Lucky Be, Lucky

(for Fandango’s FOWC Lucky).

Lucky Be, Lucky

Rain pattered on the glass. Lucky held his ear to the pane and smiled.

“What does it have to say?” Rona asked as she tidied the kitchen.

“It says it’s going to rain today, that the plants will be watered, that the river will flow, that the dust will be washed into the earth.”

“We’re very lucky, then, aren’t we?” Rona smiled at the enthusiasm. Lucky did it every day. Each time he had a visitor coming, he’d find a way to make the most of the day.

“Are you ready?” she asked him.

The face of the young man smoothed, his lips straightened under the hapless attempt at a moustache. His eyes closed and opened, one blue and one green, and he moved his head to look toward the stairs. “I’ll do it in a minute.”

“Okay, but don’t forget. You don’t want to get lost in time again, do you?”

The deep sigh, the slump of shoulders, the hang-dog look.

“You’ve been practicing,” Rona said, “but it’s not going to work on me. I know you too well. Go upstairs and have a shower, get dressed. It’s nearly time.”

The doorbell rang, Lucky bounced up from the window seat and ran upstairs. Rona put down the last spoon and walked to the front door. They were early.

She opened the door. Two men hunched together under the shelter of the portico. Rona frowned.

“Can I help you?” she asked, holding the door steady and scanning the street.

“We’re here for Lucky,” the taller man held his hat on his head while wind whipped water sideways on his face. “Lucky Day, isn’t it?”

“Not for you,” Rona pushed the door closed, peered through the peep-hole.

The two men whispered behind their hands. The taller one reached forward. The bell rang.

“What do you want?” Rona yelled through the closed door.

“He’s our Lucky today, and he’s coming with us.” Anger tinged the words.

“We’re expecting others, so he’s not yours today.” Or any day, if Rona could stop them.

“We’ve paid good for him to come with us, and we’re not leaving without him.”

A pale hand came to rest on Rona’s wrist and pulled her away from the door. Lucky smiled, both eyes now green. “Let them have what they want, so they’ll learn the lesson of real luck.”

Rona stepped back. Lucky opened the door and stepped out. He walked down the path toward the road. The two men ran to catch up, one holding the umbrella over Lucky as he strode along in his best blue suit.

“When will you be back?” Rona asked the empty portico.

“When the greed is washed away,” came the whisper on the wind. “When luck becomes the need to learn the value of life, rather than the need of empty promises.”

The voices faded with a gust of wind. The voices weren’t real, not this time, although, the first time she’d heard them spoken, she’d panicked and checked the house for any bits of tech. Or unknown visitors.

They were Lucky’s words, his lessons for those who chose to use his luck to make a buck, but after the first time … they never came back.

“Luck is what we make with love,” Lucky always said, “not what we take with force.”

Photo by Spencer Selover on

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