Tough Luck

I have a job. I know, everyone one who's an adult and has lived their life to come to the point in time to have a stand in society has a job, but mine is different. Mine is for the rest of the world's life. Some might say it's celestial or maybe even heaven blessed based on what I'm about to tell, but I assure you, that's not the case. I was given this job by someone whose main job is to bless people with tough times and wellbeing. His task and his power is to make sure everyone comes into life with bad luck and good luck scenarios. I am the one who grants good luck and helps others. My brother, he delivers bad luck. Both are under our boss's commands. We simply go around blessing people based on who they are and what they are going though. Most of the time, we outlive our clients and move on to our next guest, but sometimes, things can be different. Sometimes, we can get too connected.

"Hey now, It's been nice knowing you. Hope your time with me has been helpful," I whisper to my old client. She smiles at me and nods.

"Very. I know that whoever gets you next, will be very grateful," she forces her words at me before the heart monitor hisses out death. She was a nice lady, wise from the start and grew to be a very intelligent individual. I had enjoyed my eighty-three years with her. I feel the familiar tingle in my chest as I'm coming up to my office to be granted a new client. The ride up is breathtaking as usual and makes me grin with satisfaction. This was the scary part, though. Whenever my new client saw me or even caught a glance at me, they would act as if I was a ghost. They would scream and ask the repetitive words of, "what are you?!" right at my faded face. I know, I get it, I don't look human, but I'm not a lifeless soul trying to find it's position in the world of the dead. I'm a creature that was crafted out of my father's power. I can be whatever I want, whenever I want. It's a handy blessing. But I don't use it often. I prefer my clients to know what I am so they have more time to adjust to my appearance and understand that eventually, I won't be with them. I don't like to disappoint.

My brother and I don't usually get along. On rare occasions, we both get the same client and their life turns out to be a roller coaster of ups and downs. It's a mess and our father tries his best to make sure it doesn't get to be that way. When I'm seated down, my father awaits.

"So, who's next?" I ask, leaning forward. He grins.

"This will be difficult. It's a male, fourteen. Both his parents are dead and he was abused by his foster dad. He ran away and is now living on the streets, homeless. I'm sure you can manage," he explains, taking a deep breath. I stroke my chin.

"I'm sure it won't be that bad. I helped slaves and millennials. What could go wrong?" I chime. My father sighs.

"Son, these humans are not trophies of hardships you have healed. They have feelings and anything you're facing, you face it with respect and empathy. You can't skip through this task like a picture book, take a moment to analyze that picture and take time to figure it out before flipping to the next page, ok?" he lectures, giving me that look. I smirk.

"Of course, my apologies."

"Anyway, I'm sending you down soon. Get ready," my father announces. I freeze.

"Now? What about my fifteen year break while I have natural luck on autopilot?" I ask, dazed by his words.

"Oh, no. Not this time. He needs the help, right away. Do you understand?" my father sternly implies, staring me down. I sigh.

"Fine, but double up my break when I come back."

Sending me down is simple, I'm shot like a bullet to their location and I decide when I reveal my identity. This kid was under a highway, sitting on the rocks with his head resting on the concrete behind him. Dirty blond hair, with a faded black streak. Kinda messed up, but not the worst. His gray hoodie was dusted and covered in spots of old stains along with his torn jeans. And to sum it up, he had a lightly freckled face across the nose. I float over to him.