Superstition Be Damned

Dax turns superstition upside down to make Friday the 13th lucky.

Dax Bennington woke up to the steady patter of rain against his bedroom window and the vibrating buzz of his phone alarm. He slapped it silent and rolled over, blinking at the glowing numbers.

6:13 a.m.

He grinned.

“Perfect.”

Today was Friday the 13th, and his birthday.

For most people, the date carried a reputation heavy with superstition. Broken mirrors, unlucky ladders, black cats crossing paths. Entire buildings skipped the thirteenth floor. His coworkers had been complaining about it all week.

But Dax had decided something the week before.

Today was going to be his lucky day.

He sat up, stretched, and announced to his empty apartment, “Today is going to be the best birthday ever.”

As he stepped outside his building, a sleek black cat darted across the sidewalk right in front of him.

Mrs. Miller from apartment 2B gasped.

“Oh heavens,” the elderly woman muttered, clutching her purse. “Black cat on Friday the thirteenth.”

Dax crouched and scratched the cat behind the ears.

“Hey buddy,” he said. “Thanks for starting my lucky streak.”

Mrs. Miller looked horrified.

“You shouldn’t touch it!”

“Why not?” Dax said cheerfully. “Maybe he's a lucky cat.”

At that exact moment Mrs. Miller’s grocery bag tore open, spilling apples across the wet pavement.

“Oh for pity’s sake!” she groaned.

Dax helped gather them up.

“See?” she said. “Bad luck already.”

Dax shrugged. “Or maybe gravity.”

_ _ _

On the walk to the bus stop, he passed a tall aluminum ladder leaning against the side of a building. A painter stood nearby taking a smoke break.

Dax paused.

The painter said quickly, “Don’t walk under that, man.”

Dax grinned.

“Watch me.”

He strolled directly beneath the ladder like it was a victory arch.

The painter shook his head.

“Brave or stupid.”

Dax kept walking.

Behind him, the painter stubbed out his cigarette and stepped forward, only to slip on a puddle and drop his entire paint tray.

White paint splattered across the sidewalk.

“Ah come on!” the painter shouted.

Dax glanced back.

“Well...good luck with that!” he called.

_ _ _

The bus ride was even better.

He sat down just as a woman two rows up shrieked.

“My phone!”

It had slipped from her hand and shattered on the bus floor.

Dax winced sympathetically.

“That’s rough.”

The bus driver slammed the brakes suddenly to avoid a car that ran a red light. Everyone lurched forward except Dax, who happened to be holding the seat bar.

Someone muttered, “Friday the thirteenth curse.”

Dax raised an eyebrow.

“Or bad driving.”

He checked his phone.

His favorite coffee shop was offering free birthday drinks.

“Ha!” he whispered. “Lucky.”

_ _ _

At the café, things got stranger.

The line was long, and the barista looked frazzled.

The woman in front of Dax ordered a complicated drink.

The machine sputtered.

Steam shot out sideways, soaking the counter.

“Oh no no no,” the barista said.

“Friday the thirteenth,” the woman sighed dramatically.

Dax stepped up when it was his turn.

“What can I get you?” the barista asked tiredly.

“Whatever the birthday special is.”

She scanned his ID.

“Oh! Free drink.”

She handed him a massive caramel latte with extra whipped cream.

Dax lifted it like a trophy.

“See?” he said to the room. “Lucky day.”

Behind him someone dropped a tray of muffins.

The entire café went silent.

Dax slowly backed out the door with his drink.

_ _ _

Work was even more chaotic.

Dax worked at a small insurance office downtown. When he arrived, the receptionist was panicking.

“The copier’s jammed again!”

A stack of papers exploded out of the machine like confetti.

Dax walked past her desk.

“Good Morning!”

“Don’t say that,” she groaned.

“Why?”

“It’s Friday the thirteenth!”

Dax leaned on the counter.

“And it’s my birthday.”

She stared.

“That’s...unfortunate.”

“Not at all.”

Right then his boss, Richard Lemming rushed out of the office holding a stack of files.

“We lost the Henderson paperwork!”

A coffee mug tipped over and soaked the files instantly.

Mr. Lemming groaned.

“Of course this would happen today.”

Dax raised his caramel latte.

“To luck.”

_ _ _

At lunch, his coworkers insisted on celebrating his birthday.

They went to a nearby diner.

The waitress approached nervously.

“You folks know it’s Friday the thirteenth, right?”

Dax laughed.

“Yes. And it’s going great.”

His coworker James knocked over a glass of water.

Another dropped their fork.

The jukebox suddenly started playing static.

Dax bit into his burger.

Perfect.

Halfway through the meal the waitress brought him a slice of chocolate cake with a candle.

“Make a wish,” she said.

Dax leaned forward.

“I wish today keeps being awesome.”

He blew out the candle.

Immediately the lights flickered.

The entire diner went dark.

Someone yelled from the kitchen.

“Power’s out!”

Groans filled the room.

Dax took another bite of cake.

Still delicious.

_ _ _

By evening the rain had stopped.

Dax walked home feeling fantastic.

Sure, weird things had happened all day, but none of them had happened to him.
As he approached his apartment building, Mrs. Miller was standing outside again.

“You survived,” she said.

“Told you I would.”

She shook her head.

“You tempt fate.”

Dax smiled.

“Or maybe I just don’t believe in it.”

Just then a moving truck pulled up to the curb.

A worker climbed down carrying a box labeled FRAGILE.

The bottom burst open.

Glass shattered everywhere.

“Aw come on!” the worker groaned.

Mrs. Miller pointed.

“Friday the thirteenth!”

Dax stepped carefully over the broken glass.

“Still my lucky day.”

He climbed the stairs to his apartment.

Inside, he collapsed onto the couch, exhausted, but happy.

Outside, thunder rumbled again and a car alarm suddenly started blaring somewhere down the street.

Dax raised the last of his latte in a toast.

“Happy birthday to me.”

And despite the chaos swirling everywhere around him, Dax Bennington went to bed completely convinced that Friday the 13th was the luckiest day he’d ever had.

Word Count: 998
Prompt: Write a story in which your protagonist tosses superstition aside, determined to make Friday the 13th their Lucky Day.
Written for: "The Writer's Cramp"