Peter Hooflittle

  John licked his lips as he hovered just outside the casino sportsbook. He’d made a decision late last night, fueled by energy drinks and full of confidence. But now that he stood here, every penny to his name in his backpack, he found himself struggling to make the move. His throat was dry, and sweat drifted down from under his ballcap. He stared at the digital board above the sportsbook desk. There, emblazoned in bright color, was the bet that had seemed so brilliant to him last night. 

  “What’s changed, John?” he mumbled to himself. “Don’t back out now.” 

  He wiped the sweat from his brow and charged up to the desk. The man behind the desk smiled at him. 

  “How may I help you sir?” 

  John removed the backpack. He opened the zipper, then tipped it upside down, dumping bundles of money onto the desk. The worker started organizing. 

  “I see we’re making a large wager today.” 

  John nodded, feeling a little sick seeing his entire life amount to a few stacks of bills. 

  “Eighty-three thousand dollars,” John said. 

  After verifying the amount, the worker fixed his calm gaze on John. 

  “What wager will you be making with us today, sir?” 

  Somehow knowing that if he hesitated even a little that he’d back out entirely, John blurted out his reply. 

  “Put it all on Peter Hooflittle to show.” 

  The worker’s eyes went wide, and the man instinctively shook his head. They were trained to remain impartial, but the reaction was visceral. 

  “You can’t be… are you serious?” he asked. 

  John nodded. 

  “Just do it. Quickly.” 

  Glancing at the wall of TV screens, he saw that the race would be starting soon. He needed the bet locked in before that happened. The worker leaned in and spoke in a hushed tone. 

  “Listen pal, I’m not supposed to do this, but you don’t strike me as the kinda guy who can afford to lose eighty-three thousand dollars. Maybe you wanna consider-” 

  “Just do it!” John yelled. 

  He felt like electricity was coursing through him, like every nerve ending in his body was on fire. He’d already spoken the words, now he just wanted his bet slip and to see what fate had in store. The worker fell silent and punched a few buttons, then handed John the slip of paper. 

  “Good luck, sir.” 

  After taking a few steps away, John looked down at the slip. The odds against Peter Hooflittle to finish first, second, or third in the horse race were 500,000 to 1. They were the single worst odds ever offered in Las Vegas in the history of sports betting. But if Peter Hooflittle somehow did the impossible and finished first, second, or third, John would take home a staggering forty-one and a half billion dollars. 

  There were a group of middle-aged men gathered around the television showing the Capital Downs Highland Derby horse race and John joined them. One of the guys gave him a friendly nod. 

  “You bettin’ on Hooflittle?” he asked. 

  Too nervous to speak, John just nodded. The man smiled. 

  “So are we. We all put down a buck each. Can you imagine? Wager one dollar to win five-hundred thousand? What a dream.” 

  John tried to smile, but only managed a grimace. 

  “How much you got on him?” the man asked. 

  “Eighty-three thousand,” John said. 

  The man’s expression went vacant, like he’d just been told he only had a week to live. 

  “Oh,” he said quietly. “Oh dear.” 

  Unable to stare back into the man’s ashen face any longer, John stepped closer to the TV. The horses were being led into the gates. Everyone was buzzing about Peter Hooflittle, and the cameras zoomed in on him as he trotted toward the starting line. 

  “He’s smaller than I realized,” John mumbled. 

  The horse was so tiny that they were allowing it to run without a jockey. Even the world’s smallest jockey would crush this miniature beast. Instead, Peter Hooflittle had been trained to race under its own power and control. 

  John tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. He glanced back at the other gamblers. 

  “Did you realize it was this small?” he asked. 

  One of them guffawed. Another just nodded. 

  “Yeah bro, it’s the tiniest horse ever born. Didn’t you research this?” 

  Worry and fear set his stomach to boiling. He felt like he was going to puke or poop, maybe both. He could feel something foul bubbling up, but he kept his eyes locked on the television screen. The fact was, he had researched it. But in the pictures he’d seen online, Pete Hooflittle didn’t look THAT small. Now, seeing the tiny horse next to full-grown horses, John was ready to go into full panic mode. Hooflittle didn’t even come up to the other horse's knees. 500,000 to 1 didn’t even come close to handicapping its odds of placing in the top three.

  John clutched his stomach as it continued to gurgle. Half the money he’d gambled was removed without permission from his girlfriend's savings account. Twenty thousand of it had come from a shady loan shark, and the rest was the money he’d gotten selling his car. He’d truly gambled everything, as a loss would mean the end of his relationship, and knowing the tactics of the loan shark, likely the end of his life.  

  The race began, and the horses tore out of the gates. Peter Hooflittle took a single gallop, then tipped forward, going into a devastating end-over-end roll, its tiny head slamming into the ground again and again. All the other horses kept running, leaving it far, far behind. Medics and veterinarians rushed onto the track and knelt around the poor tiny horse. It was barely moving, and the early prognosis from the announcers was that the horse wasn’t going to live. 

  John clutched at his stomach and ran for the restrooms, knowing deep down that he wasn’t going to make it in time.