Now listen folks, and I'll tell you a story about superstition. But first, I've got to introduce you to our hero. His name was John. Ever such a nice fellow, but with an unfortunate and curiously persistent relationship with misfortune.
Our friend John, he'd
tell you that he didn't trust one bit in all that. Didn't like the idea that
life was influenced and guided by strange obscure rules and regulations. But
that's not to say he dismissed it entirely! Some people can hear about a rumour
or a myth, and purge it completely from their minds, never to be thought of
again. John was, quite unfortunately for him, not one of those people. You see,
John would deny being superstitious – loudly, at times – until the day he died,
but he'd always have – at the very least – the nagging thoughts tucked up real
nice and secure in the back of his mind. That's just the kinda guy John was.
How he was made, and how he lived. Wouldn't be John otherwise.
So when in his
childhood, our friend John managed to break a mirror during class, he wasn't
all that swayed. I don't know why they had mirrors, maybe it was a science
experiment. It's not important and it's irrelevant to the story. He broke the
mirror by mistake, that's what matters. Then he quietly collected up the
shards, and disposed of them responsibly. What a guy, taking care of his own
business even at the young age of thirteen! No yelling for a teacher, no
clueless expression, just right down on his hands and knees and cleaning up the
mess. But anyway, he wasn't bothered by it. Until, that is, his classmates
caught wind of what he'd done. John had broken a mirror, and they weren't
quickly going to let him forget the years of ill fortune that would certainly
lie ahead of him. Seven long years, John, and how about that! Quite a
predicament, and all from what was a practically harmless mistake! Our friend
remained stoic however, and tried not to let his jeering peers get the better
of him. But alas, this day really had quite a lasting impact on him, even if he
wasn't always consciously aware of it. Poor chap.
Every time things
didn't seem to go quite his way, or he felt the odds stacked against him, there
was always something in the back of his mind that wouldn't let him forget that
mirror. This occurred with unfortunate frequency, or so John thought. While his
life wasn't especially good by any means, it wasn't particularly bad either.
I'm certain that nobody could really tell, even with all the data right there
in front of them, whether he was blessed or cursed. It's just not possible to
know, okay? Our pal John just seemed to be a normal guy! Unfortunately, even
when he wasn't paying it full attention, his mind was always working overtime
with the concept of luck, cross referencing it with every experience. Thus, he
accumulated some serious superstitious baggage.
The first thing he
figured out was a method of avoiding bad luck. That doesn't mean first
chronologically for John, by the way – I couldn't tell you that. Anyway, this
requires a little explanation. John, cursed as he believed himself – much as
he'd deny it if you asked him – considered himself in a natural state of “bad
luck”. So rather than seeking good luck, as any normal person would, John
sought instead for little breaks of “average luck”. Or, as he thought it,
avoiding bad luck. Back to the story. John's method of avoiding bad luck was
the do things in specific number sets. Fours, sevens or tens, to be more
precise. Quite where he came up with these peculiar numbers I'm not sure, but
it obviously made sense to him. When working in fours, sevens or tens, John
emanated a certain... Let's call it “gusto”, that simply wasn't there
otherwise.
I'd tell you more, and
there most certainly is more to tell, but there wouldn't be enough time to
explore all the bits and pieces, so we'll leave it at that. Let's just take it
as a given that our John was a superstitious guy to the core, and get to the
main event. Where are my manners, to ramble out so much back story? Onto the
main event.
John was out one day,
feeling real chipper. Reason being was that his seven years – remember those? –
were about up, if not done with on that very day. Maybe he acknowledged it,
maybe he didn't, but he was looking forward to some comparatively good fortune,
after years of suffering. So stroll he did, over towards the shops, to see
where his mind may take him. He decided, by complete chance, to take a
different route. Perhaps fate guided him. On one of these unfamiliar roads, he
happened across a skip, within which he couldn't help but notice a mirror,
haphazardly heaped upon other discarded furniture. Looking in the mirror as he
strolled by, he caught a glimpse of a black cat grooming itself somewhere
behind him. Poor John, he fixated on this stuff something fierce! He might have
even imagined it! His smile – which was somewhat goofy, if we're honest –
faltered, and he spun, trying to find the cat, source of potential prolonged
bad luck. John didn't like cats on the best of days, and today the sight
triggered something akin to a fight or flight instinct. He lashed out with his
foot at a piece of rubble which had fallen from the skip, and it flew...
Straight over to a nearby tree, before rebounding with an awful crash straight
into the skip. Oh dear. John didn't even look back, bless him, but set off for
home with such an expression, you'd think he'd seen a ghost. If he had chanced
to glance back, he'd have seen that it wasn't the mirror he broke, but a
discarded television set beneath it. He fled, subjecting himself unconsciously
to another seven years of trouble, even though he'd done nothing to deserve
them. And you know what? He went through life like that. Misfortune led to
misfortune, simply because he believed in it. How about that for a moral?
No comments:
Post a Comment