….Well, this was an interesting piece of writing. I got bored and wrote it. Minecraft is surprisingly deep for such a simple game, and it deserves many, many more fanfics, in my humble opinion.

I would have indented the paragraphs, but for some reason Openoffice was tabbing across entire line breaks, so...I left those out to maintain structural integrity.

Anyways! Here's one more for the archives. Hopefully you somewhat enjoy.

~MS

Chances

Fourteen years.

At least, that's what they tell me. God only knows how long I was trapped in my own personal hell, building vast mansions and shelters, just to keep me alive. Even now, as the rescuers are marveling at my architectural prowess and the scientists are frothing at the mouth over the breakthrough in the practical properties of obsidian, I'm just happy to see folks that aren't half-dead and trying to kill me.

Reaching into the newly-repaired pocket of my jeans, I lit the last cigar I had and turned back to the audience in front of me. The cacophony of reporters and cameras and lights was both a welcome distraction and a painful experience for all my senses, but it was unavoidable. I couldn't back down, not now. Raising a single hand into the air, the audience immediately fixed its undivided attention upon me.

It was time.

Stepping up to the microphone, I tossed my cigar away and began my gruesome tale. And for two hours, the audience's "ooh's", "ahh's" permeated the town hall. I spoke of architectural feats and harrowing nights of darkness, of torturous sicknesses and fear-induced escapes from my once-safe quarries, filled with the crumbling sounds of the undead inches from my heels. I spoke of my discoveries of the hellword I dubbed "The Nether", and its dangers, many of which brought incredulous looks upon many of the audience's faces. But my crude drawings upon sheep's wool, as well as the on-the-side testimony of the researchers currently stationed at my humble adobe, managed to sway most in the crowd into submission.

My tale was a long one, but not one person in the crowd dared leave the edge of their seat. In the span of two agonizing hours, my story was done. The world now knew my secrets. The silent crowd simply stared, awed into a stunned silence by my endeavors.

But that would soon change.

Sighing, I brought the mic to my lips and uttered the words I dreaded most.

…."Questions?"

The response was immediate. The reporters crowded around the first three rows immediately erupted into a roar of incomprehensible inquiries and statements. I raised my hand for silence once again, but they would have none of it this time. The cacophony of roaring and questions and statements was too much to bear, and I brought the microphone to my lips once again.

"SILENCE!"

Echoing across the hall, my roaring voice brought immediate order upon the vast room. Trying to suppress the headache spreading across my temples, I pointed to a reporter in the second row. The lad must have been a rookie, for when he jumped up to ask his question, he tripped on his own feet and fell sideways onto the wood floor. After scrambling back up, he composed himself and, after receiving another microphone, began to speak.

"You've accomplished some great feats while you were alone. What made you go as far as you did? Many architects here can't even dream of the structures you built!"

Leaning against the podium, I looked at the reporter intently. "What drove me? Perhaps I should ask what you would do. I had no friends but the pigs and cows around me, and I had to kill my friends to survive. In the end, I was alone, with nothing to do."

I gazed off into the distance of the hall, seemingly seeing through its brick walls and into the starry night beyond. "There's a difference between surviving and living. I took many chances while I was there, some of which were walking the fine line between life and death. But in the end, they were chances I had to take, if I wanted to live."

"But why not just wait it out and hope for the best?" The reporter was looking at me oddly, as if my decisions were insulting his personal way of life. "If only he knew..."

Shaking my head, I snorted in mild amusement. "For fourteen years? Could you live in a hollowed out piece of dirt, with nothing but a torch for warmth? Could you live off of raw pork and tough cow hide for days on end?" My irritation was starting to creep into my voice slightly. Sighing, I took a breath and continued.

"Could you sit in the dim light, with nothing but a sword, and hope that some godforsaken skeleton doesn't break through your grassy defense and rain arrows upon you? Last I checked, our species is innovative. We improve, we adapt. That's all I did. Some might say I took it too far. But to me, I just did what I had to.

"I've built great rooms and vast libraries of my adventures. I've created grand fireplaces and temples of gold. I've constructed machines, binaries, logical solutions, all to help me with what I did. I've smelted steel, forged diamonds into sturdy tools, and molded steel into buckets that carried lava to and fro.

"But my greatest of tools was possibly the easiest to carve. A simple tool, used to determine my choices, what path to take, what bend in the road to follow. This tool determined where to build, what material to use, which way to go when I was lost in my quarry. It has served me throughout my solitude, and without it, I would probably be dead in some godforsaken cave.

"And I have with me in this very room".

The room was immediately filled with the sounds of curious voices and incredulous tones from the skeptical. Raising my hand brought the crowd's attention back to me.

"Without this one machine, this one deciding factor, I probably would be dead at the crossroads of some godforsaken dungeon. I owe my life to it, and it has served me in return. For whenever I had a choice, an impasse, a fork in the road, it has shown me the right way."

The reporter looked stunned. "But how? Not even modern technology can predict answers like that!"

Smiling, I shook my head. "Perhaps not one hundred percent of the time. Not even the mechanisms I built could have. But when deciding against two variables, sometimes the answer lies in a little luck."

With that, I pulled out of my pocket a small stone object, carved meticulously through the many days and nights of my solitude. The eagle on its back glistened in the dim light of the room, and with a simple flick of my wrist, it spun into the air. Reaching out my other hand, I caught the object and placed it against my arm.

"Well, gentlemen? Heads or tails?"

Story End.