Fiction: Down on Luck

George set his newspaper down and went to answer the knock at the front door. There sat a white rabbit.

“Begging your pardon, sir. My name is Conor, and I’m looking for any sort of odd jobs you might have so I can feed my family.”

“I don’t have anything that needs done around here. Sorry.” He prepared to close the door, but his wife’s voice stopped him.

“Who’s at the door, George?”

“A rabbit. Wanting work.”

Shirley’s head appeared in the doorway. “Ooh! What a beautiful rabbit.”

“Thank you, m’am.”

“And look at those big feet. I’ve always wanted a rabbit’s foot. For good luck.

Conor looked down at his front feet. “Have you now?”

Fiction: Request Granted

Ned sat in the least broken chair against the inside wall of his dingy apartment. A strong ammonia smell pervaded the place, but he hardly noticed. He ran down the list again, as he had done for the last three days.

Wife threw me out.

Filed for divorce.

Kept the kids.

And the dog.

Girlfriend not returning my calls.

Parents and sister ditto.

Lost my job.

And my medical license.

D.A. considering criminal charges.

Patient’s family considering civil lawsuit, too.

Reporters hounding me.

BMW trashed by angry mob.

Rent on apartment overdue.

Loan shark looking for me.

That covered things.

“It’s going to take a miracle to get me out of this,” he muttered.

The meth lab in the apartment next door exploded. The two meth heads and Ned died instantly.

“That butcher doctor sure got off easy, didn’t he?” everyone said later.