Bad Omens

 The black cat crossed my path, unknowing of the distress it caused me.

I stared at the omen of ill fortune. It looked like it didn’t care for the doom it was bringing me, chasing a butterfly as it was. The playful swaying of its tail and its pouncing paws  made it seem unaware of its malicious nature.

Perhaps I was being silly, I would have thought, if it weren’t for the string of events that had happened to me since that morning. Simply thinking back to it caused goosebumps on my skin, and my eyes flitted around for any sign of something about to occur.

It all began when I dropped my hand-mirror this morning. Living in a small apartment, I have no space for a full-length mirror, so my smaller one had to make do. As my luck would have it, terrible as it seemed to be this day, it slipped through my fingers as I was brushing my hair.

I haven’t even been one to believe in superstitions, so the shattered shards of the mirror on my carpet didn’t bring me any particular worry. My only thought was to buy a replacement from the shop beside my workplace.

I cut my finger on one of the shards, but that wasn’t unexpected. The first sign of bad luck was the faint smell of smoke. It wasn’t from my kitchen, as I would never be so careless as to leave something on the stove.

An hour later, I stood out in the miserable, cold rain, watching as my tiny apartment burnt to ashes. The final embers of flames were being put out by the firemen. The old woman next door was sobbing her poor heart out, apologising for her carelessness, but I didn’t have the heart to comfort her. Later, I was told that she had fallen asleep while waiting for her bread to finish toasting.

As my wet hair plastered itself to my face, I couldn’t help but glance at the only item I had managed to rescue from the fire. It had long since slipped from my fingers and lay sadly on the ground. I felt a sense of irony, as the little hand-mirror lay in the same position it was an hour ago.

I felt an odd urge to pick it up. It was the only belonging I had left. It would be a true miracle, I thought sadly, if anything I owned could be salvaged from the wreckage of my home of three years.

Turning it about in my hands, I carefully brushed the soot off the cheap, deformed plastic. The broken mirror surface threatened to cut, but amazingly, I never felt a sting.

Perhaps, I wondered, the universe felt I had been punished enough? As if in response, I heard the cawing of crows from afar. Ignoring the ill omen, I continued my examination of the mirror. Noticing a little red ladybug, I let out a sigh of relief.

I remember many stories from my grandmother. Don’t break a mirror, she would say. Seven years of bad luck! But, she also called ladybugs a sign of good fortune. Perhaps the little creature would counteract it?

I attempted to get the insect to crawl onto my finger, but it didn’t approach me. Perhaps it was frightened? As I slowly inched my hand closer to it, I felt surprised that it hadn’t been frightened away. A sinking feeling settled in my stomach as I touched the bug, and found it unmoving. Nudging it made no difference either.

As quickly as I could, I walked up to the dumpster closest to me, and dropped the mirror in it. All attachment for it had long since left, and now I was only filled with fear. My hands shook in terror as I recalled my grandmother’s words.

“Good omens bring you good fortune”, she told me. “But anyone who is evil enough to kill a good omen will receive only bad luck and curses.”

I’ve had enough bad luck, I thought hysterically to myself, ignoring the cry of worry from the fireman by my side. My hands moved by their own will, grabbing onto my unbrushed hair, as I sobbed. I wish my grandmother was here, with her famous pie, instead of with my parents in the next city over.

The world around me blurred, a cacophony of noises and colours. I felt myself being led away, and gave no resistance. I only came back to reality when I heard a familiar voice. Looking up through tear-filled eyes, I saw a kind-looking police officer offering me a phone, my mother’s soothing voice comforting me through it. He gave me a gentle smile before leaving me alone, phone clutched tight in my hands.

“Oh, my poor dear,” cried my mother’s terribly sad voice through the phone, grounding me through my fear. “Don’t worry so much. You will always have a place to stay here with your parents. As long as you’re safe, everything will be fine.”

I listened to her calming words as I wiped away my tears. A small smile broke through my gloomy mood, and I felt a little hope.

“I’ll be there in a few hours,” I said, feeling the warmth of love through the phone’s cold plastic. “I’ll have to check the bus schedules. Ask Grandma to keep her pie ready for me, alright? I need something to cheer me up.”

There was an odd silence on the other end. My newly risen hope burned and died. “Mom?” I said quietly.

“Dear.. about your grandmother..” said the soft voice of my mother. I could picture her face already, crumpling in sorrow. “She.. she had a heart attack when she heard of the fire in your apartment. She..” Here, my mother broke down into sobs, unable to continue. But I knew what she was going to say, and my heart dropped like a stone.

Placing the phone carefully on the little chair I had been seated on, I quickly stood up. I walked out of the building, and tried my very best to not think about what had just happened. If I processed it, I don’t think I would be able to hold in the tears.

Not that I had any left, I snorted in dark amusement. My steps were sluggish and slow, but nobody seemed to notice as I left the police station. My shoes were tattered, and I could feel the gravel beneath my feet. I had walked and walked, until I reached where I was. 

I was broken out of my recollection from the meowing of the little black cat. Its green eyes stared at my teary ones in odd curiosity.