As Luck Would
Have It
By: Jamie
Marchant
The
trouble started this morning when I was making my way to back to my hovel. I
was nearing my neighborhood when I heard the unmistakable m-m-m-r-r-o-o-w of a
cat fight. Out of an alley shot a grey tabby chased by a large tom as dark as
midnight. I’m not normally a suspicious person, and a black cat crossing my
path wouldn’t normally bother me, but in pursuing his rival this black cat
twined himself around my legs, causing me to trip and slam my head into a three-foot
high brick wall. Since I was already so close to the ground and the world was
spinning, I deemed it appropriate to continue the rest of the way and lay still
for a moment. At the time, I didn’t realize the fall had torn my shirt,
revealing a gold chain I had recently acquired.
“Are
you alright, sir?” called a street urchin who’d been sleeping in the alley.
I
groaned in response, certain I’d fractured my skull. Before I realized what was
happening, little hands tugged at the chain, the clasp broke, and little feet
took off running. I stumbled to my feet to see the child disappear around the
corner. I’d scaled a five-story building and sneaked through a window into a
lady’s chamber to acquire that chain, risking arrest and hanging, and I wasn’t
going to let some street child steal it from me. Besides, I couldn’t countenance
theft in one so young.
I
had two problems in my plan to apprehend the villain. One was the cut above my
eyebrow, causing blood to flow into my right eye, and the second was the still-spinning
world. You must take this into account and not blame me too heavily for what
happened next. Gamely, I took off in pursuit of the thieving scoundrel and
rounded the corner. I did not see the ladder until it was too late to stop. Now,
as I’ve said, I’m not normally a superstitious person, and I have run under
many a ladder with impunity, but this time, because of the blood in my eye and
my none-too-steady balance, I rammed my shoulder against one of the rungs,
causing the ladder to topple and the workman using it to fall. I did my best to
cushion his fall, seeing that he landed on top of me. Not only did this knock
the air completely out of my lungs, but as I fell, my purse caught on the
ladder and tore, scattering rings and other baubles.
The
noise—the workman howling at the top of his lungs, as I might have been if I
could catch a breath—drew a small crowd. “Well, well, well, what have we here,”
a voice said, as the workman was helped off of me. “If it isn’t young Phineus.”
To
my horror, I discovered the voice belonged to Constable Rawlins. The good
constable had been trying to apprehend me for some time, but when the world was
not spinning and I could see out of both eyes, I was—and I can say this without
boasting—the fastest runner in the city of Longston Beachidea. A hand grabbed
me and hauled me roughly to my feet while I was still struggling to get air
back into my lungs.
Believing
my neck sufficiently long without having it stretched, I desperately scanned my
surroundings for a way to extricate myself from my predicament. That was when I
saw it. An owl flying in the daylight is the worse kind of luck and a sure
death omen, but since I’m not a superstitious man, I didn’t fear for myself.
Instead, I pointed. “Hey, look, it’s an owl.”
The
owl conveniently hooted to confirm its identity. Fortunately, the crowd,
especially Constable Rawlins, was superstitious, and while they were busy
making the sign against evil, I was able to wriggle free.
I
never saw the hole until I was through it. Now, I’m not talking about a hole in
the ground or any benign hole in a wall. I’m talking about a gaping hole in
reality—a rip, if you will, in the space-time continuum. I know you are going
to say: “How could you not see a ragged rift of absolute darkness and horror?
These holes have been around for the last twenty years, virtually your entire
life.” And yes, on two previous
occasions I have had the misfortune to fall through such holes. But please take
into account my diminished eyesight, the continued spinning of the world, and
the pursuit of the angry constable.
With
the proper application of magic, people have always been able to open a passage
between Aracidia, my home realm, and Earth, Aracidia’s technological sister
realm, but it took a wizard of enormous power. For the last twenty years, however,
holes have been randomly opening both here in Aracidia and on Earth, and people
inadvertently crossing between realms has not been an uncommon occurrence,
although believe me, it is dangerous and most unpleasant. It’s estimated that
one of every two people who enters a rift doesn’t appear on the other side. What
happens to them no one knows. Why these rifts in reality have started to occur is
also a mystery. Some believe the use of nuclear weapons on Earth is
responsible. Others think it was out of control, power-mad wizards here that
did it. Or perhaps the two forces combined to disrupt the space-time continuum.
I don’t care why. I just know that falling through a hole hurt.
One
minute I was barreling down the street, hoping to duck into a convenient alley
and lose the constable, and the next I was having every atom in my body thrown
about in ways atoms weren’t supposed to be thrown. Then I was lying on my back,
surrounded by a bunch of men in orange jumpsuits. Somehow I had landed straight
in the middle of the Long Beach city jail. What were the odds of that
happening?
I’ve
had the misfortune to end up in Long Beach twice before. The second occasion I
fell through such holes, I spent time in the jail—all because of a
misunderstanding, I assure you—before I was lucky enough to find a hole in the
space-time continuum to take me back to Aracidia.
“Wow,
man!” one of the prisoners said. “It’s that dude from Aracidia.” At least I
think that’s what he said, my atoms still trying to resemble themselves.
I
blinked and wiped the blood out of my eye. I noticed a rabbit’s foot hanging
from the zipper of another prisoner. As luck would have it, he also had a
tattoo of a four-leaf clover on his wrist. While rabbit’s feet and clovers are
supposed to be signs of luck, this combination was certainly not lucky for me.
You see, I recognized that tattoo. Its owner and I had had a slight
misunderstanding. He seemed to be under the impression that I had stolen a gold
ring he used to wear on his right hand while, I assure you, I had merely
borrowed it to check the quality of the workmanship, which, actually, was very
fine.
“Martin,”
I said, using my most charming smile. “So nice to see you again.”
Martin
smiled, but it wasn’t a smile of friendly greeting. Instead, it was the same
smile he had worn while beating me to a bloody pulp over the misunderstanding
regarding the ring. I was contemplating whether Martin or Constable Rawlings
was a bigger threat to me when the hole closed as abruptly as it had opened,
trapping me in the prison yard. “I told you if I ever saw your face again I was
going to break every bone in your body.”
I
stumbled to my feet and noticed that Martin was surrounded by twelve of his
friends. I quickly added this up and determined that made thirteen of them.
Now, as I have said, I’m not normally a suspicious man, and the number thirteen
usually meant no more to me than any other number, but being outnumbered
thirteen to one did seem a tad unlucky. “Ah, yes, I believe you did, but I
assure you I had no intention of coming here. I didn’t notice the hole.”
Martin
raised his eyebrows. “How could you miss seeing the hole?”
“Well
. . er . . . I was kind of being chased at the time.” I explained all about the
cat, the street urchin, the ladder, and the constable who wanted to see me
hang.
“What
were you thinking?” said the tallest of Martin’s friends. “Everybody knows
black cats and ladders are the worst kind of luck.”
Martin
laughed. “Very bad luck for scrawny here.” He gave me a light push in the
chest.
I looked
around frantically for a prison guard, the only time in my life I’ve desired to
see a representative of the law. But the guards were on the far side of the
yard and had not noticed my arrival.
Tall
pulled out a sharp piece of glass, and I realized it was a piece of a broken
mirror. “I say we carve up his face.”
Now,
as I have said, I’m not a superstitious man, but even a non-superstitious man
will find his beauty marred by a broken mirror. “You said break every bone in
my body. Nothing was said about carving up my face.” I objected, trying to back
away.
As
luck would have it, the broken mirror caught the sunlight and reflected it into
the eyes of another group of prisoners—a gang of the Aryan Brotherhood. I
should perhaps explain that my skin is none too light. Besides, I recognized
the head Brother from my prior stint in the Long Beach city jail. His name was
Justin, and we too had had a misunderstanding, my having made some remark about
his parentage involving a dog and a baboon.
He
signaled to the other members of the Brotherhood, and they too converged on me.
I counted quickly and discovered there were also thirteen of them. I racked my
brain for something clever to say to avoid getting every bone in my body broken
and my face carved like a pumpkin. The best I could think of was a joke about
why the Nazi crossed the road that I didn’t think either group would
appreciate.
They
stopped advancing about two feet from me. “Here’s ours,” said Martin, staring
at the head Brother.
“You
can have what’s left of him when we’re through with him,” Justin said.
I
put up a hand toward each of them. “Now, ladies, no need to fight over me.” This
may not have been the smartest thing to say because both men stopped glaring at
each other and turned their full attention to me. But at that moment, I saw a
penny lying face up at my feet. Now, I’m not normally a suspicious man, and I
have left many a penny lie, but today I reached for it. At that exact moment,
both men swung for me, but because of the penny, I was no longer there, and
they hit each other instead.
An
all-out brawl erupted, and I was able to crawl free of the fray with scarcely a
bruise to show for it. While I was congratulating myself on my escape, I looked
down and saw the crack in the concrete directly under my feet. Not knowing who
my mother was, I was not much concerned with breaking my momma’s back, but I
noticed the crack start to widen and realized it was not an ordinary crack, but
another rift in the space-time continuum. What are the odds of encountering two
on the same day?
Before
I could decide whether to jump aside or allow myself to fall through it, I was
sucked into the fathomless void to have my atoms thrown about again. I nearly
laughed in relief when I found myself on my back on the streets of my beloved
Longston Beachidea.
Then
I glanced to the side and saw a pair of boots. I looked up to find that they
belonged to—you guessed it—Constable Rawlings.
If you enjoyed this story, let me know in the comments. You can find more like it in the collection. The eversion is only $2.99.
No comments:
Post a Comment