The Twisted Good Luck

I remember the exact moment I realized my luck wasn't normal. I was seven years old, standing in line at the gas station with my dad, watching him scratch off a losing lottery ticket for the third week in a row. The clerk smiled at me and said, "Why don't you let the little guy try one?"

Dad laughed and bought me a single $1 scratch-off.

I won $10 million.

The gas station erupted in cheers. My dad's face went white. That night, I heard my parents fighting in hushed tones. "It's happening again," my mother sobbed. "First your brother, now this..."

They never explained what they meant. Not then.

Growing Up Cursed

By age twelve, I'd figured out the pattern:

Aced a test I didn't study for? Teacher's pet got expelled for cheating.

Found a $20 bill on the sidewalk? Some college kid lost their grocery money.

Survived a bike crash that should've sent me to the ER? The car that hit me blew a tire and wrapped around a telephone pole.

At first I thought it was coincidence. Then I started testing it.

I'd intentionally "try my luck" - small things at first. Guess the number of jellybeans in a jar at the county fair. Win a free TV. That same night, the fairgrounds caught fire, destroying three food stands.

The universe always collects its debt.

The College Experiment

When I turned eighteen, I tried to outsmart the system. I locked myself in my dorm room, avoided all opportunities, lived like a hermit. If I didn't use my luck, no one would get hurt, right?

Wrong.

After two weeks of isolation, a gas main exploded under my dorm. No one died... because I was the only one inside when it happened. Walked away without a scratch while 200 students were displaced.

That's when I understood - the bad luck builds up like pressure in a pipe. If I don't release it in small doses, it catastrophically bursts.

Love and Loss

I met Sarah during my "hermit phase." The one person who didn't care about my unnatural luck. We dated for three years before I let her in on the secret.

"You're being paranoid," she laughed, kissing my forehead. "Everyone has good and bad days."

The next morning, she called me in tears. Her father - perfectly healthy, just had his annual physical - dropped dead of a heart attack.

I broke up with her that afternoon. She still texts me sometimes. I never reply.

The Job From Hell

After college, I took a remote data entry job. No coworkers to endanger. No promotions to trigger layoffs. Just me, my laptop, and a steady paycheck.

Then COVID hit.

Our company "miraculously" thrived while competitors collapsed. I got a raise. That same week, our CEO's daughter drowned during a family vacation.

I quit the next day. Now I live off small gambling wins - carefully spaced out to minimize collateral damage. A $200 poker win here might mean a stranger's flat tire. A $500 blackjack hand could cause a kitchen fire across town. It's the most moral system I've figured out.

The Baby Incident

Last year, my sister begged me to visit her newborn. I refused for months until she showed up at my apartment in tears.

"Just hold him once," she pleaded.

The moment his tiny fingers wrapped around mine, I knew I'd made a mistake. Two days later, the pediatrician who delivered him was killed by a drunk driver.

I haven't seen my nephew since.

Why I'm Telling You This

You're probably thinking there's some upside to all this. Some way to game the system. Trust me, I've tried:

Donating winnings? The charity burns down.

Warning people? They either don't believe me or get hurt faster.

Suicide? Woke up unharmed in the morgue. The coroner had a stroke signing my death certificate.

The only rule is this: for every ounce of good fortune I receive, someone else pays the price. The universe demands balance.

So why am I writing this? Because today, I found a winning lottery ticket on the ground. $50 million. I haven't cashed it yet.

When I do - and I will, because the pressure's been building too long - someone's life is about to be destroyed on an unimaginable scale.

Maybe it'll be a plane crash. Maybe a building collapse. Maybe your loved one will be the one balancing the scales.

Look, I'm not a monster. I'll give you one piece of advice: when you hear about some inexplicable tragedy on the news tonight...

Don't wonder if it's connected to me.

Know that it is.