The Unlucky
Kate Marie Robbins
I have never been a lucky person. Everything that can go wrong usually does. I wouldn’t say that I’m cursed, just extremely unlucky. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember. But one fateful day in March, my luck miraculously changed. This is my story.
After my sixth failed job interview this month, discouraged and down, I take the long way home from work through the city park. I hope that it would lift my spirits, if only for the moment. Happiness didn’t seem to linger very long for me. Fearing that I’d be working my dead end job at the café the rest of my life, the tears start to fall. It isn’t fair. I have all the qualifications to do more with my life, but no one will give me the chance.
Trudging through what should have been a beautiful afternoon stroll in the park, I am sent sprawling to the ground, and face plant on the sidewalk.
“What the hell!” I yell out, to no one at all. At least there’s no one to see my less than graceful fall. I pick myself up off the ground, to assess the damage. My clothes are dirty, but they aren’t torn. That’s something. My head hurts though. I lift my fingers to my temple. When I pull them away, my hand is sticky with blood. A groan escapes my lips.
I turn back the way I had come from, knowing with my bad luck, that I’ll need stitches. I’d need to get myself checked out, right away. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch something silver, glimmering in the sunlight. “Now what is that?” I ponder as I reach down to pick it up.
I find in my hands a stunning pendant necklace. The pendant is something that I have never seen before. It’s a circle, with what look like spokes, like a wheel. I count them one by one, twenty-four spokes in all. Each spoke has a gem at the end, and there is another gem in the center. It’s stunning, but I know that I cannot keep it.
I place it in my purse for safe keeping, deciding to take it to the police station after I’ve been to the hospital.
At the corner, I hail a cab and tell the driver to take me to the hospital. He eyes me, and the cut on my forehead, but he says nothing, putting the car in gear, and pulls out into traffic. The ride is uneventful, and we arrive in no time at all, hitting every possible green light.
I wait my turn to see a doctor, which turns out I don’t actually need to see a doctor. I explain what happened to the nurse, and she takes a look at the cut. “You’ll be fine. You certainly don’t need stitches, but I’m glad that you came in to check. Most people wouldn’t have.” She smiles at me.
That’s two things that have gone right for me so far. I can’t believe it.
“Thank you,” I mumble, as I collect my things to leave.
I decide to take the bus back home, it may take me longer, but it’s cheaper, and I need to conserve money. The bus pulls up; I climb aboard, and put my money in the slot. It’s pretty full, considering it’s the time most people are getting off work for the evening. I slide into the only available seat.
There is a young man sitting in the seat next to me. He looks up at me and smiles. I do my best to smile back, but say nothing. Before I know it, it’s my stop and I quickly exit, not giving the man next to me another glance or thought.
All I want when I get to my apartment, is a shower, something to eat, and bed, knowing I’ll have to be up at the crack of dawn for my morning shift at work.
After a quick shower, I throw some leftovers in the microwave, and settle down in front of the television to eat and relax, completely forgetting about the necklace I’d found only hours ago.
My alarm goes off way too early. I think about hitting the snooze button, but don’t. I don’t want to oversleep and end up getting fired. That’s the last thing I need right now. Crawling out from under the warmth of my bed I quickly dress and walk to work.
The day goes by fast, almost a blur. Mornings are always busy though. For that I am thankful for, even though I’ll be exhausted by the end of my shift.
I glance at my wristwatch. Only thirty minutes left of my shift. I hope that no more customers come in, so I can take my time with the ones I already have, but no such luck, a customer walks in. I head toward the front, so I can show him to a table. When I reach him, I realize he is the cute guy from the bus last night.
“Hey, I remember you!” he comments. “You sat next to me on the bus last night, didn’t you?”
I nod, not knowing how to respond, without sounding pathetic. “Yeah, that was me.” The words sound forced, and awkward, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
He smiles. “I was hoping I would see you again.”
A smile slowly creeps across my face as I lead him to his table and hand him a menu.
“I’ll give you a few minutes to look over the menu and I’ll be back to take your order.”
“Thank you,” he calls after me. I can feel the blush rising in my cheeks.
Taking a few deep breaths, I try to compose myself, before heading back to his table to take his order.
I’m polite to him, and try not to show my nervousness. I know that I’m not doing a very good job, but at least I don’t drop his food when I bring it to him.
After he’s gone, I go to collect my tip, before leaving for the day. I find a note tucked in-between the few dollar bills he left. Upon the note he has written his name and his phone number. I smile to myself and hope I have the courage to actually give him a call.
As I’m walking back to my apartment for a much needed nap, my cell phone rings. I dig through my purse to fish it out, and pick up on the last ring.
“Hello,” I say hesitantly, because I didn’t recognize the number.
“Is this Miss Williamson?” the female voice asks.
“Yes, it is.”
“This is Mrs. Fern from Scarlet Press, calling to set up an interview.”
I nearly drop the phone. This is the job I have always wanted. I never thought I would even get an interview. I would probably blow it, but I would try anyway. It seemed like everything was going my way the past twenty-four hours.
I set up the interview and hang up, filled with giddiness.
Dressing my best, I am prepared for this interview. I know I can do this. Once I meet Mrs. Fern, I feel at ease. For the first time, the interview goes smoothly, and she offers me the job on the spot.
Tears are streaming down my face in joy. I rummage through my purse to find a tissue to wipe my eyes. In the process, I pull out the necklace that I was supposed to take to the police and decide that I should keep it. Everything has turned around for me since I found it, and I don’t think I can bear to let it go, no matter how silly and superstitious that seems.
I Deal in Luck
Renee Jean
He walked up to roulette
And laid the money down
The crowd looked on in interest
Watching without a sound
The dealer made the change
And handed it back
He took a chance
To put it all on black
The ball spun quickly
Shortly after began to drop
Everyone held their breath
Until it came to a stop
Seventeen caught it
And there it stayed
The audience cheered
As his bet was paid
He gathered his chips
It was now quite a stack
Then made his way over
To play some blackjack
He went all in on one hand
As up came an ace
Those rooting him on applauded
When the next was a face
Finally, he made his way to my table
Prepared to wager it all
He smiled at the man rolling
He was having a ball
The dice rolled across the layout
Bounced back and fell
The stickman called the numbe
r
And from his grin you could tell
He had come for the chance
Now the cashier called his name
He had the time of his life
Every game was his game
He winked as he tipped the dealers
Gave a high five while he colored up
I knew my job had a happy ending that night
Every day I deal in Luck
Dealing with Luck
Bree Vanderland
I don’t know what happened. I was never the lucky one. I was always the one that sat in the back, the one who dropped her books in the hallway, ran into people or even walls due to not paying attention, the person who couldn’t keep a guy around to save my life, but maybe that has all changed.
I have a good job. I have amazing friends. I am who I am today, because of him. He makes me smile and laugh. He makes my heart soar. Maybe my luck is changing because I met him against all odds. Maybe I’m the lucky one even though he claims it’s him the entire time. I’m not dropping things (except when he’s around) and things are turning around, thankfully. I believe I hit the jackpot with him.
Stolen Luck
Serenity Granger
Her eyes were vacant as she slumped to the ground, chilling raindrops beating her exposed skin and washing the curls from her auburn hair. Hands curled in her lap, back against one of the grimy walls of the alley behind O’Riley’s Pub, cherry red dress soaking up the filth around her, she wonders if the world would be better off without her. Or, perhaps it was she who would be better off without the world.
The cold, mocking, hateful world. And none more cold and mocking than Sean O’Malley. His steely gaze that cut straight through her, his thin lips turning up in cruel angles as he had thrown her out the back door of the pub minutes before. How had she ever thought him handsome and charming? Why had she thought he would be understanding and supportive of her dream to become a professional dancer?
“Oh, my dear Maureen,” he’d said when she’d timidly brought up her hidden desire. “Did someone tell you how graceful you are? That you’d be suited to the stage?” He blew smoke rings into her face from across the pool table at the back of O’Riley’s. “Well, they’re wrong. A woman of your age, suddenly achieving professional status? Really? Sorry to burst your bubble, silly girl, but you’ll never be anything more than you are right now. . . a semi attractive woman with the good fortune of belonging to me.”
She’d gotten angry. Shouted at him. Said some things she probably shouldn't have about his anatomy and bedroom skills. He’d turned red and thrown her out, telling her to never let him see her face again. And now she was here, alone, with no place to go. She had no home. Sean owned their Manhattan apartment, paid for her clothes. Even the car she drove was in his name. He’d insisted she didn't need a job, that she devote her time to being his lover and housekeeper, so she didn't even have the money to go to a hotel.
Maybe she should just give up. No doubt Sean was right about her, anyway. She’d been dancing since she was a child, but only her teacher had ever told her she was anything special. She looked dully at the cigarette butts and bottle caps strewn around her, and the bright metallic glint of gold caught her eye. Brushing aside some trash and dirt, Maureen’s face lit up as she plucked a large, beautiful four leaf clover pendant on a heavy gold link chain from the ground. There were emeralds, each at least a half karat, covering the front of the pendant, and on the back the words “Good Luck!” were engraved.
Maureen ran a fingertip over the words, marveling at her good fortune. To suddenly find something so valuable! If she sold this, she could buy new clothes and get a place to stay until she could find a job, maybe even have enough left to save. But what about the owner? Her conscience whispered. Such a treasure would definitely have been missed. If you sell it, and they find out, they may think you stole it.
“But I really need the money,” she murmured. “And if they own something like this, they must be well off.” Sighing, Maureen decided to tuck it into her little purse and figure it out after she found shelter from the rain. Making her way to the street, she soon found a bench beneath a shop awning and sat down, grateful to be out of the rain. Just as she was reaching to open her purse, a deep voice called out, “Excuse me, miss? Are you alright?”
She looked up to see a the dark shadow of a man approaching her, and she quickly pushed her purse behind her and smiled nervously. “Oh, yes, I’m fine,” she replied as he came to a stop in front of her. He was tall, with thick red curls, a chiseled jaw, and eyes so shockingly green she couldn’t believe they were real. Quirking an eyebrow, he looked at her a bit doubtful, but only said, “I see. Well, then, I don’t suppose you might help me? You see, I’ve lost a very important item of my wife’s. A gold necklace with a large clover pendant her mother left to her. Have you by any chance seen it?”
He had a lilting Irish accent, and he looked so concerned, Maureen just couldn't keep the truth from him. “It so happens I just found it in the alley,” she said, withdrawing it a bit regretfully from her purse and handing it over. The man’s face brightened, and he thanked her profusely as he put it safely in an inner coat pocket. “You have just saved my life young lady! Is there any way I can repay you?”
Maureen looked down, and twisted her dirty dress around her finger. “What I really need is a little good luck for once in my life,” she said. “But if you could spare a couple bucks for a cab, I’d appreciate it.” She blushed red. “I hate asking, but I’m kind of stranded here. You can say no, of course. I just . . .”
“Why would I say no to such a simple request from my savior?” the man said cheerfully. Offering his hand, he added, “I’m Neil, by the way. And you are?”
“Maureen,” she answered, taking the outstretched hand and standing up. “Thank you so much. I appreciate it.”
“Not at all!” Neil said, waving his hand at an approaching cab. Opening the door and helping her in, he asked, “Would you mind if I come along? I’d rather not wait for another one in the rain, if you don’t mind!” Of course Maureen didn't mind, and when the driver asked where to, she gave him the address of an expensive hotel near Sean’s apartment. When they pulled up in front of the tall building, Neil helped her out of the cab and handed her a roll of cash. “I can tell you need it, and because you weren't greedy and didn't try to keep the necklace, I’d like you to take this as a token of my gratitude. And,” he leaned in close. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll have more good luck than you’ll know what to do with quite soon.”
With a wave and a final thank you, Neil and the cab disappeared into the night. Maureen stared at the money in her hand a moment before hurriedly counting out the crisp bills. It totaled one thousand dollars. She had never held that much money before in her life, and she immediately felt her spirits lift. Walking into the hotel, she paid for the most modest room available, which still took a good chunk out of the cash, and asked for someone to come and take her dress to be cleaned. Going up to her room, she immediately ran a hot bath and soaked in the scented suds until the warmth left the water. Toweling off and wrapping up in a puffy bathrobe, she sat and watched T.V. while she waited for her dress to be returned.
When a knock sounded and she found her dress was as good as new, she tipped the bellhop, did her hair and makeup, and headed downstairs to the cafe to get something to eat. Settling at a linen covered table, Maureen ordered the chef’s special of roasted chicken with fingerling potatoes and a tall glass of wine. As she waited, a tall, matronly woman entered the room and looked about as if searching for someone before smiling and hurrying over to seat herself across from a very surprised Maureen.
“Oh, I’m so sorry I’m late, my dear!” the woman said with a thick French accent, raising her hand to signal the waiter. “I was caught in the most dreadful meeting, and I was only just now able to get away! I hope you haven’t been waiting long?”
“I’m sorry,” Maureen answered in confusion. “I think you may hav
e mistaken me for someone else.” The woman laughed. “Oh, you’d tease an old woman so? Neil said you were interesting, and he seems to have been right, as usual. I’m Madame Anatole, founder of the Anatole Ballet Troupe. Neil McHale told me to meet you here, said you were a rare gem.” She chuckled again at Maureen’s shocked face. “Well, let’s talk about you, shall we? When did you begin to dance ballet?”
Maureen obliged, telling Madame Anatole in detail about her training and accidentally let it slip she had dreamed of becoming a professional dancer. “I insist you come to my studio tomorrow and audition!” Madame Anatole said, handing her a business card. “Here is my address and number. Come around three, alright? We will see what you can do! Now, you must try the chocolate mousse here, it’s divine. My treat!” After she paid for their meal, Madame Anatole was gone with a wave and a smile. Maureen sat at the table a bit longer, still stunned, before finally heading upstairs to her room where she slept more soundly than she could remember having done in ages.
The morning dawned bright, and after breakfast, Maureen decided to try and sneak into Sean’s apartment and retrieve her ballet shoes, along with a few other things. As luck would have it, he was still out and had left the apartment unlocked. Feeling ambitious, she packed everything she owned into several suitcases and piled them into the taxi outside, leaving only an old razor and half a bottle of shampoo. Pawning all the jewelry Sean had given her, she came up with enough to last her several weeks stay in a modest hotel in a less desirable area of town, and at 2:45, she was already waiting patiently in Madame Anatole’s office.
As it turned out, Madame had brought several of the troupe board members to watch Maureen dance, but nothing seemed to faze her today. She danced perfectly, not a single step out of place, and after watching her perform several different styles and short pieces, the board members and Madame Anatole excitedly conversed in her office for a few minutes before coming back out and offering Maureen a contract with them. Maureen wasted no time saying yes, and a few days later, she moved into a small, tidy apartment owned by Madame Anatole’s husband.
Life only seemed to get better from there. Maureen danced on the stage, soon becoming hugely popular, and even began teaching some classes at Madame Anatole’s studio when the troupe was not touring. After a few months, she began to date a fellow troupe member named Michael, who was as kind and handsome as any girl could wish. She was, finally, really truly happy.
Then, one day, Maureen found a note taped to her door.
So this is where you've been hiding, it said. I won’t be stolen from. Trust me, you will pay for taking what was mine. ~S
Terrified, Maureen had several extra locks installed and began to feel nervous about going out in public. She made excuses to get out of teaching classes, but when Madame and Michael asked what was the matter she insisted that she was fine. If they thought she was a thief, she reasoned, no doubt they would not stand to have her continue with the troupe. So she lived in fear, until one day, there was a knock at her door, and looking through the peephole, she saw it was none other than Neil McHale, his green eyes still as unearthly and his smile still as charming.
“I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by and see how the girl who saved my hide was doing,” he said, taking off his hat and running a hand through his fiery curls. “I hear you have been missing classes and even rehearsal lately. Anything the matter?” And Maureen found herself telling him about the note and the threat, and how awful Sean had treated her, before begging him not to tell anyone. “I’m not a thief, you know I’m not! Would a thief have returned your wife’s necklace?” She sobbed, embarrassed but unable to hold back her tears. “Of course you’re no thief,” Neil said soothingly. “And I’m sorry this bastard has been bothering you. But don’t worry, with your good luck, I’m sure something will happen and he’ll stop. Maybe you just need to stand up to him.”
After making her a strong cup of tea and settling her on the couch, Neil told her not to worry and just go about her life as usual. Maybe he’s right, Maureen thought to herself. Maybe I just need to stand up to him. I’ll go see him tonight, and I’ll tell him to leave me alone.
So, that night, she put on her nicest dress, fixed her hair, and headed into Manhattan. Waiting in the elevator, she bit her lip, a knot in her stomach. “I have to do this so I can move on with my life!” She told herself aloud. “It’s the only way.”
Stepping off the elevator, she walked towards Sean’s apartment door, and found it slightly ajar. Pausing, she listened quietly and heard the sound of muffled sobs and footsteps.
“So,” a deep voice said. “You like to abuse women, do you? Does it make you feel powerful? Hm?” A sound like a slap rang out. “Well, sadly for you, it actually means you are weak. A weak, spineless creature not worthy of calling himself a man. I know who you are. I know what you've done. And tonight . . . well, laddie, your luck has completely run out.”
There was a sharp cry and a gurgling sound, then something heavy hit the floor. Maureen took a deep breath and dared to peer through the semi open door. There was a tall figure standing over what looked like Sean’s prostrate form on the floor, throat slit from ear to ear spilling dark red blood in a pool across the floor. Maureen gasped, and clapped her hand over her mouth in horror. Hearing her, the figure turned.
It was Neil, but he looked different. His whole face was glowing with a golden light, his green eyes wide and cat like, a snarl etched into his face revealing pointed teeth. Maureen screamed, and turned to run, but suddenly he was in front of her, looking as he always did, seeming concerned. “I’m so sorry you had to see that,” he said gently. “It’s alright, he can’t hurt you anymore. He can’t hurt anyone. He had a far too much good luck for such an awful person, so I took it.” He held up a vial of bright green liquid that sparkled in the moonlight.
Maureen shook and backed up against the wall. “What are you?” she whispered. Neil sighed. “Haven’t you heard of the luck of the Irish?” he asked. “Well, my kind. . . we make sure it goes to the right people. People who deserve it. But there are very few of us these days, so more and more good people no longer have the good luck they need. Sean didn’t deserve his luck. I've been watching him for a while now. He beat his last girlfriend, did you know? He also killed an innocent man back in Ireland. His real name was Sean McAllister, he was a horrid person without a shred of remorse, and he had all the luck he could ever want. So I have dealt out justice and taken his luck. It’s yours, now.”
Maureen stared at Neil. “M-mine?” She whispered. “You. . . it was you who made me lucky? You’re why I got to where I am? Why I danced so well, why Michael fell in love with me? It was all you?” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “It wasn't me at all? Just luck?”
Neil looked confused. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he said. “I knew you were a dancer . . . I’d overheard you talk about it with Sean when I was watching him. You never saw me, since I kept my distance, but I did some research and found out from your old teacher you were quite good when you were young. I thought you deserved some good luck, and I did contact Madame Anatole, but the rest was all you. I was going to give you Sean’s luck, but as you can see, I still have it here. I had no other luck to give you, just a chance to try on your own, until I could give you this.”
Maureen had stopped crying and looked at Neil carefully. “So I had no special help from you, aside from that?” She drew herself up, and met his unnatural eyes. “Then thank you, but I’d prefer you give that luck to someone who really needs it. Thank you for everything, and. . . well, Sean was a terrible person, so I won’t turn you in. I doubt anyone would believe me anyway, would they?” Neil shrugged. “Unlikely. My kind has never been caught or held before. But I will leave evidence that will tell the police it wasn't you, and exactly who Sean was. They’ll be more than happy to chase someone else.”
Maureen nodded. “I see. Well, then, thank you for all your kindness, and I wish you the best.” With that, she turned and le
ft, content with knowing she had achieved her dreams because she deserved to. She never saw Neil again, and lived her life happily with Michael, dancing and never doubting that if she worked hard and stayed true to herself, there was little she could not accomplish.
The End
Confessions of a Collector
C. N. Christensen
The title “brony” has many reactions. For some it's a passion related to fandom or collecting. Others may see it as a sign of immaturity or a surreal concept. It's a word that can start a conversation or make someone back away slowly. For being a simple one five-lettered word, it has managed to create its own controversy and obtain intense attention. Not only has it caught the sights of news shows on television, but also the popularity of the internet.
I am a brony, though some may argue rather a pegasister. For those of you who are new to the lingo, I am an adult female who loves My Little Pony. It may seem weird, but I'm not offended by judgment anymore. I know some of you may choose to put skip over this story right away, but allow me to at least attempt to gather your interest. I desire to simply intrigue you by a short story. I am not prideful, nor do I intend to recruit you. I merely wish to engage you. Let me begin...
My true tale begins at an age before I can remember. I was more than just the target audience for the toys, but also born during the glory days for the early franchise. There were clothes, stuffed animals, purses, play sets, and even a television show. I am referring to the early nineties. I was a toddler at the time, thus my oldest pony is covered in marker, paint, and has a nasty hair cut. Despite her horrible condition, I treasure this toy because it's the root of my childhood memories. I know many adults who hold on to a toy they cherish. For my father, it was a stuffed panda bear with copper colored eyes. He passed his stuffed animal down to us, as I intend to give my ponies to my children.
My Grandma Jones soon noticed this particular show caught my interest every day and would record each episode while I went to preschool. She would also take the opportunity to buy any little ponies she found at garage sales, flea markets, or antique malls. Is wasn't long before my collection grew to over one-hundred and fifty unique ponies. However, this passion would not last much longer when I hit middle school.
My grandmother died on my thirteenth birthday, which I considered horrible luck and shortly after, I lost what I assumed was my entire collection. My Dad tried his best to get them back along with my grandfather, however nothing worked. Feeling rotten, I stopped collecting and gave up on anything My Little Pony related. I didn't even own any of my childhood favorites at the time. To me, there was no point to attempt recollecting.
Every so often, I would venture on to eBay curiously, only to feel distraught by the sky rocketing prices of the first generation of ponies. Hasbro had reissued the toy line, making the originals worth insane prices. Unfortunately, many of my childhood favorites were in the rare category and thus, the minimum rate was over twenty-five dollars for the single toy pony. Being a broke college student at the time, made me sigh defeated and close out of the browser. Then everything changed when I met someone special. I was new to dating and so was he, however he always saw the spark in my eyes when we would pass a My Little Pony.
One day, we journeyed to a local antique mall where a particular box caught both of our attention. It was lying under a table in a booth filled with classic toys. The large cardboard box was taped over with saran wrap and a tag that read Vintage My Little Ponies $50. We stared at each other for a moment as he began to grin.
“You have the money on you,” he urged.
“Yea, but it's fifty dollars, and I told you that I don't collect anymore,” I replied.
“You're going to regret it if you pass this by. I know you,” he said, arching an eyebrow.
I rolled my eyes while shaking my head. My eyes shifted back down to the box nestled in the booth corner, hidden behind stuffed animals and vintage Star Trek figures. I crossed my arms as I bent down and examined the ponies laying on top. The box was obviously full of them, and a few sparked my childhood memories. He nudged me once more, encouraging me to buy them. At last, I let out a chuckle and lifted up the box. He leaned in close examining the merchandise.
“Do you recognize any of them?” he asked. I nodded as I pointed to a few.
That day started it all!
I mentioned the idea of recollecting my old figures to my father, who said something that stunned me. He had recently decided to move in with his fiance and sell my childhood home. A while back he stumbled on some of my old ponies. He forgot to mention them to me. Suddenly, I felt the tides shift as luck ventured to my side. It wasn't long before he brought the box to my apartment. Within a huge red bin, were most of my childhood favorites. He had managed to save a few special ones. However, the world stopped turning the moment I picked up the most precious pony I ever owned.
My Grandma Jones died on the thirteenth birthday. My gift from her was a small toy pony only available in the United Kingdom that was near impossible to find. They had ordered her off the internet and I cherished her. She was the last thing my Grandma ever gave me. I was certain she was lost forever, except now I was holding her in my hands again. Her name was Baby Applejack. As I dug through the box deeper, another pony surfaced that bewildered me.
One of the rarest ponies in my collection was named Mimic. She was a highlighter yellow unicorn with jewel eyes and rainbow hair. Her symbol, or cutie mark, was a parrot. This was one of the ponies that always made me feel horrible when I would venture to online sales and auction websites. Usually, she was priced between seventy-five to one-hundred dollars. I was now also holding her in my hands. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. I may have been starting my collection anew, but I had quite a few to inspire me.
As of today, I have recollected over ninety of my original ponies. My fiance also helps me search out ones that I used to own, though I will gladly also purchase those that are entirely new to me as well. I keep them on display in my personal art studio. I have also started buying the newer generations released by Hasbro. Whenever the world gets the best of me and I need a moment to relax, I will venture into that room and look at them. Each small toy pony is a separate happy remembrance, and I realize how lucky I am to be able to hold such memories in my hands.
Happy Saint Patrick’s Day
Yvonne K. Anderson
The call of the Irish is strong in me
bursting forth on Saint Patrick's day.
Dressed all in green
down on my knees
I'm a Leprechaun today!
I'll dance a hornpipe merrily
then I'll take a break
and eat my Lucky Charms.
Oh look at that
I've got a lot of luck now!
As I looked at a clover patch
I found a four leaf clover
oh lucky me!
I'm full of spirit now
and I'll end with a resounding
Happy Saint Patrick's Day!
Audition Luck
Beth Valentine
Luck is something that you feel one day. You could wake up and feel like a million bucks or you could wake up feeling like you’re not worth a cent of anyone’s day. I walked into this audition unsure of what it held. I breathed in through my nose and out of my mouth. I smiled as I walked into the hall room. We’d been in this building for the whole day. 10am – 4pm.
The first round of the people who failed to make it to the second round already went home at 1. My heart was pounding but I was smiling as I smiled down at my paper number, 73, it’d got me this far and the only thing I can do is hope… and want a little luck.
“Good luck!” I smiled at all the people who passed. I hardly knew anyone by name, but I thought to myself, ‘This is my ninth audition. I’ve never got into anything before, but why do I feel different about this one?’ I sat down next to the two girls I met previous in the da
y and they both looked calm and collected.
As we sat on the cold oak floor we all stared up at the stage, nervous at the results. The black curtains were closed and as I looked round at the auditionees none of them looked as nervous as I felt. I bit my lip and looked over at one of the male auditionees who was a shoo-in to becoming one of the main roles. I sighed a heavy and sudden sigh, I’d be happy with a main role or a minor or even just a person standing at the back swaying. I’d been praying for weeks leading up to this moment.
All of a sudden, a small grey-haired man walks onto the stage holding a list of the successful people who had auditioned and their roles. Everyone looked eagerly up to him and as he adjusted his glasses on the edge of his nose, he looked at all the people who have auditioned. He took a deep breath before announcing.
“First off, well done for making it through the first round and onto the second!” He smiled as we all clapped and congratulated each other. We smiled at each other then looked back up to him. “Okay, now back onto the thing people really want to know. Everyone whose name is said please stand up.”
As he read through the list, my heart sunk more. The boy who everyone expected to get through made it, as well as other people who had auditioned for previous shows. I looked down at my paper number and as I thought it was over he called my name.
My heart stopped for a second as I looked up at him and stood up at my name being said. At the moment a solitary tear slid down my cheek and hit my paper number. In my head I thanked God for this turn of events and I felt like breaking down, but right now, I’m going to do my damn best to make this show amazing and to make myself and my family proud.
April
Fantasy