I always knew that I wouldn't live long.

It's always been a feeling I've had deep in my stomach. I never worried about finding a job, getting a license, or even romance. I never worried because I didn’t think they would matter. Because I always knew that I wouldn’t live long.

For whatever reason either being blessed by a god, being cursed by a shaman, or an ancient ancestor deemed it upon me, I’ve had extraordinary luck. This luck wouldn’t help me win card games, didn’t win me the lottery, nor did I become a crime fighter wearing tight spandex, but I can say with certainty it’s saved my life on numerous occasions. From an infant jumping out of a two story building, to a mall shooting, this luck has me holding on to it by a thread, bouncing me around like a puppet.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

A lot of people will look at my life and the stories I’m about to share and think that this “luck” is just good timing, or someone doing their job, or deep down I have a strong will to live. And I agree.

Most comic books and TV shows have luck being an unnatural force that leans odd towards an outcome and those with luck can lean it a way most favorable to their own self. But me? I see luck as an option. I see luck as a choice that you can make. A being that has sprouted into a mosh pit of options that has its hand extended out waiting for you to grab hold. Allowing you to choose your fate. Allowing you to make your own choices. Your own destiny. Your own luck.