SHORT STORIES : Lady Luck

Author's Note: This story is remarkably different from most of the other fiction I write, in that it's not a horror story or science fiction, but instead an aburd comedy (though just about everything that happens here would be physically possible, however unlikely it might be). There is some violence and gore, though, like most of my other fiction; at least a couple of instances, anyway. This story is mainly a series of vignettes and is something that you might or might not like.

Introduction:

Hello, my name is Trenton Preston, I’m thirty-one years old, and I am the luckiest son of a bitch alive!

I say this not in excitement for any special event that just happened now, or because of any relationship that I am in (although I am engaged to a very special lady named Lori, who I also live with), but simply as a statement of fact. You see, I am the kind of man that loves to live on the wild side, to risk my life as often as possible, yet nothing ever happens to me. By rights, I should have been killed a thousand times already, yet I walk freely without a single scar on my body.

 

Sole Survivor

When I was fourteen years old, toward the end of the school year in eighth grade, I went on a field trip to Washington DC for three days. On the way home, something happened (I don’t quite remember what the problem had been) and the plane crashed into a residential neighborhood. Everyone on the plane had been killed in the crash as were many people within the four-block radius where the plane had crashed. Yet I was in the bathroom taking a massive dump at the time, and somehow I walked away without a scratch. A part of me feels guilty that I had been spared while everyone else perished, but for the most part I think of that event and feel that it was thrilling. I feel powerful to have been the only one to have survived, and how I wasn’t at all crippled or hurt in any way. It would sound callous to say that I was glad that the plane had crashed, yet in a way I am, for it was but one instance that proves that I am somehow invincible. While others fall, I rise to the occasion, and thrive on cheating death time and time again.

 

Test Results

Lady Luck smiles on me once again.

I walk out of the clinic now after testing negative for HIV. My fiancé was diagnosed with HIV six months ago (probably due to her heroin addiction, which she overcame a year ago), and while she insists that I get tested every month just to make sure, I knew even before I walked in that I would be okay. While her illness will someday manifest into full-blown AIDS, rendering her immune system completely useless while she withers away in a hospital bed with white patches in her mouth and sores all over her skin, I will live on perfectly healthy, with my true love Lady Luck keeping me nice and safe.

 

Diagnosis HIV

It was very difficult to hide my growing excitement on the night that I found out that Lori was HIV-positive, yet once more, through her grief, she barely noticed, and it was easy for me to calm her down, to make it look as though I was just as devastated by the news as she had been, and to appear sympathetic to her plight. We were in our apartment, sitting on the beige couch in the living room. The TV had been on, but neither of us was paying much attention to it; I think it was on a commercial break anyway.

I held Lori in my arms, stroking her short ebony hair as she cried in my shoulder, her makeup smeared over her cheeks like dirt from all the tears she had shed, while her voice muffled from her sobs and distorted, yet somehow I could still understand her. She had broken the news to me when she had walked through the front door after getting tested that morning, and then broke down herself on the couch, crying uncontrollably. While I felt no great need to comfort her, I thought it best that I consol her nevertheless, so she might not get suspicious and believe that I did not care, or worse, suspect the truth, that indeed I was greatly aroused by what I had just heard. As I held her in my arms, trying to hide my grin and hoping she wouldn’t see it, my eyes gazed down at her right arm, where the scars from her addiction were beginning to heal, yet they were not yet fully healed, as a few bruises still remained and one could easily see that her arm was once a pincushion for heroin, and it was through unwise sharing that had most likely caused her infection to begin with.

“I can’t believe this has happened,” she stammered, sniffing and sobbing as tears flooded her eyes. “At first, I didn’t want to believe it, anyway. I was in denial all the way home, hoping that it was one of those cases where they diagnosed someone with AIDS who really didn’t have it, but the minute I walked through the door and told you, I knew it was true. It’s my fault, though. I never should’ve touched heroin. I’m so stupid.” She sobbed again and could say no more.

I stroked her back tenderly, then kissed her forehead as I feigned a frown and tried to shed a few tears of my own, cursing the fact that I was unable to cry on command, but still hoping that I would be able to convince her of my sorrow and had gotten lucky, as usual. “It’s okay, dear,” I whispered in her ear. “I don’t care what you did in the past, and I’m sorry for what happened, but you don’t have to worry. I’m here for you, and no matter what, I still love you and always will.”

“Maybe it’s best that you forget about me and see someone else.” Lori sighed. “I’m dirty now. I’m sick and I’m never going to get better. There’s no need for you to catch what I have; it’s better that you just leave.”

I kissed her lips and trailed my tongue against the lining of her inner cheeks then probed it against her tongue, sucking and drinking her saliva and moaning from her loving embrace as she held me tightly, squeezing her teary eyes closed. “I could never do that,” I said, smiling with feigned affection at her. “I’m staying right here with you whether you’re sick or not. I love you, and I could never leave you.”

“But I don’t want you getting AIDS.”

“It doesn’t matter. We had sex plenty of times, so I’ve already been exposed. And even if I’m not infected, I love you so much that I’ll gladly risk any disease, so long as we are together.”

Lori’s face brightened just then as she blinked the tears from her eyes and shed some more. She smiled radiantly as sunlight gleamed radiantly from the tracks of tears on her eyes. “Oh God, you mean it, Trent?”

I wiped tears from her eyes with my finger and smiled back. “You bet I do.”

“Oh God, you’re so wonderful!” she exclaimed and kissed me back passionately, licking and playfully biting my lips. “I love you so much, Trent, and you have no idea how lucky I am to have someone as sweet and caring as you.”

No, I’m the lucky one, I thought with an inner mirth.

It was on that day that I discovered that I have a fetish for women who are HIV-positive, and that was why I had stayed with Lori. A part of me loves her, but mostly I stay with her for what she can do for me, and through luck and my own skills at manipulation, I can easily make it look as though I give as much as I get, when in reality she is playing right into my game. In reality, had I thought I was truly at risk of catching AIDS from her, I would have coldly cast her aside easily and without hesitation, but since she is no threat to my health, I’m more than willing to stay with her.

 

“Maybe we shouldn’t sleep in the same bed anymore,” Lori suggested that night after we had both stripped naked (out of habit, since we always sleep naked together). She sighed dismally as she bowed her head in grief and shame. “If we’re going to stay together, I’d rather do everything I can so I don’t infect you.”

“Nonsense,” I said with an amiable and loving grin. “I told you before; it doesn’t matter what happens now. I don’t want anything to change between us and I mean it.”

“I know, but it’s not like it’s just a cold, you know.”

“I don’t care,” I said, shaking my head. “We’re going to get married soon.”

“I was thinking maybe we shouldn’t get married, especially since I’m going to die eventually.”

“Of course we should get married. They have medicine to keep HIV dormant for a long time,” I explained. “You can still live a long life. Don’t let this thing get you down, and don’t push me away because of it either. I’m here for you, darling, and I always will be.”

“I just care too much about you to risk infecting you,” she said as tears filled her eyes once again and she sighed.

“I’m willing to take that chance,” I said with a wry grin that she seemed not to notice.

I closed my hand around her wrist and pulled her to the bed. Startled, she bit her lip to stifle a scream, yet grinned afterward, as though this were exactly what she wanted to happen. Our lips locked together in a passionate kiss as I playfully threw her on the bed and forced myself on top of her, cupping my hands tightly to her breasts. My penis stiffened into a throbbing erection as I plunged it deep into her sex, which was moistening with arousal despite her initial reservations.

That night, I had the greatest sex of my life up to that point.

Lori and I have great sex every night now, and while she is uncomfortable with having unprotected sex out of concern for my health, the fact that she is HIV-positive is what makes it so enticing. It isn’t necessarily the risk of catching it from her, but mostly the knowledge that I can’t get infected, that Lady Luck will protect me from the HIV virus. Having sex with someone who has AIDS and not getting AIDS is just one of many things throughout my life that have made me feel completely invincible, like nothing in the world can bring me harm. I can do whatever I want and will never have to face the consequences of my actions, because my lucky streak is simply too strong. Finding out my lover has AIDS was the best thing that could ever happen to me, yet at the same time, it has its drawbacks, for now I doubt I could get aroused from any partner unless she had AIDS. For now, this isn’t a problem, but at some point the virus will kick in and Lori’s immune system will shut down and she will die a slow and agonizing death. The thought of the pain she will eventually have to face doesn’t bother me much, but when she is gone, I wonder how easy it would be to find another HIV-positive woman who I can coax into having sex with me and becoming my lover.

Oh well, I’m sure it will happen when the time comes.

 

The Drive Home

I love driving, especially in heavy traffic on the highway, like I’m doing right now during rush hour. The setting sun shines brightly in the sky during dusk as the road clogs thickly with each new motorist driving home after yet another long day at work. They drive at around forty miles per hour on a sixty-mile-per hour zone, sometimes blaring their horn angrily at one another. And then I burst onto the scene, racing my SUV at ninety miles per hour, weaving in and out of lanes, cutting people off at every turn just for the hell of it and laughing heartily as they slam on their breaks to keep from rear-ending me. I almost hope they do rear-end me, for that would be another lucky break because I could sue the pants off the poor bastards and get rich, then maybe just to spite them I’ll just throw all their money off a bridge or in a sewer grate.

Thinking of this reminds me of how I won the Powerball Jackpot last week. Lori doesn’t know that I won, nor does anyone else. The jackpot had been at $100,000,000 and I guessed the correct numbers. I bought the ticket not for the money, but for a small gamble, for I love gambling, not just for the potential rewards, but because of the risk involved, and how I always win big. I love the look on the loser’s faces when I kick their asses. I wish I could see the jealousy and envy on the faces of the millions of other people who played, so I could taunt them over how I won big and they all lost. Then I’d relish the aghast expressions they would hold if only they knew that that I had used my winning ticket to wipe my ass because I was running low on toilet paper and was going to be running low on money until my next paycheck.

I slam my foot harder on the accelerator now as the needle of my speedometer inches from ninety to a hundred miles per hour. I only wish that this were a convertible so I could feel the cool wind blowing against my hair. Maybe next time I win the Powerball Jackpot I might actually cash in and use the money to buy one--I’ve always wanted one. As I zoom through the highway, I press my foot hard against the break and within several minutes bring the speed back down to fifty miles per hour. For the hell of it, I then veer toward the left, still lowering my speed from fifty to forty, and cut in front of the Ford pickup that drives beside me. The driver blares his horn angrily and shoots his middle finger after almost colliding with my rear bumper. I laugh, greatly amused, and pick up speed once more, as I reach for my cell phone and give Lori a call.

“Hello,” she says, answering it after two rings.

“Hey, babe, it’s me,” I say, making a few smooching sounds into the speaker. “I just got the test results back. I’m nice and clean.”

“You are?” she says incredulously, still astonished that she hasn’t yet passed the virus onto me. It’s no surprise, of course, for I know I’ll never get it, and the only reason I even waste my time at the clinic to get tested is to set her mind at ease. “That’s wonderful.”

“Yes, it definitely is,” I agree. “I think I might be immune to AIDS.”

She paused, breathing through the speaker; it sounds as though it is an awkward moment for her, though she was never very comfortable discussing the subject even with me. I can understand that, I suppose, for it is her fault after all.

“I would hope so,” Lori said finally. “If it is the case, maybe you could donate your blood so we could get some kind of AIDS vaccine. Could help a lot of people.”

“I know,” I respond. “I’ll certainly think it over.”

I have to cover the speaker so Lori won’t hear me chuckling and laughing. Donate my blood so they might find a vaccine? Yeah, that’s a laugh! If I did that, it would be like sharing my good fortune with the rest of the world, and if everyone can avoid suffering like I do, then my luck wouldn’t be nearly as exhilarating. If you have something that everyone else has, it’s not special anymore. Lady Luck’s charm for me is like being in a building flooded with radiation with a group of other people, only I have a hazmat suit to protect me, while the others do not. Clearly, I would be a fool to give up my protection so I could suffer and die with the rest of those pathetic bastards. But if I were able to give them the same protection as myself, that would also decrease the comfort I felt, for they would be immune to the effects as I was. Instead, my protection would be enriched, because while I remained safe from the radiation and perfectly healthy, my comrades would eventually lose their hair and teeth, vomit their insides laced thickly with blood, and wither away dying miserably. Such a situation would have an erotic appeal to me, in fact.

But I suppose I will remain satisfied knowing that the love of my life is HIV-positive, and eventually she will die a horrible death, facing the consequences of her actions, while I remain spared no matter how many times I fucked the shit out of her. Just thinking about it now makes my entire body tingle with exuberance. I think sooner or later I might get into some blood sports with her as well, to shake things up again. And what makes the deal even sweeter is the knowledge that Lori cares so much about my health and is so concerned for my wellbeing and happiness. I truly am a lucky man to have someone who cares so deeply about me.

Ah, poor Lori, the naïve, stupid bitch!

“How are you holding up, anyway,” I ask, feigning concern and sympathy as soon as I remove my hand from the speaker after regaining control of my amusement. My eyes wander back to the speedometer, where the needle climbs once more to ninety miles per hour, and then veer sharply into the left lane, cutting off an eighteen wheeler.

“Well, you know, I’m getting by one day at a time,” she says meekly with a sigh.

I glance for a second into my rearview mirror and see red and blue light splashed from the flashers of the police cruiser behind me as its siren warbles and wails noisily while the cruiser closes in on me. “I think I’d better let you go now,” I say noncommittally. “I’ll be home in a few minutes anyway, then maybe we can have some fun.”

“Is that a police siren I hear?”

“Yeah, I think someone’s about to get pulled over.”

Lori sighs quietly and for a few minutes I can hear her heavy breathing. Then she asks: “Are you the one who got pulled over?” She sighs again. “You really have to stop pushing your luck all the time, you know. I love you to death, but you’re so careless and irresponsible.”

I’m getting a lecture about being responsible from Lori. How about that?

“It’s someone else getting pulled over, dear. Just relax. Everything’s gonna be okay, just like always. Goodbye.”

I hang up the phone and put it back in my pocket.

For a few minutes, as I veer to the lane in the right and the police cruiser follows closely behind, I consider speeding up and trying to outrun this fat pig. With my luck the way it is, I could do it easily; no matter how badly things might look at time. But things will end in my favor no matter how I play it, so instead I simply pull over into the breakdown lane and cooperate with whatever the officer asks of me, since that course of action seems like a lot less work.

 

“I gotcha clocked at ninety miles per hour,” the officer says after having verified my license and registration. He’s a bulky man with broad shoulders, but not hideously fat like I initially thought he would be. His dark hair is starting to go gray at the temples, as is his walrus mustache. He appears as though he hasn’t shaved in two days and his stubble makes it look like the bottom of his beefy, sweaty face is covered in dirt. The officer is ruggedly masculine, sort of like a burly Clint Eastwood, full of courage and the utmost confidence that he can handle any situation. He uses this rugged demeanor on me, gazing down upon me through his sunglasses, trying to intimidate me, though his attempts are in vain, for I too am without fear or intimidation and only shoot a wry grin at him as he stands there, explaining to me all the things that I have done wrong. “Ninety during rush hour and drivin’ like a maniac to boot.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, I must not have been paying much attention.”

“Kinda hard to pay attention when you’re babblin’ on yer cell phone. You didn’t even bother to use your turn singles before blastin’ in and outta those lanes.”

“I was talking to my fiancé. We were making plans for a big date tonight.”

“Were you in such a hurry that you didn’t even bother to wear your seatbelt? That’s another seventy-five bucks right there.”

“Oh, I get it--that whole ‘Click-It or Ticket’ campaign?”

“You should also know that your left taillight is out.”

I poke my head out the driver’s side window just enough to look behind, as the cars continue to zoom by, slowing down to see what all the commotion is about on my end, then driving off without looking back once they realized that this is just a routine speeding ticket. “Oh yeah, that. Yeah, I’ve been meaning to get that fixed? Just kinda slipped my mind, I guess.”

“This ain’t no joke! Your license has been expired for the past two years--”

“Two years? Shit, where does the time go?”

“--and you’re driving without insurance. That’s illegal and I’m under obligation to haul your ass to jail because of it.”

“Well, I don’t like the way those insurance companies fuck you up the ass like they do, and hey, it’s not like I’ll ever get into an accident, so why should I waste my money on that crap?”

“It’s the law, that’s why.”

I shrug. “If I never get into an accident, it’ll never be an issue.”

“Sir, I don’t like your attitude, and I’m gonna have to ask you to cease this crap immediately.”

I throw my head back and burst out laughing so hard that tears fall from my eyes as I hammer my fists against the steering wheel so hard that it beeps my horn. “I’m sorry,” I stutter as I come close to once more regaining my composure. “Would you prefer that I appear more sympathetic and beg for mercy from the big bad traffic cop? Maybe I should go down on my hands and knees and kiss your feet, balls, and lick your ass while begging forgiveness. Would you like that?”

The officer shakes his head and sighed as he wipes the sweat from his brow. “I don’t think you’re funny.”

“Yeah, I don’t either,” I snicker.

“Step outta the vehicle, sir, I’m gonna perform a few tests to make sure you’re not drunk?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Do I appear to be drunk?”

The officer nods. “Most people who act like you are after they get pulled over are usually pretty wasted, and with the way you were drivin’ back there, I wouldn’t be surprised. Now get your butt outta the car and let’s go!”

 

And so I take all of his field sobriety tests: I touch my hands to my nose while singing the alphabet forwards and backwards, and I cross his line without tripping or stumbling anywhere, and when all is said and done, I return to my SUV, brushing my hands against my blond hair as I blink, staring across all of the cars passing by as the highway begins to grow congested and each lane is now clogged. I sigh, not looking forward to the drive home, but at the same time remain confident that by the time I am released, it will have cleared up and I’ll have an easy time weaving in and out of lanes just as I did before.

“Well, ya passed all the field sobriety tests,” the officer informed me.

“Told you I wasn’t drunk.”

The officer looks at me resentfully, licking his lips as he fishes through his pockets with his right hand while his left hand holds up a notepad in the air. He sighs and adjusts his sunglasses before squeezing the bridge of his nose. “Well,” he said dourly and with deep resignation. “I seem to’ve misplaced my pen.”

“Sorry, I don’t have one either.”

“I didn’t think you’d give me one if ya did.” The officer’s face reddens as he sighs sullenly, shaking his head. “Man, this’s so embarrassin’.” He bites his lip, then decides: “Okay, I’m gonna let’cha off with a warnin’ this time, but ya’d better shape up, that’s all I gotta say.”

I nodded, smiling amiably. “Thank you, officer. I really appreciate it.”

 

Lightning Strikes

One afternoon when I was seven years old and walking home from a candy shop, it started to rain. Clouds had already gathered, turning the sky a dreary tone of silver gray, but I didn’t know it would rain until it already began to happen and didn’t care either, for I had my pouch of candy, thus all was right with the world as far as I was concerned. Even as it started to pour and the rain chilled me, making me shiver as I broke out in gooseflesh, and dreading a potential storm, I was filled with elation, for I loved candy, especially Swedish fish. A few cars zoomed by and splashed water from the puddles at the side of the road, which I found dimly frustrating, but that wouldn’t be enough to get my spirits down either.

I was then startled and literally jumped into the air, the bag of candy nearly slipping from my fingers, as thunder crackled, going off like a sonic boom nearby. I screamed and clutched my candy bag tightly against my chest as my heart rate doubled, then tripled, and my stomach coiled tightly into a painful knot. This was one of the few times in my life that I can remember ever being truly afraid of anything.

I started to run as the pouring rain soaked me and my hair was matted to my scalp and my cloths clung to my back like another layer of wet skin. Although I’ve never been clumsy at all, even when I was a child, I slid across the soaking dirt and grass, my feet kicking up as I fumbled and nearly slipped and fell on my back before I was finally able to regain my footing, breathing heavily.

Another crack of thunder boomed close by and my body jolted as my right ankle struck the left. My feet left the ground and my head thrust forward as the momentum flung me forward. The bag of candy slipped from my fingers, spilling all the pieces of candy, which scattered amid the grass around me. I threw out my hands frantically to break my fall just as my knees sloshed against the wet dirt and grass. I opened my mouth to scream just as my face hit the ground and I grunted instead as a sudden onrush of air blasted from my mouth. Blades of grass tickled my eyes and caressed the inside of my nose. For a few minutes, I lay face-down on the ground, shivering as the rain pattered against my back.

I gasped as I reached my hand out, groping at the blades of grass before me. I inhale and lift my head, remaining now propped on my hands and knees, wheezing and panting. I gasped and let out a shrill cry as more thunder went off in the distant horizon and lightning flickered like a brief flash of a strobe light.

Slowly and shakily I rose to my feet and stumbled quickly forward. Tears were streaming down my face, mingled with rain. I had lost my candy and my blue Bugs Bunny shirt and beige shorts were now covered in green and brown streaked stains from grass and mud, which my mom would probably beat me for later, but at that moment I seriously did not give a shit. I only wanted to get the hell out of there as fast as my scrawny legs would carry me. And so I ran, my arms swinging and whipping against my upper torso as my feet kicked up water and small clumps of mud in the air.

I never saw the bolt of lightning that finally took me down, but I felt a sudden electrical shock starting around the small of my back, narrowly missing my spine. My entire body now convulsed as spasms of electricity surged throughout my entire body. I screamed as my head jerked sharply back and then thrust forward and my arms swung and shot out seemingly of their own accord. The electricity seemed to intensify. I wanted to scream, but the surge robbed me of my breath. I fell to the ground, my entire body shaking as though I were having a seizure.

From there, I think I left my body briefly, for I had a vision of myself laying facedown on the grass, my limbs twitching faintly. It was as though I were gazing from above, watching someone else. Yet it was my body laying there, drenched from the heavy rainfall. It was my lanky blond hair that was now standing up on my scalp, stiffened from the electrical surge. Steam rose from my body and I could almost hear myself sizzling. Aside from the twitching of my limbs, there was no movement. Time stood still as I peered down at my own body, but I wasn’t afraid, for it was a tranquil stillness. I was at peace and whatever terror I felt from the lightning storm was now completely vanquished.

I’m not sure whether or not to call this a near-death experience, for I only had the experience of leaving my body and nothing more. I saw no tunnel of light, nor did I enter Heaven, or wherever we go after we die, and wasn’t reunited with anyone I knew that had died. The next thing I remember was awakening in the hospital, while my parents, my siblings, a doctor, and a nurse huddled by my bedside.

 

About a year earlier, when I was only six, I was outside with my best friend at the time, Bryan, whose house I had been sleeping over. We were playing outside with our toy guns at Bryan’s house, during a thunderstorm, unmindful of the rain but exhilarated nevertheless, for we were not supposed to be out here. Bryan’s mom ordered us to stay inside so we wouldn’t get struck by lightning or get sick. We went outside, perhaps reluctantly, but neither of us wanted to appear weak or afraid in front of the other. And we had plenty of fun for a while, shooting phantom soldiers from an invisible enemy. Both of our fathers were heavily interested in anything to do with World War II and we had both inherited such an infatuation, thus pretended to be United States troops fighting the evil Nazi forces in war-torn Europe during the 1940s.

I’ll never forget what I saw that night. The image of Bryan as he was suddenly struck by lightning will forever linger on my mind, though no longer haunting my dreams as it once had, thankfully. His piercing cries cut like a lance through my eardrums. Perturbed, but not yet panicking, I turned toward Bryan. My mouth hung open and my body froze, paralyzed in fear at what now lay before my eyes. I watched as wave upon wave of electricity swept over his convulsing body. His face contorted from screams of agony as his body seemed to jerk and spasm in every direction all at once and his hair stood, stiffened and standing on end over his scalp. The electricity surged and radiated along his body, and then stopped as suddenly as it had started. Bryan fell to the ground and stopped moving.

“Bryan!” I cried, horrified by what I just saw and hurried toward him.

As I lurched forward, I threw out my left hand and placed the palm lightly over his cheek, immediately recoiling from the sudden electrical shock that surged all the way up my shaking arm the moment my flesh met his. I shrieked shrilly as I backed away and fell on my ass, still feeling the burning sting of electricity lingering upon the palm of my stiffened hand. I looked in horror at what had become of Bryan. He lay on his stomach, with smoke billowing thickly from his body. His head was turned in such a way so that he was facing me, and I saw that his eyes no longer had pupils or irises, but were instead completely white, like twin pearls within his eye sockets.

After that night I became utterly terrified of lightning. While most kids my age feared ghosts, vampires, and monsters lurking beneath the bed, I feared the next lightning storm and sometimes panicked if it so much as drizzled, for fear that the rain would intensify and lightning would flash before me. Whenever a thunderstorm hit, I would curl into a fetal ball, crying hysterically and inconsolably as I was once again reminded of Bryan’s horrific fate.

Perhaps my parents were somewhat concerned over my plight, yet they had other matters that drew their attention away from my terrors and nightmares. Their marriage was falling apart because of the long hours my father was forced to work to put food on the table, and my mother was flirting too much with another man (whom she would later sleep with, and that would prove to be the final straw that led to the divorce in 1983). My father’s alcoholism was another burden upon the family, which weighed heavily on my mother’s heart and patience. My younger sister Kimberly was starting Kindergarten and was having a difficult time adjusting to all the changes and fitting in with the rest of the class, who maliciously teased her for her speech impediment. My older brother Kyle was learning how to drive. And with all of this going on with my family, I remained alone, privately dreading the next thunderstorm and fearing that the next bolt of lighting would plow through the roof of the house and smote me, leaving me dead just like Bryan.

 

But not anymore!

I had now been struck by lightning, but I hadn’t died, thus my fear of thunderstorms diminished once I awoke in the hospital room and realized that I was very much alive. Surviving what had killed my friend was liberating. Cheating death did not give me a greater appreciation for the life I led, but it made me feel powerful, nonetheless. “You’re a very lucky boy, you know,” the doctor informed me. It was only later that I realized the true implications of what he had said. Indeed I was lucky. Lady Luck found me and saved me on that day and has been looking after me ever since. I am safe now, completely invulnerable thanks to her charm; nothing will ever hurt me, and I was never afraid of anything, nor had reason to fear anything, ever again after that.

 

Armed Robbery

I live on the forty-forth floor of an apartment complex located in a rather dangerous area of a metropolitan city. Around here, murders are frequent, and theft, burglary, and armed robbery are even greater problems. Despite these conditions, I never bother to lock my door when I go to work, out for the night, or anywhere else for that matter. Lori is usually home anyway, though she always locks the door when she leaves (she is much more cautious than I am, and has been becoming more careful about everything ever since she gave up her heroin addiction), but even if she is not, I don’t bother locking the door myself. Despite this, my place never gets robbed. Nearly all the other flats in the building have been robbed at one time or another and the tenants lost highly valuable items such as computers, TVs, DVD players, couches, jewelry, and other valuables. Sometimes I leave my front door wide open, and still no one walks in to steal anything and my belongings stay right where they are.

About a year ago, someone did try to steal from my place. They walked out with my TV, and not realizing there was an elevator, the idiot tried hauling the TV down several flights of stairs. The poor bastard missed a step and fell, cascading down about ten steps before landing on the floor, only have the TV land on him and crush his head. It was just as well, for that TV had been a piece of shit anyway, and I was meaning to replace it; the jackass merely saved me the trouble of disposing of it properly, so I guess you could call it another lucky break for me.

In any case, this is not the type of neighborhood you would want to let your kids wander around, whether during the night or during the day. A woman walking down this dark alley that I strut smugly down now would most likely wind up getting mugged and raped by a predator lurking in the shadows, yet I roam to my home without an ounce of fear, grinning as my eyes veer up ahead to the indigo sky and a full moon glints in the darkness. I feel perfectly safe here and my mind is completely serene. As a cool breeze caresses over me I can almost feel my lover, Lady Luck, covering the back of my neck with her sweet kisses.

“Hey buddy, got any change,” calls a homeless man sitting beneath a torn and dusty blue blanket, his back and the back of his head pressed against the wall as he sits near a dumpster, looking at me with drunken bloodshot eyes. His teeth--or whatever is left of them in his rancid, decayed mouth--are now completely black and dangling loosely over his gums, which appear to have spots of tar clinging loosely to them. There are dark circles under his eyes and his face is covered with boils as pus oozes out from one of the gashes near his brow. Flies swarm around the man, who reeks of sweat, piss, and vomit, and a few flies crawl and eat away at the crusting strands of spaghetti clinging to his scraggly beard. He puts out a hand--a gesture demanding that I give him what he wants--and on his fingers his skin is pealing off, looking as though it were dried paste over the hands of a first-grader in art class.

“Fuck off and die, pathetic vermin,” I mutter coldly.

“C’mon buddy, jus’ a few bucks. I’m starvin’ here,” he says, pleading with me as his tongue licks his chapped lips.

I stand before him and pull out my wallet, flashing a stack of about eight twenty-dollar bills, two tens, a five, and some singles, ruffling through each bill as the bum’s eyes light up like a kid during Christmas. I frown, shaking my head at him. “I’d like to help you out,” I said with feigned disappointment as I thumb through the stack of bills and then put them back in my wallet and return my wallet to my pocket. “But as you can see, I’m a bit short of cash at the moment. I’m terribly sorry.”

The bum curls his hand into a fist as anger and jealousy sets his eyes aflame. He grits his rotting teeth at me and growls, sounding sickly, as though he is hissing and gasping for air. “Y’sum’bitch, I hope y’cock rots off.”

“Thank you for the well wishes. Have a nice day.” I grin and walk away.

A short while later I am again stopped, accosted by a trembling man with a full beard and a shaved head, carrying a .45 caliber handgun. His green eyes lock into mine, yet in his there is no determination; only terror and apprehension. Beads of sweat drip down his brow and cheeks as his lips quiver. His .45 is aimed at my throat, yet his whole arm is shaking uncontrollably, and I can almost hear the rapid beats of his hammering heart. He is dressed in a black vest and white sweatshirt, with blue jeans that are torn around the knees and work boots. On both forearms are tattoos of green and red vines growing intertwined with one another, and on his forehead is another tattoo of a black cross. The man’s ears are both covered with metal earrings, as is his eyelid and I can see a dumbbell going through his tongue. He apparently likes to appear tough, yet is terrified all the same. He breathes heavily and sniffles as his free hand wipes the sweat off of his brow. The man opens his mouth to speak, and only coughs nervously instead with a croak and a gasp. “Gimme you’re money, now!” he demands, trying to hide the stammer in his voice as the gun nearly slips from his sweaty hand.

“I’d rather not,” I say coolly. “I work hard for my money and I need it to survive.”

“This ain’t a joke, asshole!” he barks with another nervous cough and gasp. “This is the real deal. This gun’s loaded and I’ll shoot’cha dead if ya don’t gimme yer money this instant!” He takes a trembling step forward, putting both hands tightly over the gun as one of his thumbs cocks the hammer.

“Then go ahead and shoot me. Think I’m afraid to die?”

The robber squeezes his left hand over his dampened cheek and lets out a moan as he licks his lips and bites his lower lip. “Quit fuckin’ around, goddamn it! This is your last fuckin’ chance, now gimme your fuckin’ money!”

“Why don’t you get a job and earn some money like the rest of us.”

The robber hesitates, and then squeezes the trigger, but nothing happens. “What the fuck?” he exclaims, shocked that nothing happened. He squeezes the trigger again, and again nothing happens. “Fuckin’ thing’s jammed. I don’t fuckin’ believe this shit! It’s fuckin’ jammed. Fuck!” His left hand curls into a fist and I can see his veins protruding like cords through his skin as he presses his sallow teeth tightly together and all the veins in his neck and forehead now stick out as his eyes water and spittle flies from his lips. “Goddamn this fuckin’ thing!” he cries, frustrated and beginning to panic, and I stand there and watch, transfixed and laughing as the entire comical scene takes place. “Fuckin’ piece’a shit!”

His hand closes around the barrel of the gun as he swings it to the side in a horizontal arc. The butt of the gun slams against the brick wall to his side, tripping the hammer. A loud report is set off with a bright flash that lights up the alley briefly as the robber’s thumb and index finger almost leap off his right hand in a thick spatter of blood which splashes against my cheek. For a few seconds, as his hand is now spurting blood thickly, I can make out the tendons dangling like spaghetti from the bleeding stubs where his severed thumb and finger used to be. The round burrows deep into the robber’s temple with yet another spatter of blood which splashes against my face and seeps into my mouth, leaving behind a salty taste that coats my tongue. The other side of the man’s head ruptures open with a burst of blood, bone splinters, and gray matter that vomits from the large exit wound. For a few seconds, I think I can almost make out the man’s eye popping like a grape inside his socket before his blood and brains become caked against the brick wall of the building. The man’s jaw hangs askew over the jumbled, gory mess that is left of his face. For a second, his one good eye fixes on me, though I suspect that it is just residual nerve tissue. His legs collapse and he falls, sprawled on the cement ground, lying in a pool of his own blood as his body continues to twitch faintly.

From a distance, in the shadows, I could’ve sworn I just heard rats scurrying about.

I stand and watch the whole thing taking place, laughing my fucking ass off!

In mystery novels and movies, criminals are often portrayed as being swift cunning, resourceful, and intelligent. In the real world, however, this is not always the case. Just pick up any Stupid Crooks book and you’ll read brief stories and vignettes of criminals who are either stupid, clumsy, or both and in the end are so moronic that they wind up defeating themselves like this dead moron did just now.

Oh well, I guess I’d better do the responsible thing and report the incident to the police. I just hope to remember to report what happened to the Darwin Awards as well, because this fucking idiot has definitely earned a place there!

 

Welcome Home

Finally, after several hours of dealing with the hassle of reporting the incident to the police and giving them account after account of what happened, I am finally able to return home. Lori is waiting by the couch and her eyes light up, beaming with joyous relief after she sees me walking in through the front door into the living room. “Oh my God, are you okay?” she asks frantically, yet excited to see me at the same time, and I have time to think how truly lucky I am to have a such a caring and wonderful woman as my lover.

“I’m alive, aren’t I? And I haven’t been shot.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks, frowning. “I mean, even after what happened and everything…”

I shrug. “Hey, I survived a plane crash when I was a kid while everyone else got completely burned and torn apart. Seeing some moron accidentally shoot himself in the head just doesn’t faze me anymore.”

Her frown deepens as she squeezes her dark eyes tightly shut, putting her hand over her mouth as she swallows and then sighs. “What happened, Trent?”

“I already told you over the phone at the police station.”

“Yeah, I know, but--” she pauses, biting her lip as she makes another swallowing motion again and blinks. “Did he give you a chance to give him the money?” she asks finally, reluctantly. “Did you in anyway provoke him to shoot you?”

“The guy pulled a gun on me. Was pretty unprovoked.”

“I guess,” she murmurs with a sigh, shaking her head as she rubs the pads of her fingers across her temples and sits down at the couch in front of the TV, which is turned off. “I’m hoping you gave him the money, or were going to--”

I sit down next to her, putting my arm around her shoulder. “Well--”

“Jesus, Trent, you can’t keep pushing your luck like this. You’re not bullet proof.”

“I know,” I reply, kissing her lips lightly and thinking in the back of my mind: With my luck, I don’t have to be.

I stroke my arm around the small of her back as our lips lock together in an enduring kiss, with our eyes closed as we bask in one another’s beauty and radiance and the love we hold for one another. As my tongue probes the roof of her mouth and flaps against hers, I have time to think, and to doubt whether I should look at the world the way I do, and whether I should relish the suffering of someone who I love and whom I should hold so dear. For that matter, I begin to feel guilty--as I have a few times in the past--for always coming out lucky even at the expense of others. But it is now, with a darkening heart, that I ask myself: What right do I have to prosper if everyone else is in strife? It is at these moments of weakness when feelings of self-loathing invade my heart and I actually feel sickened and literally nauseous when I think of all that I am and how my luck has blessed me. Thankfully such feelings are always short lived and infrequent, or they would drive me insane, though the guilt and remorse does crop up when I least expect it. As I kiss Lori again and reach my hand into her jeans so my fingers can massage her clit, I banish such vile thoughts from my mind and bask in the moment of pleasure we both provide for one another.

Fuck guilt and fairness! I have a great thing going; only a fool would give it up.

 

Serene Nightfall

After making love to Lori, I stand outside on the fire escape, gazing at the clear night sky with the full moon hovering over me and stars twinkling in the black sky. I feel much better now, completely free of guilt, for which I am glad, for it is such a major annoyance for me. I would rather feel good about myself and embrace all that has happened to me than to feel bad about it for whatever reason. I have no reason to feel guilty or remorseful anyway. No matter how much I enjoy the suffering of others, I never instigate it in any way; I have never intentionally brought harm to anybody or sabotaged their happiness in any way, and I never will. Their plight would be just as horrible with or without my presence or existence, which has no bearing upon what they are going through. As sadistic as I might be, the horrible things I take pleasure in are things that have already happened due to outside circumstances completely beyond my control, therefore I am not hurting anybody in any way and have nothing to feel bad for.

As I stand there, my hands closed loosely around the railing of the fire escape and my feet stand motionless and firmly planted upon the grated surface, I am completely at peace and smile, peering down upon the dark alley where I was nearly robbed a few hours ago. Lori is in the shower at the moment, and when she is done, we will be sure to get something to eat, maybe order takeout pizza or something. We’ll decide when the time comes. A cool night breeze caresses the nape of my neck as I fart quietly and feel even better than before at having released the buildup of gases in my rectum. Everything is truly wonderful and the world is my oyster.

“I love you, Lady Luck,” I murmur softly and serenely into the night.

As the winds strengthen in force and whistle past me, I can almost hear my lover whispering back to me, soothingly into my ear: I love you, too. As the wind ruffles through my hair, it feels almost like a lover’s embrace.

My eyes wander and the lights of the other apartments both in my building and the one across from me are on…well, most of them anyway, but most of the shades have been drawn and the few instances where they have not been drawn, I can see only a faint silhouette of a man or a woman and cannot distinguish what they are doing. Poor bastards, I think with a wry grin and a chuckle. If only you were as lucky as me. Ah, but then it wouldn’t be so special. I smile and peer down upon the dark alley four stories below me, which appears now to be empty, save for the dumpsters lying against the wall and all of the garbage and debris lying scattered on the ground in every direction. Even the drunk homeless guy left once the investigation into the robber’s death began, but that has now been wrapped up; an open-and-shut case.

Once more everything works out in my favor.

I sit now on the railing of the fire escape, staring through the slider door that leads into my kitchen, with the light still illuminating the room inside. I lean slightly back. If I should fall, I would plummet four stories to the hard cement road, most likely to my death, but I know I won’t fall. If Lori sees me like this, she’ll no doubt nag me some more about how I am always pushing my luck, and how if I slip and fall I’d end up dead or crippled for the rest of my life, which may be worse. If only she knew how lucky I was, she wouldn’t pester me about shit like this, as though she were my mother instead of my fiancé. Another swift breeze rustles by, making my body shiver as the wind pushes me slightly back, and for a few minutes a feeling of uneasiness grows within me as I fear that I actually might flip backward and fall to my doom. I might get off anyway, for the position I am sitting in is getting uncomfortable because the thin metal railing is now digging into my buttocks. I swing backwards, then gently forwards again, swaying too and fro as my ass presses further into the metal, to the point where it is starting to hurt now; a dull pain applied by the pressure of the thin metal beam against my flesh. Nevertheless the thrill of my luck is once again renewed; the exhilarating delight that comes in knowing that swaying on this railing could result in me falling over, but that it won’t because Lady Luck would never forsake me.

I throw my hands into the air with a cheer. I am invincible!

As I lean back one last time, another breeze sweeps past me, nudging my body slightly, yet it is enough momentum to push me back and send me hurling in a downward spiral. As the back of my head thrusts backwards and I fall, I feel a sharp pain burst forth in my legs as the backs of both knees slam and rebound against the metal railing and my feet shoot upward, the toes of my shoes pointing toward the full moon. I am falling harder, faster with each passing second as I dive downward, plunging four stories in the dark as the wind blasts in my face. I scream, for this is the first time since I was a child that I have ever been terrified, and I know now that it will be the last time as well. I scream shrilly, throwing my hands outward as the ground rushes to my face. As I continue to plummet, my body stiffens and remains for the most part perfectly straight, except for a slight curve around the small of my back. My feet remain firmly planted into the air while my head remains pointed downward, my nose aimed at the ground. Except for my contorted features resulting from my frightened shrieks, and the fact that my hands are separated and my fingers are splayed, I look sort of like I am taking a swan dive, without any grace or magnificence. While the fall is only four stories, it seems like an endless drop and time stands still. For a few minutes, when my screams failed to drown out my thoughts, I try to tell myself that this isn’t really happening and it seems for a while that I leave my body that this is happening to someone else, because Lady Luck surely would not so coldly abandon me. It is enough to provoke an outburst of laughter that sounds distant to my ears, until I feel sudden warmth in my crotch that is my urine, which poured out of me as my legs began to kick outward. With that realization, I have just enough time to realize one thing, before my body hits the ground, and the last thing I hear is the snapping of my own neck as my bones shatter upon impact:

My luck has finally run out.

The End

June 04, 2004
June 19, 2004