He set down the abacus and stared into the darkening horizon, as a thoughtful look stole across his countenance.
Caught by a shy ray of dwindling sunlight, the lonesome tool revealed a tableau of unaligned wooden beads.
These beads, separated purposefully, revealed an infallible truth unbeknownst to all, save the mathematician.
The calculus doesn’t lie, he sighed, and took one long at the unforgiving image before tossing it away –
The beads, shaking in frenzied distress as they took an unintended sojourn through the air,
Their rattling cries, a requiem of death performed by merciless winds,
Before hitting the ground,
And shattering into pieces.
But all the mathematician could hear, in his mind,
Was the sound of rolling dices,
As the beads are set free.
And so, it seemed, the wheel of fortune…
… spins again.