells started ringing in the distance. He pulled the thin blanket around his shoulders, listened to them, and let himself hope that tomorrow might feel a little different.
Maybe next Christmas there would be more than just a balance on a screen.
Maybe.
Username: ThichTamPhuc