Little Miss Fortune

Four leaves clung to a discoloured clover as it swayed limply in a mound of shining sand. A coarse bed to awaken on, for sure, but it was an awakening none the less.

Three filthy fingers rose from the mound to surround the lonely clover. Short of energy but full of determination, they clasped the plant with unknowing intent.

Two shapes the size of eyes broke forth from the sands and gazed up at the sky, soon to be blinded by the harsh light of day. As the figure stood, it moved the arid earth to form a new shape of a far larger creature.

One whole ascended from the mud; as was the tendency of man. When the sand finally fell from the fully formed figure it was revealed to be nothing new or exciting, just a face of confusion atop a thin frame of skin and bone.

A woman. One of life’s many mysteries, now more than ever. A woman birthed from the earth in a land of sand and sun. A woman with no clue on who she was or what she knew. She was short on the where, when, who, or why of the situation, but had a rather firm gasp on the ‘what.’

Staring at her surrounds managed to provide two things: a sea of glassy sand and her face reflected in it. Her hair matched the sands in colour and flow. Her eyes matched the deep water her cracked lips craved so dearly. It was clear what she was. She was a mess.

Without a name on the tip of her tongue or a purse on her person, identity was a thing she could no longer afford. Even clothes were a luxury out of reach as the ragged suede she wore barely wrapped around her emaciated hips.

All this woman had was the lone clover now clutched in her shaking palm. But, never one to be discouraged – at least that’s what she thought – the nameless girl hatched a plan.

This drive came upon spying an oddly intact billboard beside her resting place. Aside from some singed edges, the poster was remarkably preserved, almost as if it were a beacon pointing eastwards. It advertised a jewel of a building known as Rainbow’s End. Curious and cryptic, this only cemented a plan deep into her mind. A plan that required four simple steps.

First came the ‘who.’ If she’d not the mind of her past, then maybe a blast from said past was waiting just beneath her. For a time she buried her hands in her former burial and found a shred of something from before. A silky black book engraved with a pair of ‘F’s’.

Inside of F.F’s book were scribbled drawing made in desperation. The jottings of a madman written in cyphers and symbols. She could translate the scrawls to her surprise, but nothing made sense to her seemingly sane eyes.

Notes of never ending defeat at the hands of a fate: paradise lost. These failures were soon to be reversed for a time, only to quickly snap back to defeat. As the notebook said, ‘fate snaps back eventually.’

Sombre as the notes were, all stood as nothing without context. Since her recent birth, context was all she longed for. However, fate did begin to favour her. Located at the very end of the book was an old map drawn on the pages. It showed a vast stretch of land labelled as ‘The Soledad Dustbowl,’ and an ‘X’ marking a spot just beyond the reach of the desert’s sands known as ‘Babel.’

Second came the ‘where.’ If she was in this Dustbowl then perhaps safety wait beyond? It was a slim hope, but the only hope available to cling onto. Brushing off the last of the sand and doubts that plagued her, the time came to venture onward towards the rising sun.

Highways often conveyed a feeling of transience, but not anymore, not under the scorching sun. Stagnation was all she saw, all she was. Abandoned vehicles and ruinous buildings dotted the horizon. Amongst them were hundreds of news paper pages drifting in the humid air.

Each one made mention of a misfortune that threatened the Earth. From crashing the stock market to inciting a war in the name of ‘justice,’ this misfortune was nothing more than a great calamity that made her chest ache.

What path did she travel? That was a mystery. But wherever the road led it felt right deep inside her heart. Her sights were set on the largest peak in the east, a mountain almost as tall as the clouds themselves.

Its range was as wide as the eye could see and there was no good reason to tackle such a climb. Whether moving around or away from it, both would be wise alternatives instead of going over it. But again, her heart led upwards, all the way to the pinnacle.

Before attempting to climb the near vertical rock face she made sure to keep her clover close. Something about it only bolstered the conviction deep in her chest. Tying it into her messy hair filled her with more than confidence, it filled her with certainty.

Inexperienced and unprepared, this recently awoken naive knave managed to slowly conquer a climb meant for the most royal of mountaineers. She didn’t know how such a skill came to her with such fluidity, but she wasn’t going to complain halfway through her efforts. A fall now would surely be her undoing.

As the climb came to an end the air thickened and became filled with discoloured flakes. Grey and gently fluttering in the breeze, these snow-like pieces bode ill of what awaited her atop the mountain.

Struggling over the precipice caused every muscle in her body to ache as they soon ended up pushed past their limits. Her reward for reaching the top was a hideous realisation. The truth of the world finally revealed.

Past the peak was a valley, which according to the Black Book housed a little city by the name of Fresno. However, all that remained were the cinders of a world now void of life. An ashen husk covered in a thick layer of grey soot. The world had ended whilst she slumbered.

Focused, even when facing calamity, her mind returned to her list of priorities. A small comfort, the only one she knew of.

Third was the ‘when.’ If all was lost, then the last best hope for humanity was finding out when everything fell to ruin. Just how long did she sleep beneath the sand?

Marching with a cautious step, a feeling of despair began to creep into her head as Fresno came closer and closer. It started as a doubtful whisper but grew into a blossoming sense of doom. What had done this? Was there anyone left? If not, then was this entire venture pointless?

The most important problem was who’d done this? Who had a black enough soul to silence this once bustling place?

Fresno looked as if it was abandoned long ago. Destroyed cars were lost beneath layers of ash. But there were no bodies, no signs of life and more disturbingly, no signs of death. Rapture had come and all it left behind were shadows of lives once lived.

She soon found light flicking from a partially preserved palace located on the north-eastern edge of the city, on the borderline between one land and another. This monument to mankind’s avarice was a true marvel, a place where gold had stagnated into pure greed. A casino baring the name ‘Rainbow’s End.’

A beautiful name for an equally beautiful building. Rainbow’s End was a slice of architectural artistry with high walls and ceilings laden with art deco patterns. Its lobby seemed as though it was ripped straight from the Empire State, with marble in all directions and golden murals atop them. It was magical, but oh so empty.

Beyond a large hall filled with dusty roulette wheels and stacks of uncut cards stood a golden elevator leading to the penthouse: the true end of the rainbow. With the stairs clogged with rubble, this left the elevator as her sole form of ascension. A single stairway to the heavens above.

A combination lock? One final puzzle presented itself. A mere padlock holding back the call of truth echoing above. Searching for a solution would take an age. That’s without a trusty papyrus companion by your side.

Within the now dirtied pages of the notebook she found strings upon strings of digits. Some were phone numbers, others were bank details, and one seemed to match the seven digits the elevator required. 3312009 was her key to victory. At least this is what she’d hoped.

‘Bing’ rang the elevator as it hastily delivered her to the penthouse. Another piece of the puzzle slot into place as she examined the resplendent room. It was less a home and more of a history lesson. One she was sure to regret learning. It was finally time to be struck down by the harsh truth.

Fourth on the list was ‘why.’ A question she no longer wished to ask, but was handed the bitter answer in the form of another mural plastered across the penthouse wall. This was the story of Miss Felicity Fortune, the ‘Woman of Win.’

Felicity was an overachiever in all that she did. From birth they’d put in a valiant effort, delivered in just under an hour. From there they grew in all manner of ways, claimer of football trophies and straight A’s. But, not everyone can succeed forever, and their first loss came hard and heavy at the age of twelve.

From that day Felicity swore to never lose again. An oath that was sworn in by a lone clover drifting on a summer breeze. Whether it came from the heavens or somewhere beyond, this symbol of luck meant that Felicity would never and could never fail.

With her mouth aghast, the girl looked at her dim reflection in the mural’s golden sheen. Her face lined up perfectly with the mural’s recreation of Felicity, down to the identical clover in her hair and notebook in her hand.

With the gift of fortune on her side, she could truly never lose. One snowy day she head straight to her local gambling hall with her last 56 cents. Betting it all on a single roulette spin, her life seemingly hung in the balance. Odds were 33/1 and somehow she pulled through all on that single number. That lucky ol’ 7.

What many saw as a mere fluke kept on rolling. A second 7 was rolled and again her money multiplied, then a third. She left the hall with 20000 bucks under her belt and an overwhelming sense of power in her veins. Anything was possible.

All these murals made her head spin. A flood of memories leaked into her mind, drip by drop. Eventually, she collapsed to the floor beneath the weight of her guilty conscience.

When Felicity had returned to the casino, she did so as its owner. Now ‘The Woman of Win,’ she had billions to her name and a sense of righteousness inside her. This seed of tenacity grow into a rotten garden of sickly fruits. Fruits that eventually caused her country to go to war, a war they couldn’t lose. This was a half truth though, as nuclear fire can cleanse any man in its path, but she’d lost that title long ago.

After her home was blasted into glass the lucky lady – like a cockroach – failed to die. She simply slumbered until it was safe to return to the place where started it all, the ruins of Rainbow’s End: her personal Tower of Babel.

But now, as the sole survivor of a dead Earth and no way to die, was Felicity truly a winner anymore? Perhaps this was what she truly wanted? After all, the Woman of Win had finally lost it all.