As luck
would have it there was an empty seat at the back of the Magic Bean café.
I grabbed
my Chai Latte and settled, facing the mall. The aroma of coffee grinds spiked
my taste buds. The general bustle, clatter and conversation eased as the early morning
addicts downed their double shots and sauntered off to work.
There would be a
lull, for an hour or so before shoppers came clamouring for their eleven
o’clock fix.
With my lap
top open and imagination racing, I began to write. My attention focused on
weaving intrigue and creating conflict. My intrepid hero’s behaviour needed
tailoring to push the plot forward.
Lost in the
world of my creation I allowed the words to flow. My friend would be along
shortly. We met each week to write, chat and share the latest news on our
publishing journey. Despite the activity around me my mind focused on the
characters playing out their part in my newest chapter.
A shadow
fell across my keyboard. I looked up, expecting to greet my friend.
Instead a
stranger loomed over my table. His gaunt frame, sallow skin and hair resembling
a chewed dog toy didn’t fill me with confidence. At least the café was a public
place. No real danger.
What would
my character do in this situation? Show no fear, nor dismay.
“Can I help
you?” I asked, feigning genuine concern, trying to catch the attention of the
wait staff.
“Yes. I
need your help.” The stranger sank onto the vacant chair opposite me with his
back to the public. Deep set eyes, sunken rather than natural depth, gazed
around the café before fixing me with a piercing stare. “I have been watching,
waiting for the right person to arrive. You.”
“Why me?” I
asked before I remembered my character would be stoic, calm.
“You
ordered Chai, in a specialist coffee shop. I am looking for someone who has the
strength to stand against the current. Go against the flow, take the road less
followed.”
“Enough.” I
shook my head. Would my character explain I don’t like coffee? It does strange
things to my heartbeat. No. Let the stranger think I possessed strength of
character. I liked the idea. It didn’t fit me. Not shy, introverted,
marsh-mellow me. Still, no harm in playing the part. “So, how can I help? If
you are unwell, there is a great surgery around the corner. They take walk-ins
and bulk bill.”
“I am
dying. It is true. The doctors have done all they can.” The stranger’s gaze
softened. The grey blue eyes glinted, assuming a faint resemblance of the
colour they might once have been. A tic pulled at the stranger’s cheek. He
lifted a hand, I thought to ease the anomaly, but he placed a small cube on the
table beside my laptop. “The luckiest man alive gave this to me, now I am passing it on to you. He promised
the cube would change my luck. Take heed and listen to my instructions.”
“You know
the old advice, don’t accept gifts from strangers.” I concentrated on sipping
my Chai and dragging my focus away from the odd cube.
“Not even
when it is a dying man’s final request?” A smile lifted the corners of the
stranger’s mouth. Sadly, bloody gums showed, though again, there seemed a
remnant of once cared for perfect alignment to his remaining teeth. “Do this, for luck. A simple task and you could
be blessed with good luck. For the rest of your life.”
“You are
not a walking advertisement for luck, mate. Really, you need to try another
tack if you want to sell this scam.”
“Scam?” His
eyes rolled and his shaking hand recoiled. “Not a scam. Please. Don’t refuse. I
have no time left to find another soul with your attributes.”
Soul?
Attributes? Nothing would make me accept his gift, nor did I want to waste more
precious writing time chatting. His odour now overpowered the pervasive coffee
grounds. Time to encourage him to leave.
As though
reading my mind he began to speak. His voice flowed with hypnotic cadence. “Take the cube. Roll it. Read the numbers.
They change with each roll, somehow they know what you need whether you play
lotto, the pools, power-ball, lucky-loot, whatever. Choose one game and take a
gamble. There is a draw tonight. What is there to lose? If you don’t trust me,
fine. At least give the lucky cube a chance. You will win. I guarantee it. The
cube does not lose.” He straightened. “When you collect your winnings…” He
paused and again his eyes seemed to regain their colour and energy. Every fibre
of his body appeared tense. I sensed desperation and hope. “You must
immediately donate the complete amount to charity. Any charity. Your favourite
good cause. Don’t keep any of the money for yourself.”
“Why don’t
you do this? Why do you need me? I can give you a few dollars for you to buy a
ticket if you are so concerned. You don’t need me.”
“If you
donate the win to a good cause, luck will follow you. Good luck, for a good
deed.”
I blinked.
Sudden realisation hit me with sledge hammer force. “Bad luck for a selfish
deed? Is that what you did? Kept some of the winnings for yourself?”
He closed
his eyes and lifted a hand to his forehead. I tried not to notice the clump of
hair clinging to his fingers as he kneaded his furrowed brow. With shoulders
slumped he again looked up. “It seemed too weird to believe. Once you have used
the cube once, pass it on to another.” He glanced away. “Or destroy it if you
can find a way.” He turned back and sighed. The simple act left him gasping for
breath. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and leaned closer. Again I could
sense lost energy, health and passion. He spoke in a hurried whisper,
desperation scored each word. “It only works once. If you do the right thing,
perhaps giving the cube to you might alleviate my guilt. I am desperate. Will
you help me? Telling you my hopes might influence the outcome, but what do I
have to lose? I am dying. Today is your lucky day. The cube is now yours.”
Without
pausing to see if I accepted the gift the stranger grabbed a paper serviette
and wiped spittle from his mouth. Staggering to his feet he strode away and
disappeared into the crowded mall.
I wanted to
rush after him and return the cube to his care.
What would
my character do? Accept the cube? Find the stranger and return the odd gift?
Take the chance and risk the gamble? Donate the win to charity? If the stranger
told the truth. What should I do? Who couldn’t use extra luck? Good luck.
Scoffing my
Chai, I snapped shut my laptop and sprinted from the café. Amid the bustle of
rush hour I raced through the milling throng. I couldn’t see the stranger. His
tall gaunt figure should stand out from manicured employees making their way to
work.
Disappointed
and needing to draw breath I halted my headlong rush. Trying not to pant aloud,
my character never ran out of breath, I straightened. Leaning against the shop front I gathered my
wits.
Outside the
mall’s newsagent and lottery office a sign caught my eye.
‘Thirty
million dollars. Tonight’s draw. Try your luck’.
As the
stranger said, what did I have to lose? Which charity would make the most of
those millions?
If the cube
provided the right numbers, perhaps a good deed would redeem the stranger.
Perhaps his luck would change. He might live on.
What would
my character do?
I headed
inside to gamble on a change of luck.
***
Rosalie Skinner resides on the east coast of Australia when not totally immersed in the fantasy world of her writing.
Rosalie’s love of the ocean, nature, history and horses has enabled her to give her books an authentic air. Her latest achievement has been to ride through the Australian Snowy mountains and see the wild brumbies run. When not watching the migrating whales pass her doorstep she has more humble pastimes.
Other than being a published author, her greatest thrill is being a grandmother. Born over fourteen weeks early her granddaughter’s perfect development and growth are a miracle and joy.
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