Flash Fiction #2 (Fall Break Free Post)

          "Scratch!" I contemplated this move. I took the risk to see if he was going to try for the cluster of solids by the left corner. In that cluster, was the Black 8. "Good game, better luck next time."
          "Hmph, don't get arrogant."
          "C'mon, don't be a sore loser." I performed my best poker face. He picked up the smooth, white ball. He placed it a foot away from the left-corner cluster. While aligning his aim and stretching his arm, I calculated the chances. If he tilted his hand a mere quarter-of-an-inch while shooting, he could tilt the Black 8 into the hole. He realized this too, so he attempted to calm his shaking hands. I looked at him with cold eyes. I could feel the pressure mounting on his back as he leaned forward. Time paused as he analyzed his next move with a marksman's focus. I half-expected to see beads of sweat down the sides of his face. His arm pulled back. The pole collided with the ball. Traveling at almost terminal velocity, the white ball raced across the green felt table. A crack, and then a tumble. I no longer saw the Black 8 on the table anymore.
          "Good game, better luck next time."