I’ve always been told I have a mean look.
People don’t run away screaming, but they avoid eye contact.
They avert their gaze, keep their distance, and do everything to stay out of my orbit.
Others take offense and pick fights.
How many street brawls started because someone didn’t like my “side-eye,” as they called it, scraping against their fragile ego?
Maybe people just think I’m being rude.
My voice is a little rough from cigarettes, so every reply to some punk comes across as arrogant, cocky, self-assured.
You can pile on the adjectives.
Though I only started smoking because of the fights anyway.
Thugs stealing phones.
Rich kids flexing their power.
Classmates dragging me out behind the garages for “settling scores.” Like the whole world was out to get me.
Stress, basically.
But if I had my way, I wouldn’t hurt a fly.
I’d love to find a girlfriend who wouldn’t bolt on the first date or hang up mid-call thinking I’m some gangster.
I’d kill to relive my only date in twenty-five years.
On the beach, under an umbrella, drinks in hand.
Splash around with someone I actually cared about.
Instead, I’m alone.
Not at the beach either.
Soaking wet under a downpour.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Maybe it was spite.
Maybe it was just my luck.
But the moment I stepped off the bus, the sky opened up.
Not a cloud in sight that morning, but I brought an umbrella anyway.
Spent the whole day carrying it, ignoring the weird looks.
I unfolded it, walked off the curb, and headed home in my freshly polished shoes, stepping through mud.
My face was stone-cold unsurprised.
When your life runs on coincidence like this, you learn to expect anything.
My feet automatically dodged manhole covers.
At every intersection, my eyes darted between cars and speeding delivery trucks.
What’s that saying again?
A fool learns from his own mistakes; a wise man learns from others.
After being that fool a few times and ending up in the hospital, you start paying attention to other people’s screw-ups.
Books, movies, short stories.
I absorbed survival wisdom from everywhere.
I wasn’t about to become one of those idiots who, because they weren’t paying attention, gets flattened by an ice cream truck that “appeared out of nowhere.” Right.
Sure.
Still, sometimes things were harder for someone else than for me.
Walking along the buildings, my eyes caught a shivering puppy pressed against a wall.
I looked around for an owner.
Finding none, I stood there and held my umbrella over the little thing.
Inspecting closer, I noticed a bent paw.
Bleeding.
Probably broken.
“Rough day for you too?” I crouched down and heard a soft growl.
I put out my cigarette so the dog’s sensitive nose wouldn’t suffer.
Remembering the handkerchief I always kept in my pocket (for wiping off dirt), I carefully scooped up the unresisting, freezing pup and pressed it against my chest.
Sure, I got blood and mud all over my new jacket.
The one I’d worn to a job interview.
Honestly?
I didn’t care.
They’d rejected me anyway.
Said I wasn’t “customer-facing material.”
“Hey, look at that.”
“What’s he doing with that dog?”
A couple of schoolgirls walking past started whispering and staring, probably assuming the worst.
But one glance from me (casual, calm) sent them scurrying in fear.
Right.
I’d always developed faster than kids my age.
Taller.
More built.
Which meant the older kids had a right to mess with me.
The stress probably gave me those wrinkles too.
The ones that scared off girls.
“Need to warm you up and feed you,” I muttered, seeing how badly he was shaking.
I carried him home.
At the doorstep, I kicked off my muddy shoes and headed to the kitchen.
I laid out paper towels, placed a couple of chicken pieces in front of the dog, and sat down at the table.
In the window, my reflection stared back.
Soaked black hair plastered against angular features.
Exhaustion in my eyes.
“Should call a vet.”
“Hey, human.”
That was the last thing I expected to hear today.
A stranger’s voice in my apartment.
Except it wasn’t some burglar (we’d had those before).
It was the dog.
Sitting on the table.
“Yeah, I’m talking to you, mortal.”
“A talking…
mutt?” My chair flew back as I scrambled away.
“Grrr,” he bared his teeth.
“I’m not a mutt.
I’m a god.
Mortals once worshipped me as Anubis, God of the Dead.”
“No way…
do I have a gas leak?” I glanced at the detector (the one I bought after that one time with the hallucinations).
Everything seemed fine.
But the dog sitting on my table, staring at me with fully conscious eyes, said otherwise.
“A mutt claiming to be an Egyptian god?
Isn’t that…
blasphemy?”
“There you go again with the form,” the growl deepened.
I backed up further.
“Stupid mortal.
Can’t you see I’m badly wounded?
Times have changed.
I had a scuffle with Bastet.
Cost me a lot of strength.
We had a disagreement.”
“…
Cats and dogs.”
“If she heard you say that, she’d slit your throat,” the dog said proudly, stomping across my table.
“Or maybe she’d just watch you.
A slow death is far more entertaining.
Especially when it’s soaked in suffering and mortal despair.”
Caught on an emotional rollercoaster, hearing passive-aggressive threats from a so-called God of Death, I pressed myself against the wall.
My defense mechanism, jokes, wasn’t working anymore.
I was too scared to open my mouth.
But then Anubis looked me over, head to toe.
“You could die at any moment.
Your life is a lottery ticket,” he said casually, lying down to lick his paw.
“Looks like the gods forgot to give you even a shred of luck.
They’ve been slacking off lately anyway.
Running around other worlds, handing out powers left and right.
Creating all sorts of, Oya, OoYa, OYaShey.
Absolutely lost their minds.”
“…
Luck?”
“Yeah.
You’re just very observant, that’s why you haven’t kicked the bucket yet.” He looked around at my apartment, noting the window bars, the various detectors, the leak alarms, the multiple locks on the front door.
“But you can’t avoid meeting me, there, forever.
You’ll die eventually, and it won’t be natural.
Violence, accident, witches, sorcerers.
And there’s no escaping the lack of blessing.
You can’t remove what isn’t there.
Even in your next life, you’ll likely remain unlucky.”
He spoke calmly, lazily licking his paw.
But his words cut deep.
He knew how my life had gone.
Like he’d been watching it himself.
And this was permanent?
Playing life’s lottery every day, brawling with homeless thugs and addicts, being alone forever, unloved by anyone, for eternity?
One long black streak across all future lives?
I slowly sat down on a stool, pulled out a cigarette.
Lit it.
Anubis watched.
“Don’t count on divine help either.
Sure, you helped my skin, but I don’t fully control the underworld or the reincarnation process.
And I can’t negotiate with anyone either.
You saw the chaos up there.
I only fought Bastet because the gods are neglecting their duties.”
Even they couldn’t help.
I pulled the cigarette out of my mouth, staring blankly at the floor.
“But that doesn’t mean the problem is unsolvable.” He made me look up.
“You just said my luck can’t be restored,” I said, the rudeness slipping through.
But for once, it didn’t get a reaction.
“No, but you can keep doing what you’ve been doing.
Just better.” He left me baffled.
“Useless mortal.
I’ll give you a way to avoid unlucky outcomes.
You can’t always rely on luck.
You can make decisions that bypass chance.
People can’t see which choices will benefit them, but I’ll teach you.
You’ll keep your free will (the greatest gift the gods gave humanity), but you’ll still live with your curse.”
“Oh…
my heart.”
“I understand.”
“No, seriously.
It hurts.” Grabbing my chest, I collapsed to my knees.
I wanted to ask Anubis so many questions.
Could I find a girlfriend with his gift?
Return to a normal life, feel human for once?
But my vision was going dark.
“Shouldn’t have started smoking in this life.
Well, I guess you’ll get the gift in the next one.
Hm, Osiris probably won’t approve.
Ah, screw it.
I’ll just say you’re my worshipper.
But all my worshippers only appear in a specific climate zone.
Ah, whatever.
You’ll like it.”
Waaaa…
WAAAA!
A piercing cry echoed through a small tent.
My lungs burned from the inside.
Sand particles scraped against my teeth (from the lack of hygiene).
The suffocating heat made it impossible to focus.
A strange shadow rocked me in its arms, while another shadow behind it spoke.
My brain was flooded with questions.
Hadn’t I just died?
Why did I feel a tremor, like I’d seen something magnificent between death and birth?
Infinite gardens where nymphs play, gods relax, and Anubis decides mortal fates.
And what had he promised?
Something I couldn’t quite remember.
“The Multi-Choice System is preparing all paths for safe SURVIVAL.”
“Due to the high risk of mortality during birth, you have been placed into a child that was already born.”
At that moment, blue text appeared against the blurry world.
“Safe paths have been found.
From now on, you will be given various options.
Choosing them will direct your life in one direction or another, bypassing BAD luck.
A warning: completely removing all negative effects is impossible, but you can trust the system’s options, even if they seem strange.
And now.”
“Make a choice:”
1.
Reach toward the shadow holding you (Your relationship will improve).
2.
Reach toward the shadow standing slightly to the side (Your relationship will improve).
3.
Press your hands to your body, ignoring the shadows (Remaining independent, you will unlock renegade options.
Life as an outcast may have its perks).
Anubis’s words were starting to come back.
Now I could at least try to live like a normal person.
But I still couldn’t stop relying on my intuition.
The text disappeared.
I raised my little arms, shifted my eyes toward the shadow in the distance, and reached out my tiny fingers.
How I wished the haze would clear from my eyes so I could see what I was doing.
Swoosh.
A warm breeze swept past my tent, picking up clouds of sand.
Sitting on the doorstep, watching the sun set over the dunes (casting brilliant rays across the shimmering sand), I still couldn’t understand why I’d been dropped in this godforsaken desert in the middle of a massive continent.
Why, out of all the places I’d seen on the map in my parents’ house, I ended up here, in this nerve-frying, foot-eroding wasteland?
And it wasn’t even the modern era with all its medical advancements and rescue gear.
No, I was stuck in a world of screaming mages where a hundred-year war of genocide was still raging.
Where only one pacifist kid was supposed to decide the fate of the world.
Anubis, why?!
“Choose:”
1.
Wipe your tears and prove you’re not weak (Daily training time increases by a few hours).
2.
Keep crying, then drink some fermented juice (Training time drops to zero).
3.
Accept that perseverance and safety aren’t for you (Try to get a job as a bartender’s cleaner.
Training time significantly reduced).