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You Make Your Own Luck

A story with an undetermined end.

By Miranda D.Published 5 years ago 6 min read
1

A thirty-four year old man sits wrapped in his scraps of clothing on a chilled winter night. He sits in a cold alley, nothing to eat, nothing to drink, no gloves, nor flames to warm his hands upon. He lets out a soft, yet heavy sigh and his warm carbon dioxide is visible in the air. He is shivering as he holds himself, and spies a shard of glass stuck in the snow beside him. As he pulls it out, he realizes it is the remnants of a broken mirror. He sees his reflection in the glass, a tired, ragged, unshaven man. “What have I done to my life?” He asks himself. “How have I turned into this man looking back at me?” Tears of some warmth enter his blue eyes, he rests his head back against the cold brick wall. And then he hears the shuffling of something slow. Someone helpless and weak. He moves the shard of mirror to the side of the brick wall and sees an elderly woman walking in the direction of his alley. She is very old, helpless, stumbles on each step while she holds her cane, and she is alone.

An evil smile emerges onto the mans face as he watches her approach nearer and nearer, she is unaware he is there. “Hmm, perhaps this old fool has some money in her handbag, perhaps she has enough for me to buy one last bottle of liquor. That I might have one last drink before I end this wretched life I live.”

The man slowly stands up and admires the sharp edge of the mirror shard as he hears her grow nearer.

“How easy this will be, she is weak and small, no one will be able to hear her screams before I slit her throat.”

She is almost to him, he moves slightly to lunge at her when she is near, but as he does this his foot slips on a piece of ice and he falls back upon the icy, melting snow. She gasps gently as she watches the man fall to the floor. Immediately he hides the shard under his torn belt without her eyes catching it. He stares into her elderly eyes with embarrassment. She peers at him.

“Young man, do you like tomato soup?” she says to him.

He abruptly sits up. “Tomato soup, ma'm?” he asks with confusion

“I've got a nice hot commode of it sitting on my stove top, and I have no one to share its wonderful taste with. Get up and come alone, walk me to my home sir.”

By now, he is utterly confused and believes this woman has lost her mind, inviting a perfect stranger into her home in the dark of night. He continues to stare with confusion.

“Get up now boy!” she says as she firmly taps him with her cane. He stands up and towers over the old woman looking down at her. She puts her arm out for him to grab and nudges him. He slowly and gently grabs her frail arm as she slowly leads the way down the icy street.

Slowly they make their way to wherever this small woman resides. All the while neither of them say a word, and the young man wonders what in the world this woman could be thinking. Not long after they approach a tiny, yet cozy Victorian home. The house is old, but there are warm lights inside and a cat in the window. He helps her make her way up the two wooden stairs on the porch and into the small home. Instantly as she opens the door the aroma of fresh smelling, hot soup fills his hungry nose and makes his mouth water. The warmth of house hits his cold body and comforts him inside. Oh how easily he could shove her through the door and murder her with all that soup to himself. But he doesn't.

After closing the door the woman slowly goes into a hallway, then she turns and looks at him.

“The privy is to the left dear, go in there and wash your face, shave that scruff on your chin,” she says pointing to the restroom.

After, she walks into a small room. Confused once more, the man goes into the restroom. He takes off his rag coat, then turns the water on the sink. As the water warms, he grabs the small pink bar of soap and begins to lather it into his hands. He washes the dirt and tears off his face and looks up to see a clean razor at the sinks side. When he is done shaving off the thick stubble that covered his chin and lip, he runs the water through his hair. Now he walks out of the restroom and sees a set of fresh clothing directly across the room on the bed. “Go along and dress for supper, I wont have you eating my food in those awful things,” he hears the woman say from the kitchen.

The man changes out of his clothes and into the fresh clean ones she has set out for him—a nice green button up shirt and brown pants with suspenders. Surprising to him, the clothes fit perfectly, as if whomever they belonged to before was exactly his body type. He looks up into a standing mirror positioned in the corner of the room. He stares at himself, baffled that the man he spied earlier in the shard of mirror and the man he looks at now are the same man. Just then he remembers the shard of glass still in the pocket of his dirty pants. He pulls it out and keeps it in his new pants pocket hestitantly, as he does not know what to expect of this woman.

He walks out of the room and to a larger room where there is a small round table with two chairs, two place mats, two glasses of water, two spoons and two bowls of steamy soup. His mouth waters once more as he spots it along with a basket of fresh sour dough the old woman places in the middle of the table. She looks up at him, “Now doesn't it feel better to be nice and clean dear? I thought those trousers were about your size, I'm proud to see the button up does as well. Now sit my boy, eat.” The mans heart jumps upon hearing this, immediately he sits down and grabs his spoon ready to take his first bite. Then he stops and looks up at the woman.

“Thank you.” he says.

humanity
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About the Creator

Miranda D.

Beautiful people aren't born, they're created.

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