Bad Luck Avenue

Two brothers argue the validity of superstitions

"I'm just saying you should be careful. Maybe come back to the apartment with me and chill for a while."

Billy shook his head. "I gotta get home, bro; it's late! And I'm not afraid of black cats, ladders, mirrors, or calendars," he said to his brother.

"Dude, today is Friday the 13th. You know how rare that is?"

"It just happened last month, doofus. And nothing bad happened to me then. Nothing good happened to me either; it was just another day." The walk light turned green and he stepped off the sidewalk, calling over his shoulder to Conrad. "Because they're all just another{emdash}"

Billy never finished his sentence. The bus was moving far too fast to swerve out of the way, and Billy was sent flying 20 feet before colliding with the corner of a brick wall. There was no coma, no tubes, no deathwatch. Billy was what EMTs call DRT: Dead Right There.

Conrad stared in shock. He looked around, patting his chest and pockets as though assuring himself that he was still in one piece. He randomly looked at his watch. 11:58 PM. "Just two more minutes. Almost made it," he had time to think before the green Cadillac veered off Donworthy Avenue to miss the bus, which had finally screamed to a halt half in the intersection, and careened toward him at forty miles an hour.

He was knocked against a wall on the opposite side of the street from his brother, coming to rest directly under the ladder of a fire escape. Before the world faded to a final blackness, he heard a hiss and saw a cat leap across him to disappear down Elkhorn.

It was black. And although he didn't see it, Conrad would not have been surprised one bit.

NOTES: ▶︎

Word Count: 300
Submitted for "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge" 
Prompt: Use the phrase "Today is Friday the 13th"