Basement Gods Of Dice And Dust

Basement Gods Of Dice And Dust

Basement gods of dice and dust
hear our nervous laughter
and shaky bravery

We build paper corridors
to trap the fear in the margins
every throw tries to beat back the sense
that somewhere nearby
an unseen thing is rolling for us
and none of us asked
to be on that sheet

Down in the concrete belly
of a house that smells
like old cardboard and detergent
four kids seat a scratched table
as their kingdom

Map sheets sprawl under snack crumbs
pencil lines threading through caves
sewers
ruins that never heard of suburbia

Plastic figures stand crooked
in candle stubs
all chipped paint and heroic poses
braver than the hands
that push them

Every roll shakes loose the school day
lockers and grading curves replaced
by traps and treasure
and monsters that wait politely
for their turn

Thunder walks overhead
in the form of parents and plumbing
pipes coughing
TV laugh-tracks stomping
from the living room

Down here
voices sink low and serious
describing corridors slick
with something unnamed
doors nobody sane opens twice

The power flicks once
hard blink
comes back with the bulb buzzing
just a little meaner

No one wants to admit
the room feels smaller
like the basement slid deeper
while the house pretended
to stay still

Character sheets curl
edges lifting
as though the paper wants to get away
from what you’re writing on it

A die skitters off the table
vanishes into a dark space
under a couch
that never hid anything worse
than Lego

One kid reaches down
hand first
wrist deep
fingers sweating
every horror story timed
to this exact move

His palm brushes something
colder than cement
harder than lost plastic

When he yanks back
with the die clutched tight
no one jokes

They just mark the number
and move on
hearts pounding
in their throats