How To Avoid Bad Luck

II | Under The Bridge

"My luck is so bad that if I bought a cemetery, people would stop dying." – Ed Furgol

Note: Thanks so much to xXtwinprinceXx for this spectacular cover!

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There was something to be said about watching your life flash before your eyes.

While I was plummeting downwards, wind whistling in my ears to mock the certainty of my imminent death, I counted time in heartbeats. Between each heartbeat, I blinked, eyelashes beating against my cheekbones, as though they were curtains separating myself from my surroundings, so that I was blindly plunging towards whatever afterlife was waiting for me.

In these moments, you have nothing left to lose, and at the same time, you have everything left to lose. So, you flashback, grasping at your memories before they crumble to dust. When my rescuer reached out and caught me before my spine broke on the riverbed, and I was hauled back onto the bridge, I could no longer tell whether those steel gray eyes were a flashback or reality.

The person kneeling before me was mouthing a question, but my ears were filled with static. I covered my ears and gave my head an experimental shake, as if I were getting rid of the river water I nearly plowed into. That seemed to help, somehow, and the bustling people around me were growing sharper in focus, though their mingled voices were overstimulating my senses.

"Are you alright?"

The question, tinged with concern, finally broke through the white noise in my mind. I studied his face as if I were trying to connect the dots, darting from his high cheekbones to the defined cut of his jawline, but I eventually managed to piece him together. "You were the guy walking behind me."

He raised an eyebrow. "Well, you nearly fell to your death, so that's probably not the detail you should be focusing on."

"Right, yeah," I muttered, rubbing my eyes to clear the filter that blurred my surroundings. "Fair enough." I tried to stand up, but perhaps shock was beginning to settle in, because I only managed to rise halfway before my knees began to tremble.

A man nearby offered to call an ambulance, or the police, or something along the lines of emergency services, but his voice seemed to be echoing from the far end of a tunnel. I waved him off and seized the barricade to keep myself steady. I was unhurt, aside from the trauma of toppling off a bridge, and I wouldn't be helpful to the police, especially since I had no idea who the culprit was.

The guy with the grey eyes tightened his grip on my hand, and placed his other on my back to prevent me from toppling over again. The area where his palm applied gentle pressure spread sparks through my midriff, which fizzled out at the tips of my fingers. I studied his expression, wondering whether he could feel the tingles too, whether we shared some kind of electric shock, but he seemed unfazed. "Whoa, steady. You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," I insisted, but my voice came out wobbly. I cleared my throat, my gaze flickering towards his tight grip on my hand. "Also, I think you're starting to cut off my blood circulation."

"Hmm?" It took him a second to realize what I meant. "Oh, right, sorry." He released his grip and allowed me to steady myself, leaning casually against the barricade. I had half a mind to reprimand him for standing so close to the river, especially after the experience I just had, but since he just saved my life, I cut him some slack and changed the subject.

"So, what's your name?" I asked, shaking my hand to resume blood flow. It was an absurdly casual question, as if we were making conversation whilst waiting in a line, rather than the aftermath of falling off a bridge. Even so, I was curious to know who my savior was, especially since he was the guy that caught my attention before I fell.