Long checkered shirts

Four.

I had to wake up.
I had to not have the guts to just let go.
No one cried, it's like they all knew I wasn't going to die.
But what if I was?
What if I was going to die?
I mean, there was a chance, a small chance, but it was still a chance.
Would they have still cried if I did die?
I wonder what they would have done with my body.
Would they have blamed me, themselves, that man?
What impact would it have on the world?

There is this thing, it can be this magnificent, magical thing. This thing can make you fall in love, make you fall apart, make you fall, help you win, make you lose. This thing is called luck.

I don't believe in it.

Every time I start to, I get a stupid bracelet with a four leaf clover, or I weird necklace from the volcano of some shit, or an 'amazing' mood ring, or some spectacular anklet that some god gave or some juju shit has been on it, so no matter what when you wear it, no bad luck would come. And every time I would be surprisingly disappointed each and every time it didn't work.

Although I never got a charm that would bring you luck, just push away the bad stuff. So maybe there was no good luck with me, just shitty luck, and everyone saw that, and tried so hard to keep all the bad luck away from me, it's embarrassing really. To know I'm a walking bad luck charm. It's sad. It's strange sad, not an "aww" sad.

That night I was wearing a necklace full of the magic that would push the bad luck away, and if it worked, I would have been dead.

I liked the necklace though, my friend gave it to me. It was a heart made out of tree wood, and a tiny 'A' carved into it ever so gently, in the centre, and it had curved edges on the letter instead of one that had been typed. It had a small hole on top, with a metal circle on it so the black string could connect it with the heart, it also had to silver bead balls beside the wood heart, and the clip was the strangest. It was like two springs, but they weren't springy and you had to take a bit from the top to clip it together.

It was beautiful. She told me, as her pale arms and bony fingers handed me the most precious gift I had ever been given, in the most sick and dead voice a poor girl could have, in between coughs, "it's a Bosnian necklace, when you wear it it should push all bad luck away."

After she gave me it, that night, the white blood cells attacked her red blood cells and the leukaemia won. She was too weak. She died.

I remember now, that it was a Christmas present, it was Christmas Eve when she gave it too me. She died on Christmas morning, 1:09 am.

I turn to my side and look at the time, 2:54 pm.
The clock has my necklace on it.

I reach over and pick it up, sending a shot of pain through my arm. I look at my arm all over and see that it is bruised, I then flashback to when they knocked me down onto my left side.

My brown, knotted hair fell into my face and my head was the last to hit the cold marble floor. The floor smelt like bleach, and it had stains of blood from where the little girl who was across me was getting rushed out, because she was coughing blood.

I shake my head and think about that girl.
She can't have been older than eight years.
I look up, and she's sitting there, I stairing at me.
I swing out of my bed with the necklace locked in my left aching hand. I get the thing that has loads of drugs in a bag, I think it's to stop me from going all loopy loo again, and drag it too her bed. The thin makes me feel old, and makes me feel like I'm dying. I know we are all slowly, but I hope I die soon, I'm hurting so much no matter how many drugs they give me. I still want to die.

I wasn't well educated on the whole, well, hospital thing. I was never in a hospital, apart from visiting daisy, before she died. But then she went home, so I visited her there instead.