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Just My Luck
As Scott rapidly glanced at around the forest from the wooden balcony, he snarled in disgust. His brown eyes were narrowed in search and his brown hair was in disarray. “Where could it be,” he mumbled. Suddenly his eyes lit up. “Bingo!”
While Scott prepared to take some photos, he knew his boss, Jerry, would chew him out for taking this long to get the pictures. Jerry, a 5’7” 297lb bull never would have hired Scott if it were up to him. Sadly, for Scott’s sake, Jerry wasn’t as high up on the totem pole then. Now, through a series of furtive and secretive promotions, he was #1.
When Scott was contemplating this, he realized he would need to go in closer for a good picture. Then he thought, “Why go in closer for a shot? I could just bring the artifact to the offices myself.” Scott then raced down the rickety wooden steps to the forest floor, ignoring the ‘Warning, Quicksand sign.
As Scott neared the artifact, he started remembering everything he knew about the tiny, golden Mahu Mahu head. It was said to bring great fortune to the owner. It had belonged to the Mahu Mahu tribe, which was destroyed 20 years ago in the floods of ’78. Or so we thought.
Apparently, one tribe member was climbing a tree when the floodwaters from the broken dam hit the tribe, sweeping everything away. That one member survived, and he told us about the head. He also conveyed that there was a curse on the head, and that anyone who touches the head becomes consumed with a terrible greed, but there was no such thing as curses right? Or so Scott told himself.
When Scott neared the artifact, he lost his footing and slipped in the quicksand. Luckily there was a vine nearby the head, so he grabbed them both and pulled himself to safety. “Well, I don’t feel greedy,” he told himself as he walked out of the forest.
As Scott neared the newspaper offices, he grumbled, “I guess the head was fake. I don’t have a fortune ye…” he stopped as he tripped over a sack of something lumpy. As he looked inside the bag, his jaw dropped, and his eyes became as big as saucers. Inside the bag was $20 bills, and lots of them. He smiled, touched the Mahu Mahu head to make sure it was real, picked up the sack and then walked to his office.
Scott dumped the money on his cubicle desk. He knew how to tell if bill was counterfeit from the Money Fakers case of ’97, and he used the skills now. It’s a big negative. These bucks were the real deal! And they were all his! Then Scott knew he had to hide the money. “Someone might steal it,” he thought. “I should go to the bank to deposit these,:
While Scot was walking to the bank, he found another bag of dough. “Another one !” he screamed with joy. His fortune was growing faster than a barefoot jackrabbit on a hot summer’s day. While depositing the money, he had a nasty thought. “Why not borrow some of Jerry’s money? He has too much anyway,” he reasoned.
When Scott got home, after finding 3 more bags, he started to work on his plan, which was simple, and really stupid. He knew where his bosses safe was from a party he had been to a year or so ago, but he also knew that there were several cameras. As his plan wound down, he allowed himself a crooked grin. He would get some major dough on this gig.
Late at night, Scott hid near Jerry’s house. He cut the power and then broke a window. The glass shattered noisily. “Crap!” he slipped out. After he went in, he thought he heard voices, but dismissed them as the TV. As he moved toward the safe, he heard one word.
In that one word, Scott knew he was through. He had cut the power; the TV couldn’t have been on. As he turned around, he saw Jerry and several cops, with icing and champagne on their lips. “They were having a party?” Scott thought. As the cops took him to their cars, the head slipped out of Scott’s backpack, but no one noticed. It is now free again to terrorize anyone who touches the accursed item.