This is written to the image prompt here for “Sixteen Minute Saturday,” something I adapted for alliteration from Ty Barbary’s 15-minute Fiction.

I’d love if more people played along!

“Well, it started out as a 20-sided die.”

The building was smoking. Terry wasn’t sure if that was on purpose or not. Hell, Terry wasn’t sure that the thing could be called a building, but what else were you going to call it?

“Fred, it’s two and a half stories tall.”

“I know! Isn’t it wicked?”

“‘Wicked’ is certainly one word for it, Fred. Fred, what the hell are you going to do with this thing?”

“Well, I was planning on living in it.” The lanky rocker shrugged. “Don’t look at me like that, Terry. I know it needs work.”

“It needs a wrecking ball.”

“Don’t be like that. Look, it needs siding.”

“An entrance.”

“Oh, that part’s easy. Come on, let me show you.”

“Fred, this isn’t my day to die.”

“Oh, come on.” He grabbed Terry’s hand and tugged. “Like I said, it need a little work on the exterior. But wait until you see the way it looks inside!”

“Fre-ed.” But the skinny bastard had an amazingly firm tug. “Have you shown Les yet?”

“Ah. About that.”

“Shit, Fred, not another one.”

“Well, it’s not… It’s not quite…. well, look, you’ve just got to look, okay?”

Terry sighed, the much-put-upon sigh that seemed to come out the most around Fred. Weren’t these guys supposed to mellow once they reached their fourth or fifth decade? Fred just got wilder. “All right, all right. What’s a 20-sided die? One of those nuts things you guys use in your games?”

“Yeah. Like this.” Fred tossed the die at Terry casually. Having been around Fred and his revolving crew of musicians for longer than anyone wanted to count Terry grabbed the thing just as easily. And then stared.

“Fred, when did you have emeralds cut into dice? And, more importantly, why?“

“That’s the thing. Well, okay, that was an entirely different thing, but you’ve really got to… here, mind your step.” Fred moved a few shingles off of a platform and jumped up four feet onto what looked like a balcony. “I need to install stairs. But I don’t think that’s going to be the problem. Here, come on.”

“Coming, coming.” The grumble was mostly habit by this point. Terry clambered up onto the platform. “You need a wrecking ball, I keep telling you.”

“No, no, come on.” The door hung at a 15-degree angle, but it swung open like it was oiled. “Watch your step; it goes down a bit just inside the door.”

“Of course it do-o-woah-does.” The “bit” was more like a foot or two. “So, what’s so good about this place on the inside that it doesn’t need to be torn down?”

“Well, for starters, there’s this.” The room. Terry blinked.

“Fred, did you lace my coffee again?”

“You know I promised never to do that. No. No, this is legit.”

“Fred, how did you pull this off?” The entryway foyer was like being inside Fred’s 20-sided emerald die. The walls were done in green brocade. The table was set with green china. The carpet was lush, oriental – and green. The whole thing looked like something out of a home decorating catalog, and like nothing that Fred had ever done in a living space, ever. “Fred, how did you get an interior decorator in here?”

“I … have no idea. Look, Terry, stay close, okay? The walls… they kind of change after a while.”

“I thought you said you built this.” Terry backed toward the exit, and ran into a solid green-covered wall. “I thought you said this was some sort of really big die.”

“Well, um. See, I guess it turned out to be more in the spirit of dice than I intended.”

“The spirit of… Fred, what?“

But Fred wasn’t there anymore. His voice echoed from far away. “They’re randomizing devices.”

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