The gall rose in flames around Miguel's heart as he downed the whisky shots at the Fortune Pub. He constantly felt cheated by this land of promise. He had come over the border from the USA to Mexico intent on making his fortune in the gold rush. He had believed the country would be as a comely wench, oozing elemental riches from her seams, but she was not so easy to woo or willing to give up her secret depths however much he loosened her corsets of dry rock. She teased him with nickel and dime dust and no more.
He had been panning for gold in the river bed for five years now and it had never got him further than the bar, staring at Fortune's mirror and her foxed reflection of him. The picture had changed over the last few years, steadily becoming more dusty, more haggard, more desperate as he squinted between the lines of emptying whisky bottles on the shelf trying to remember his hopes and dreams.
He was sick of taking his chances on the roll of a dice, settling for a flash in the pan. In his inebriated state he decided to stake it all on the abilities of One Eyed Meg. Her's was the dependable sort of wisdom he was looking for so he asked the fortune teller to read his tea leaves. With no tea to hand, the sozzled Gypsy Seer was presented with the dregs at the bottom of his beer bottle to read and the variety of truth she read there gave him a new conviction.
'Your number came up'. She said.
So the next day he parted with his last shilling and bought the Golden Ticket, his lottery, his last chance. And indeed good fortune at last seemed to be with him, the old woman had been right: his numbers did come up. His faith in fortunes graces were restored and he felt the blood pulse in his head in that moment knowing his troubles were over.
That night at the Fortune Pub suddenly he was surrounded by friends all wishing to share in the joy of his good fortune and he revelled in their bonhomie buying round after round of drinks.
All the elemental forces in the sky seemed to join forces that night too and a tempest began in the air. Miguel climbed to the corrugated roof and danced his euphoric tin jig looking through the flying tumbleweed into the storm, into the eye of God and shook the golden ticket into the four winds laughing hysterically. One Eyed Meg ran into the bar and was heard to cry out,
"Hey Miguel, you crazy dancing fool, come down from there, I mistranslated. The message in the bottle, it doesn't say your number CAME up, it says your number IS up!"
Before the Lightning struck, the winds wailed back singing their lament.
"Only with bitterness do you bring out the sweet taste in life." Miguel sank to the floor of the tin roof, scorch marks to his head and sole as his golden ticket blew away in the dust of the storm along with the last of his breath.
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