Writing Excuses - 7

Homework: Think about the last time you lost at a game. What was the process of thought that led to your loss? Now, replicate that moment in the dramatic structure of the story, except the story isn't about games.

Speccing points into Charisma

Carlos had been talking for 20 minutes straight. 

“Trust me,” Carlos was saying mid-chew of his vinegar-drenched salad. His voice full of confidence, whether genuine or not, he believed the confidence into existence.

“The thing is,” he said, pausing only to spear another piece of kale, “the market wants belief. You give it a little confidence, a little mystery? It eats that shit up.”

He spoke with the ease of someone who'd done this before. Maybe not this exact thing, but something close. Close enough.

She gripped her coffee cup, knuckles white. “This is everything, Carlos. My way out.”

Carlos gave a lopsided grin, chewing. “They’re already circling.”

That’s what he always said. They’re circling. As if vague interest was the same thing as commitment.

Still, she nodded again. $300,000 wasn’t just a number to her. It was the exit; the last key in the lock. Divorce lawyer, reliable Honda, rent on something small and quiet. A new life, just her and the dog. No more late night screaming matches and no more blood on the bathroom floor.

She’d trusted Carlos before. He was a friend of her brother’s. Always charming. Always just on the edge of something big.

Socketed with doubt

Carlos sat tapping his fingers absentmindedly against his computer keyboard. He was watching the corner of his screen for the notification window. Waiting for the message and biting his lip in anticipation.

Last time, he’d played it too safe. This time, he would leap first, sort the landing out later, and make up for that prior loss.

The buy-in had been too steep, but he didn't let his mind dwell there.

“Chaos Orbs,” they were called. Carlos didn’t understand them, not really. But the guy who got him into it did, and that guy had already cashed out.

He knew he’d gone too hard. The “Chaos Orbs” weren’t real, but they looked real. That was the trick. They had names, lore, even mock economies. Investors loved stories.

And he loved believing he could win this one. 

He told himself it was temporary; a flip. He imagined her face if it worked. The relief. The gratitude. He didn’t imagine the other outcome.

He’d used her money. All of it.

Desyncing...

His cellphone started vibrating on the table next to him. He looked at the screen before grabbing it, the name said, Alva.

“Yeah.” Carlos said, his eyes returning to his computer screen.

“The listing is in.” Said the quiet voice named Alva.

Carlos nodded and hung up the phone, without taking his eyes off the screen. He refreshed the page and there it was. Not the price he’d been promised. Not even close.

$42,000.

His stomach lurched. Just hours ago, he’d pictured her gratitude, her new life. Now, $42,000 stared back, mocking him.

Bricked

Later that night, Carlos sat in the dark, refreshing the page again and again like maybe he could will it back up.

The screen never changed.
Just the number.
The loss.

Like watching your own death on replay, knowing you should have just taken more time to think things through carefully.

He tried spinning it in his head when he prepared to call her later that night. Words and excuses forming, but evaporating away before she even answered.

“They listed it low on purpose,” he lied. “Marketing strategy. It’ll rebound.”

She didn’t say anything.

"It’s a dip, just a dip,” he stammered. “Give me a week, I’ll fix it.”

Silence.

Finally, she spoke. “You promised me 300.”

Carlos swallowed. “I can fix it.”

She didn’t respond.

“I will fix it.”

She hung up.

Regret activated in the passives tree

The next morning, Carlos opened the dashboard again. The numbers hadn’t changed.

He sat in silence, scrolling through posts in the investor forums, searching for a miracle. But the thread was already marked with a red tag:

[SCAM WARNING: Chaos Orbs Collapse - Withdraw Immediately]

Below it, a comment from someone named Percy_Verence777:

“If you’re still holding, you’re already dead. Sorry, bro.”

Carlos closed the laptop.

$42,000.

He leaned back, the ceiling blurring. If he’d just waited, asked more questions, he wouldn’t be here.

And the worst part? It wasn’t even the biggest mistake he’d ever made. Just the most recent.