by A.D. Sui
CW: bodily injury
When I was four, boiling water from the stove scalded my arm and peeled it raw like cooked tomato skin. The same day, my father found a golden nugget the size of his fist in the riverbed behind our house. When bad luck converges upon me, there is only good luck for everyone else. I am my town’s lightning rod, with the town’s bad luck bound to me at birth, to be freed from it by my dying breath.
Today, I watch over the raising of a barn while a lone cloud empties its contents on my exact spot and nowhere else. At this rate my boots will be soaked through by time the roof goes up. But it really isn’t so terrible. Most days townsfolk come by my family’s house with baskets of gifts in exchange for an hour of my time, to attend a birth, to stand idle as someone proposes marriage, to ward off bad luck anywhere and everywhere, all for some modest compensation. Meanwhile, a few towns over by the oceanside, elders throw girls from cliffs to counter bad luck. Our way seems kinder.
The men hammer support beams in place as my hair slicks back under the relentless downpour. All I wish for is a single day where no bodily harm comes my way, no accident or slight, and maybe a pretty girl to kiss. To this day, my life has been a series of comedically bad timing, near-death experiences, and wet socks. I can’t hold an egg without dropping it, and at least once a day, a bird defecates on my head. My mother frets, so we keep my hair short.
“It’s just a thing that happens to lightning rods,” people say, an adage both meaningless and etched in tradition. We keep my clothes simple and fitted, after the hem of my skirt was caught on a wagon wheel at age thirteen, and I was dragged three hundred meters before anyone heard my screams. I only wear pants now. The very same day it was confirmed that the harvest would be twice what we expected. “It’s just a thing that happens to lightning rods,” people say since there is nothing more to say.
At last, when the barn raised safely and my boots are thoroughly soaked, I escape to the woods—alone. Where I go, the birds do not sing. Where I go, even the insects know not to follow. But the forest takes mercy on me and makes for a soft bed. On it I lay, head pressed into emerald moss until a gentle song wakes me.
Not one from a bird, but one from a pretty girl dangling her bare feet in the river, her voice one with the currents. She ends her song at once when I open my eyes and turns around, her hair blonde and cropped just above the ears. “You snore,” she says.
Without warning, a sprite falls from the tree and lands beside me. It glances back and forth between me and the girl, sneers, and scurries off into the bushes, its wings pulled close to its body.
“That’s strange,” I mutter, still half-asleep.
“Usually, it would fall right on me,” says the girl, “and go straight for the eyes. You’re from just beyond the barley fields, aren’t you? I’ve seen you here before, on your mid-afternoon naps. Didn’t know you had a lightning rod of your own.”
So, she's seen me before I’ve seen her. And I should have because now that I have, there’s nothing more I’d like to do than see more of her. In her small stature, she rivals the nymphs in grace. Her pale skin blossoms under the fresh flush across her cheeks, the briefly sun kissed tip of her nose. I’d ask her for a name, but we, the unlucky ones don’t have names. The elders warn mothers that any name would be forever cursed after it’s been worn by a lightning rod.
“I’ll call you Lily, if you don’t mind,” I tell her, still lounging on the moss.
She raises her fair eyebrow.
“Because you’re sitting on one.”
A smile tugs at the corner of her lips. “Then I will call you Red because you’re bleeding.”
Without checking where exactly, I easily tell her. “It happens all the time.”
“Just a thing that happens to lightning rods,” we sing in unison and now we’re both smiling. Around us the forest lays silent, muffling our giggles. Here, no one will find us, no one will summon us back to fulfill our sacred duties of suffering. And so, we stay hidden, sharing in our misery, punctuating it with sweet laughter.
It’s after Lily tells me about the hoard of black cats that follow her through her town wherever she goes that I move by her side at the riverbank, throw off my shoes, and plunge my own feet into the current. And sometime after I confide in her that a hex aimed at my sister had me stuttering for a month does she brush her fingertips against mine.
She tells me that a rooster once clawed at her face so bad she nearly lost an eye, and the same night her mother was blessed with a boy child. She tells me this as I trace a deep scar along her chin where the rooster’s claws really made work of the delicate skin. Lily bears her troubles gracefully, with honour. When she speaks of the indignities of her childhood the words are nothing short of poetry.
“I once was dragged by a wagon for a whole length of a street,” I brag when it’s my turn to share.
Lily’s eyes dart to the hemmed trousers, both mine and hers sit right above the ankle. Tapered. Close to the flesh. “Hence, pants,” she shrugs.
“Skirts are a hazard.”
And while we talk, and our fingers become intertwined, the day around us turns to evening, and the trees begin to throw long shadows across the clearing. Before long it’s time to go and I wave Lily goodbye and scurry off to town.
###
That night, a lone bat collides with my face and scratches my good ear. I’ve long learned not to take it personally. It’s just a thing that happens to lightning rods. I watch our baker through her window as she slips in her kitchen and falls, miraculously catching a whole dozen of eggs straight back into the carton. By the time I sneak back into my house, my sister, three years my junior, has already announced her very respectable engagement and the whole family is merry and drunk.
“Did you hear?” my father yells from the kitchen when my boots pass the threshold.
I can only imagine. “Good news, I presume.”
And then they offer my drinks and food, brought in a recent bout of thanks from the townspeople, and neglect to ask about the bloodied ear or where I’ve been all day. The evening is loud and jolly. And when everyone is sufficiently drunk, and I am unable to bear any more celebration, I creep up the stairs to my bedroom to be blissfully alone.
“Took you long enough,” Lily whispers from the dark. I scream for a moment before she closes the distance between us and slams her palm over my mouth. Her hand is warm against my lips, and I press into it, like a child presses their mouth into a sweet. Behind us, the celebration rages on. No one will hear us be our own kind of merry.
“What are you doing here?”
“You forgot something,” Lily says and leans in close. A sweet perfume of flowers and tree moss envelops me as she presses her lips against mine. My fingers weave their way through her short hair, pulling her closer still.
“How rude of me,” I whisper when we finally break apart to catch our breaths. “And how kind of you to return it to me.”
A sudden, loud crash breaks us apart. My sister’s piercing scream reaches me halfway down the stairs. I rush into the kitchen to find my father on the floor, his foot at an unnatural angle, blood pooling on the walnut floorboards.
“He was just trying to get rid of the bat,” my sister cries and points to the ceiling where this evening’s earlier offender has taken up residence. “Oh, the sound, the sound of him falling was so awful.”
Lily has the sense to stay back on the staircase while I work to set my father’s ankle.
“I thought you were supposed to keep this from happening,” he groans and curses as I wrap thin bandages around a hasty splint.
He’s right, I was. Except that something’s wrong, and bad luck decided that it was free to affect anyone it wished. I was nearby, beneath the same roof, what stopped it? Except that there is now Lily on the staircase, my secret— another lightning rod. No two lightning rods have ever come together, been in each other’s arms, as far as anyone has told me. Where does bad luck turn when good luck comes to us cursed ones?
When I look for Lily, she’s already gone.
###
The next morning, I trip on the runner and fall face-first down the entire flight of stairs. An hour later we find out that my father’s fracture will heal well without any complications. Luck returns to its predictable flow while I ice my right cheekbone. When mother sets the breakfast table someone knocks at the door. My sister rushes to respond in her stead.
“Would it be troublesome to borrow the lightning rod for a few hours? We’re breaking in a new stallion, and I don’t want anyone losing any more teeth than they have to,” a cheerful voice comes from the door.
I wince. This means I’ll be the one losing them. I shove my sister aside and gaze into Lily’s grinning face. She’s changed her clothes so that the top fits loose and has thrown a tattered jacket on top of it. With her already short hair slicked back she looks like a charming teenage boy. She’s muddied her boots for added effect and shoved her hands into her pockets.
“Come with me, lightning rod,” she says coyly. “Unless you have something better to do all afternoon.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” I say, halfway through the doorway already.
We escape to the forest at once, scaring off sprites as we push through the bushes. The forest parts willingly for us, as if it was expecting the company.
“Be careful,” I tell Lily when we reach our spot. “Don’t run out of disguises.”
She ruffles her hair at once and gives me a radiant smile. “I wouldn’t worry about that. I’m not keen on staying around long.”
My heart sinks. “What do you mean?”
Lily kicks up and through ankle-high grass and paces along the riverbank. She shoves her hands in her pockets and looks down at her feet. “Well—” the mood between us cools by several degrees. “What if we ran off to a different town? You and I?”
“You mean the towns where they throw girls from cliffs to counter bad luck?”
“Or some other town,” Lily hums. She’s frowning now. Her gentle features darken as she says the next part. “What happened yesterday, it’s not the first time for me, you know.”
I reel back the panic rising in my fingertips. A sprite above us breaks into a song and hushes immediately when we glare at it. I let Lily decide whether she wants to tell me anything more.
“A year ago, there was another lightning rod, from past the sunflower patches,” she says softly. “I really liked her, but when we were together, bad luck wouldn’t flock to us. Instead, it spread back over whichever town we were in. Well, my folks didn’t figure it out, but hers did.” Lily kicks a patch of grass hard enough that mud flies from her boots. “They chased me from the town with rocks and batons and then a few months later—” she takes a shuddering breath, “—a few months later they had a new lightning rod.” She looks to me with meaning.
“They did away with her,” I say and Lily only nods.
“They’ll do away with us just the same if someone catches us.”
Then we do our best not to get caught. “We’ll meet only here, away from the towns,” I suggest, but I know it’s a poor solution.
In a huff, Lily shoves her hands in her pockets and paces back and forth across the clearing. “And then we go back to our respective towns and nearly die each day? So that our sisters may have merry engagements and our fathers find wealth?”
I only shrug.
“That scar on your arm.” Lily doesn’t quit. “That awful thing, all burgundy and wrinkled. What did it get your town? Did they strike water and build a new well? Did they have a good harvest? What did you trade your hand for?”
I never thought of it as awful. My father was overjoyed when he returned home that day. With that much gold we repaired the roof and fed the horses for months to come. It was a joyous evening, I remember vividly. Our neighbours came and even shared their good wine from the cellar. “Is it really so awful?” I ask, seeing the angry scar as if for the first time.
Lily grabs my shoulders, pulls me close. “We can go somewhere where nothing awful ever happens. Together, we can forge our own luck, but only together. Please.”
Lily’s eyes glance sideways, I follow. Beneath the shrubs she has stoved away two packs. Their leather bellies strain with enough supplies to last us no matter how long the trek. She gives my shoulder another squeeze. “Let’s go.”
But my sister has an engagement, and my father has a leg to mend. What will become of them if bad luck finds its way in? I am my family’s curse, yes, but I can do good here. I alone can sway the fates to favour our town. I take a single step back and let Lily’s hands fall from my shoulders. “I wish you well,” I say.
Lily’s mouth opens but no sound comes. Her eyes race across my face then to the shrubs and back. At last, she grabs one of the packs and with a sob disappears into the woods. I can hear her sniffling for a moment or two and then she’s gone, maybe forever.
Mother did always say that first love never lasts.
###
Before I know it, summer gives way to fall. My feet are nearly always cold and wet, sloshing around in my boots. The feeling does little to help me forget Lily’s brief company. But everyone is happy, healthy, as they should be. My father’s leg heals perfectly just about the same time I come down with pneumonia. My sister has her wedding and leaves the house right about when a drinking horse gets spooked and kicks me in the ribs, breaking three. It’s just a thing that happens to lightning rods. Things are as they are supposed to be.
When the first snow comes, I stop frequenting the woods. I’ve been waiting by the riverbank diligently, hoping that Lily would return. But no one wakes me with their singing there, no one sneaks back to my bedroom for a kiss. I hope she’s well, wherever luck has dropped her.
By mid-winter my ribs are finally healed, so when my mother calls me downstairs one frigid night, I come at once without limping or cursing. To my surprise I come face-to-face with a crone of a woman, who’s sipping tea by the dinner table, smiling at my father. My mother stands off to the side, eyes cast towards the floor.
“Elder Myrabel.” I bow, low enough to satisfy her ego.
She waves her free hand to greet me. “My dearest lightning rod, how tall you’ve grown.”
I haven’t grown an inch since she’d last seen me. Last she’d seen me she received a very generous gift from my parents and I promptly slipped on spilled water and knocked myself unconscious on the kitchen floor. It’s just a thing that happens to lightning rods.
“Well, come, sit, my dear lightning rod. I’ve been telling your family of the wonderful task I have for you.”
Oh, how I wish for Lily to be here, up in my room, waiting for a kiss. “I’d rather stand, Elder Myrabel.”
“Suit yourself,” she says and takes another sip.
The backboard behind me splinters and pokes me hard in the back.
“The tea is simply delicious.” Myrabel smiles at my father, who looks devastated at best. “As I was saying, Lady Gladis is due with her child—” Lady Gladis whose husband has been known to frequent other ladies, specifically one that is the daughter of Elder Myrabel. I see where this is going—revenge. “—and I was thinking with how healthy and strong her other children are, wouldn’t this child make a great lightning rod?”
I wince. “I’m right here.”
“Well, of course you are, dear,” Elder Myrabel says. “But look at how tired you’ve gotten. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you could go off and be a normal girl for once?”
I don’t buy this for a moment. I give my father a look—he’s not buying it either. No one has ever let it slip that the lightning rod power could be transferred. No one has ever suggested that I could be unbound from the bad luck before my dying breath. But one thing is certain, two lightning rods cannot exist in the same village, and Elder Myrabel surely knows this. Lily was right.
“Why come all the way here and tell us, Elder?” My throat is awfully dry with fear.
“As Elder Myrabel was saying,” my father croaks, “she wishes for you to accompany her to the birth, to make sure everything goes smoothly. Only good luck for the baby with the lightning rod there.”
She wants me there so she may do away with me on the spot. They’ve come for me, just as Lily said they would. My father takes in my ashen face, his knuckles fade to white, twisted around the arms of the chair. “Go get your coat upstairs, girl,” he pushes out. “It’s cold out and it’s a long walk.”
If only I could thank him. “Of course. One moment. No room for bad luck at a birth.”
I back away up the stairs and into my room. I move quickly, shut the door, prop it up with a chair. The drop from my window is only two storeys with fluffy snow below. I pull on my coat, my hat, my mittens. No time to grab rations. No time at all. I fling the window open and jump. Thank you, father, for saving your cursed daughter.
###
The night forest is silent, and I can hear nothing but my panting, nothing but the mad beating of my heart nearing its rupture. The air burns my lungs as I struggle through the snowbanks, never letting up, never missing a step, never looking over my shoulder to see if I’m being followed. Now, fear will always trail me everywhere I go. My foot catches on a root and I fall into a snowbank, face first. For just a moment, I will my breathing still and listen for footsteps, but none come. Only a lonely owl hoots far off in the tall trees.
A heap of snow falls from the branch above me, straight on my head. Just my luck.
I stumble off, dusting clumps of snow from my coat. My stomach grumbles, a sound beacon in the silent night. I never did manage to grab dinner. I hope wherever Lily landed she has a hot meal and a roof over her head, that no one knows that she’s a lightning rod, and she lives in peace, taking both bad and good luck as it comes her way. I hope no one ever comes for her the way they came for me.
“Who goes there?” A voice pierces the night and I take off running again, my heart in my throat. I circle a clearing, quick on my feet. I’m putting the voice behind me until my foot catches in a snare and it yanks me off the ground. I flail wildly to get lose, but that only tightens the snare. So, despaired, I hang upside down, waiting for my inevitable capture.
“Three days I’ve been setting snares and caught nothing but the wind,” a man’s gravelly voice says from behind me. “And today I catch both a girl and three rabbits. Must be my lucky day.”
I chill comes over me. Fear is enough to get me flailing again until suddenly the snare snaps and I tumble to the ground. I clamber upright to run, only to crash into my captor.
“Don’t be in a hurry now, no one’s going to hurt you,” he says from behind a bushy grey beard and a coat of furs. “You’re running off from somewhere aren’t ya?”
I say nothing.
“Come by the fire, have a rabbit and a rest.”
“What’s it going to cost me?” I’m readying to sprint in the opposite direction.
The man thinks. “There is a task—”
“I ain’t some naïve girl,” I shout.
He recoils, offended. “Now, I’m not sure what you’re implying, but it surely isn’t that. It’s about a bet. You’re one of them lightning rods, aren’t ya?”
“What gave me away?”
The man nods at the other snares. “Those snares were empty two minutes ago. Then just like that, three rabbits set off three snares all at once. That kind of luck ain’t natural.”
My heart slows enough so that I can think straight. A bet then, well, bets I know well. “So, what’s at stake in your bet?”
“More money than you’ve ever seen.”
He’d be surprised by how much wealth has come to me and mine by luck alone. My stomach grumbles loudly. The man points to the campfire in the clearing. “Suit yourself. I’ll go now and skin those rabbits. Come over and have one and I’ll tell you about the bet. It’s your decision, girl.” With that he staggers off and leaves me in the night’s cold. My common sense tells me to run and never stop, but my stomach reminds me that there’s freshly roasted rabbit on the line. And there’s a bet. Money couldn’t hurt. Money could get me farther from my town, from Elder Myrabel, all the way past the cliffs where girls die, to the other side of the ocean. Money can get me free.
I saunter over to the campfire. It appears, my luck is turning.
###
The most uninspiring of all bets are horses. Direct interference aside, the outcome of a race is easy enough to predict if only you do your homework, but the old man’s tactic shows to have more finesse. Lightning rods are of course banned from horse races, from attending and from playing. The penalty of having a lightning rod help you win is a swift ban and a hefty fine. But the old man has a plan, and I have to admit it’s not the worst.
Lady Wednesday is a six-year-old chestnut mare and the weakest of her heat. She’ll surely come in last unless I do something about it. Lucky for me, all I have to do is be around. The plan is simple, elegant. The man makes a show of betting on the weakest horses who then end up taking the race. He gathers a crowd; he sways some bets. And when the moment comes, and everyone is betting as he is. I simply leave, and the luck returns to normal. The man wins big, and there is no trace of my wicked interference.
So, then, the horses are ready, the bets are made, a bird swiftly craps on my brand-new hat. And with the firing of a pistol, they’re off. Lady Wednesday is trailing, just as expected, but not to worry, a stranger spills their whiskey on my dress, so our luck is bound the change any moment. The horses are rounding the corner, the crowd cheers wildly, and then, Lady Wednesday comes in dead last.
“What the hell are you doing?” the old man grabs my arm and shakes me. “You said you were a lightning rod.”
I did. I am. So, what gives?
“A fluke, a trade-off,” I offer him. “Let’s try the next race.”
The next race is set. The old man bets on Fury Unrivaled, a four-year-old dapple-grey stallion, predicted to trail the pack from the get-go. My tumbler shatters in my hand, a piece digs into my palm and spills fresh blood. All bodes well. The horses are off. They round the corner. Fury Unrivaled comes in dead last. My panic rises faster than the old man’s fury.
“You’re useless, you filthy liar.” He spits at my feet. “Get out of my sight and take your awful luck with you.” He shoves me backwards and I have no choice but take my wounded pride and shuffle off, hands gripping at my dress. No sense arguing and drawing attention.
What happened back there? Why had luck evaded me? Could the elders really strip me of this magic even so far from town?
“Excuse me, miss.” Someone taps my shoulder. “You forgot this.”
I turn around. The stranger moves too fast and before I know it their hands wrap around my waist and pull me close. Their lips are on mine. Stranger still, I’ve felt those lips before. The stranger pulls away and I gaze into Lily’s clear, blue eyes. Her hair is still short, her face still grinning.
“Thanks for returning it to me,” I whisper, and then I’m kissing her again, and everything makes sense. Of course, luck hasn’t been working as it should, what with two lightning rods in such close vicinity.
“You look all kinds of awful,” Lily says jovially when she finally pulls back. “What’s brought you this far from the town?”
“Missed your pretty eyes.” I manage with a straight face.
Lily’s face darkens. “They came for you, didn’t they?”
“They did.”
“My poor Red.” Lily strokes my palm where blood still seeps. “It’s just a thing that happens to lightning rods, isn’t it?”
I can’t help but smile, but the smile lasts only a blink. There is building commotion behind Lily, a crowd nearing us, and by the sound of it they’re not in a great mood. The old man is their leader. “That’s her, that’s the lightning rod,” he shouts. “She’s been betting on the horses.”
Clearly, no one here understands how luck magic works since if I were the one betting there would be no problem as I would lose every ounce of gold I’ve put down. So much for good luck flocking to Lily and I, when we’re together. I grab her hand; without a word she gives it a tight squeeze and pulls me in the opposite direction. We sprint through the crowds. A clash of shouts erupts behind us, but I’m too focused on following Lily to turn back.
A fancily dressed woman spills her wine ahead of us, and we slip along the merlot as if it were ice. Onwards! The crowd behind us is catching up. My hand still in Lily’s, we push through a wave of onlookers and jump to the tracks below. Another race has already started, and the horses are galloping towards their fates. Without a moment’s hesitation Lily drags us in the middle of the racetrack. The horses around rounding the corner, getting closer with each passing breath.
“What are you doing?” I shout.
“When we’re together, good luck flows,” Lily shouts back over the rumbling of horse hooves. “They can’t hurt us.”
In a blink, the horses are upon us. The first one gallops past us, the jockey shouting profanities. The second horse heads straight for Lily, but when she doesn’t move, the horse bucks and the jockey tumbles backwards. The third horse, a speckled mare, digs her hooves into the soft soil and her jockey flies over her head.
“Come on,” Lily shouts and nudges me towards the mare. “You know how to ride, don’t you?” The crowd behind us has grown into a mob. They’re closing in, their fists high in the air, their rage palpable.
“I’m insulted you could even think otherwise.” I hop on the mare just as the mob catches up to us. The mare rears and kicks the first man in the teeth. He goes flying spraying blood everywhere. The rest don’t seem to care. No one comes to his aid. In the commotion, Lily breaks away and heads for the fences, I follow suit. She rides masterfully, like she’s been winning races since she’s been able to stand on her own.
A little distance forms between us, but when Lily’s horse is nearly at the fence it stops abruptly and Lily flies over its head. Luckily, she lands on her feet and rolls forward in a summersault.
The mob is on my heels, having stolen the racehorses for themselves. I have a moment’s lead to work with, if only luck will smile down upon me. I reach for Lily as my horse gallops by. Our hands collide and I grab on to her as tightly as I can. Somehow, she jumps high enough to mount the horse. Just one leap, I pray, and we’ll be free of them, free of the weight of bad luck. One leap and we can have a future that’s more than scars, and wounds, and wet socks.
The mare leaps—
She clears the fence, and we gallop into the woods. The moment the horse’s hooves touch the forest floor Lily sighs behind me. Her arms loosen around my waist.
“I really should apologize,” she mutters, “that I even entertained the thought that you weren’t a good rider.”
I keep the horse at a gentle trot, my own mad heartbeat slowing. “Seems you were right about luck favouring us when we’re together.”
Lily laughs, but I shush her instantly. Behind us, rises a low rumble of horseshoes against dirt. The mob has crossed the fence and now they’re really angry. “Hang on.” I urge the mare to pick up speed, as fast as she’ll go between the trees. Our luck holds and we weave between the tree trunks without slowing. We run, fast as the wind will go. But behind us, the mob is catching up. Soon, I can hear their shouts and what sounds like metal against metal.
Lily clutches to me. “Our luck,” she mumbled. “Our luck has run out.”
But she’s wrong, our luck is strongest when we’re together. We can outrun them; we can still get free.
We burst from the forest and onto a clearing. The sky beckons us forward, lined with wispy clouds. The smell of the ocean rises as high as the cliff that we’re on. Beyond it, a distant horizon where there is no poor luck coming our way, a place where I can have that day I’ve been dreaming of. I hop from the mare and give my hand to Lily. “Come with me, we go over the cliff and we never look back. We’ll keep to the shore, and they’ll never catch up.”
She hesitates. The mob’s shouts grow closer. “There’s rocks at the bottom of the cliff.”
“Come with me, hold my hand, and we’ll miss them. You said so yourself, luck favours us when we’re together.”
The mob is nearly upon us. The sun catches the angry, red burn across my arm, and I know then that Lily calls me Red because of it and no other reason. And it is awful no matter how she omits saying it. But something good had come of it, and something good can come of us, no matter what destiny we’re bound to.
“Come with me,” I ask a final time, the sound of hooves drowning me out. Together, only together do the chips fall in our favor.
When the men dismount their horses, they say nothing. Their daggers catch the light and nearly blind me. A few towns over they throw girls from cliffs to counter bad luck, but now I think those girls go willingly, given the alternative. I back away until my heels hover over the cliff’s edge.
“Got you now, lightning rod,” says the man in front. “Guess this ain’t your lucky—”
His voice catches in his throat, and then he screams loud, unrestrained. Beside me, Lily is poised with her hand unfurled mid-way through the air. I follow the straight line from her hand to the man’s thigh where a short dagger has embedded itself to the hilt.
“Oh, no one wants to hear from you,” Lily says and pulls me in for a kiss. It’s sweet, like a summer afternoon, and perfect. And then, still in my arms, she gently pushes us off the edge and into the abyss—into flight.
Below us are rocks, and choppy waters. Behind us, a mob of angry men ready to slit our throats, but ahead of us is an unknown future. Ahead, we make our own luck. All I’ve ever yearned for was a single day where no bodily harm came my way, no accident or slight, and maybe a pretty girl to kiss. A tall order, but I think it’s about time for luck to smile down upon a cursed thing like me.
© Copyright 2024 A.D. Sui
About the Author
A.D.Sui is a Ukrainian-born, queer, disabled science fiction writer, and the author of THE DRAGONFLY GAMBIT. She is a failed academic, retired fencer, and coffee enthusiast. Her short fiction has appeared in Augur, Fusion Fragment, HavenSpec, and other venues. When not wrangling her two dogs you can find her on every social media platform as@thesuiwayor through herNEWSLETTER.
