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13: Your superstition.

It is Friday and you receive this, my thirteenth post. You howl at me.


I thought you appreciated my timeliness. Why must you be so superstitious?

“It’s bad luck to ask me that!” you moan, tossing salt over your shoulder and kicking a black cat out of your way. “You could curse us all!” you add, murmuring a protective spell under your breath and kicking a dog. That was unnecessary, but you felt bad about the cat and somehow came to the conclusion that this would balance it out. The dog doesn’t appear to agree.

“Bad things happen when Fridays and Thirteens are crossed!” you continue, as the wounded animals sprint out of your path. I can see your point. Bad things can indeed happen. Like terrible movies of that name. I apologize, if only to placate you.

“Just don’t do it again,” you say calmly, ducking around a ladder, drawing a religious symbol, knocking on wood, avoiding the mirror, throwing a closed umbrella out the window, and stomping on a trail of ants.

You are… terribly destructive.

About moriwriter

Do you want to know about me? Of course not! You're far more interested in what I know about you. In fact, you're a little concerned with what I know about you... because how do I know that? It's no matter. To understand would require a brief swim in the murky depths of my mind, and you didn't bring your swimsuit and also you don't like getting wet. Never mind me. Let's talk about you.

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