Eight of Cups

This is how the game was played. A series of cups, filled to the brim. Everything you gained could be taken by someone else. There was only so much to go around. Winning, when it happened, was done by getting the most of everything. Round after round. At some point, one of the players stormed out. Was it you? Or were you left to watch the precious water sink away, and the empty cups fill to the brim with a colorless vapor that smelled like anger or disappointment or grief. With each step away from the game the air became colder and more transparent. At some point, you realized, that this whole time, you had been playing against yourself.