He felt Lucky. It was a rare feeling, and worth holding on to. Normally, the only feeling related to Luck that he could feel was Unluckiness. To have good Luck trailing you was . . . well, Lucky. Stupid way of saying it, but true nonetheless.
I've never really taken advantage of this feeling before. Is now the right time? It felt sacrilegious, to exploit the feeling of Luckiness for personal gain, like beating a machine just to make it spit out free food. There was something wrong with it. But I run from bad Luck. I react, just like everyone else. Why is reacting to good Luck a bad thing, and reacting to bad Luck a good thing? He was sure he didn't know. So, he decided to test it out, just this once.
He turned back to the hulking brute in front of him. The man's sneer was aided in its journey across his face by a terrific scar. When he said "Yes, I think I shall," the giant man's meaty lips split open in a genuine smile. The thug handed him a gun. Spinning open the gun, he could see five empty holes and one very happy primer staring back at him. He spun the cylinder freely, snapped it back into the gun, pulled the barrel to his temple and pulled the trigger.
Click.
Lucky.
The air around him heated to an unbearable degree, so he handed the gun back to the thug. The thug's sneer was nearly wide enough to bisect his head now. Slowly, the other man rolled out the cylinder, spun it, and snapped it back into the gun. Neither man could possibly know where the bullet was. But I think I know. Cold sweat broke out on his back and rolled down to his belt. He felt so unlucky that he needed to throw up. The air around him heated to a temperature fit to light matches, and then--nothing. The air cooled immediately, the sweat stopped, and he felt fine. His hand flashed forth blue again, and he threw a ball of energy directly into the other man's face. The thug fell over to the ground and his gun went off. The shot was so loud that the thug couldn't hear anything ever again.
I felt Luck. I did. So the hand can't stop all of it. It can only react slowly to new. I can be Lucky again. I can chance things. I just have to risk my life to do it. He strolled out of the cantina with his head held high. A life is an easy thing to waste for a few moments of folly, right?
Right.
Oh, this. I don't know. I think a part of what makes it so good is that I can see so much of you in it. I mean, I know it's not you, but then, it so is you and it's got honest questions mixed into it and the fiction just feels like a cloak of invisibility that works because it reflects the things behind it.
ReplyDelete"A life is an easy thing to waste for a few moments of folly, right?"
That's an interesting concept that set off a whirlwind in my brain.