Do you believe there’s such a thing as good or bad luck?

I’m not referring to all that stuff about making your own luck, working hard and cutting a swathe through all that stands in your path. The “yeah, I got luckier the harder I worked” brigade.

Fuck you, prick. Fuck you and the condescending motherfucking horse you rode in on. I work harder than most and still look back at a wake of shattered dreams and mediocre achievements.

No, it’s not that. I mean something different entirely.

I’m talking about pure luck, the genetic shit. Can someone actually be naturally lucky or not? Like, how do you fare when your fate is decided upon the flip of a coin? Simple 50/50 shit. That kind of luck.

I know how I do when it comes to it. When there’s that 50/50 outcome, for me, the coin nearly always errs on the side of the shitty call. This has been proven in a simple game of higher or lower with a deck of cards and some friends; most of whom would fall in a pile of shit and come out smelling of roses. Me? I’d fall in a barrel of tits and come out sucking my thumb.

Anyway, higher or lower, for those who have lived under a rock all their lives, is a pretty simple game.

A number of cards (eight, ten, twelve, whatever) are lined up facing away from the player, the first card is turned over and then the next card is guessed as to whether it is higher, lower; or very rarely: the same. Our game ended badly. I never got past card number three, with a couple of occasions of the card being the same number; whereas lucky friends would speed through all twelve cards, deftly predicting the next card’s denomination as I wallowed in my self-pity and luckless existence. Time and time again they fared well, then just one too many times.

And there. That was the catalyst. This simple game had shone a brutal and stark light upon over forty years of bad luck. Several rounds in and soaked in whiskey and self-pity, I felt a switch move in my head.

And then this: 

If my version of a coin flip was always a negative one, what of other's fate decided upon by my luck? My luck. My rules. In their lives.

Well, they certainly suffered. It wasn’t my doing though. OK, that’s not strictly true. It was me that gouged out the eyes of my oldest friend. But that wasn’t until after I’d made him watch me cut open his wife’s belly and fuck the wound as she screamed. He screamed. They all screamed.

Yes, it was me that left her violated and tethered to her beloved via the loops of her grey and red guts wrapping him like a visceral hug. My other friend couldn’t watch or shriek, however, as the coin (not me) left him without a head containing the prerequisite nerves and brain impulses to watch or utter screams from. Luck, not me dictated that I should try to actually shit down his neck. Now that was a messy business, the crap and plasma will no doubt be a nightmare to get out of the suede on that sofa. If anyone feels inclined to, that is.

But what I’m getting at is that it wasn’t me. It was fate. And fate has been deciding what happens to anyone else that has crossed my path in the gore streaked week since I quietly clicked shut and locked the door on that reeking pile of shit, come and blood covered body parts and entrails, still surrounded by Christmas decorations. I’ve got their cat, of course and she is well fed. That was a given without a coin toss. I’m not a barbarian, and I’m not cruel. Unlike destiny.

And unlike the man that nearly knocked me down as I walked out of my house the next day, his bike a whir of wind as he hammered by on the path in front of me with not an acknowledgement or apology. If I’d been a dullard like him, it would have ended in injury, but I stepped out of harms way. Otherwise it could have been painful. Well, it was, ultimately. Not my decision, though.

No, I bit down on my fury and let the universe decide. The coin flipped, had its say, and so I hunted him down to his house nearby, dragged him out, kicking and shouting, in front of his kids and smashed his face and skull open on the kerbside as cars hurried by to their lucky lives, oblivious to the anguished cries of his ginger twins; their watching faces ovals of open mouths, snot and tears. They may have only been eight or nine, but I gave them a fair chance.

It wasn’t me that decided they were a job lot, that twins counted as one flip. I asked the coin. Neither was it me that decided they should be stomped and tramped into the same porridge of brains, teeth, red hair and bone shards as their Dad. My dance of death on what had been their family of heads drew no audience, traffic didn’t care. No one seemed phased by the punishment that fate was serving up.

I surveyed the mess that chance had borne and not I. It was quite comical, the small star of humans the coin had left sprawled and occasionally twitching, equally set apart with bodies and neck all joining in one pulpy pile full of my boot marks. I wondered when the Mum would get home, if there was a Mum.

My bloody footprints faded as I sauntered away, flipping my coin and letting fate decide what happened to the next human.

Man, woman, girl and boy; they will all bow to providence. And I shall deliver what their or my generic luck deems fated, whatever was written in their stars.

When Rebecca went missing, she took a piece of all of us with her; Luke, Elle, Katelyn, James, Rachel and me. Looking back, I guess she took some of the best pieces, but also the worst: our friendship.

None of us had talked for years, except for the occasional 'hello' in the halls. Which is why when Luke Michael came up to me this morning, I almost walked away.

"Delia," he'd called down the school hallway, Elle Richardson in his trail.

I looked around- he couldn't be talking to ME Delia, could he? "Luke?" I asked. "Elle?"

"Something's happened," Elle said frantically.

"Something... As in what, exactly?" I questioned.

"It doesn't matter, come with us," Luke said, grabbing my arm and turning to walk away.

I would've protested, but it was good to see them, hear them, touch them. It was almost like a dream, one I'd had so many times about us all reuniting again after Rebecca; our glue; gave up on us.

Luke pulled me hurriedly down the hallway, zigzagging around our classmates and teachers. I wondered if any of them saw us and wondered about what we were doing together again, like I was.

We rounded one last corner before Luke and Elle peeled off of me into the Principal's Office. 'This is weird...' I thought to myself.

I entered the room right behind them and almost passed out: James and Rachel, who had been together for almost three years and had been the only two to keep in touch since Rebecca left, sat holding hands on the couch next to an angry-faced Katelyn. My breathing quickened as my eyes flickered from face to face pondering: 'Is this all a dream? Are we really all here- and if we are, why? Is Luke's cancer back? Is Rebecca back?'

Principal Hall cleared his throat and brought me back to reality, where Elle and Luke had taken a seat and there were six heads, including them, all glaring in my direction. I lowered my head and took a seat next to Katelyn, who tensed in response.

We all turned our attention to Principal Hall: "Good afternoon, it's good to see you all."

A chorus of mumbled responses slipped from the lips of me and my ex-friends.

"Well... You must all be wondering why you're here..." When none of us said anything, he continued. "This is about Rebecca Vaughn,"

The room tensed. I looked over at Luke to see Elle inch her hand into his, their eyes and faces cast down.

"I'm sorry, you were her friends, correct? The-"

"Yes," I blurted out. "We were her friends, just... a long time ago, before-"

"Before she left. Without saying goodbye. The day after my cancer cleared," Luke spat.

Principal Hall's eyes widened and he cleared his throat again. Elle gave Luke's hand a squeeze. "I see..." Hall said. He shook his head as if shrugging off the awkward fog that now surrounded the room. "Look, there is no easy way to say this. .. Ah, before I tell you, I need to pass these out."

Principal Hall reached behind him for a stack of envelopes. "Rachel Garner," He announced, and Rachel reached up to grab her envelope. "Do not open it," He winked. "James Carson, Luke Michael and Delia Lawson," James, Luke and I all grabbed our letters. "Katelyn Black and Elle Richardson," Katelyn and Elle reached for their respective envelopes.

"What is this about?" James asked, staring at the envelope in his shaky hand.

I peered at mine: a white envelope with ice-blue writing addressed to me. But I froze: 'Ice-blue pen and loopy A's, W's and D's? This was Rebecca's handwriting.

"Mr. Carson, I'm sorry to inform you- all of you- that Rebecca Vaughn has been killed," The room was still, and silent. Mr. Hall continued: "She was found wrists bound, with twenty-two anti-depression pills in her system and slit wrists, ankles and neck in an abandoned house over 1,000 miles away from her home in California,"

"California," Luke breathed. Mr. Hall nodded. Knowing where Rebecca had gone almost made us angrier. "Dead?" He said.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Michael. I understand you and her had a... Special connection a few years ago before she left,"

Luke turned tomato red. "Uh, yeah, I guess," he said.

Luke and Rebecca had dated eleven months: all through his cancer, and Chemotherapy. They'd been the closest of all of us, and even won Cutest Couple for our grade.

"What do these... Letters have to do with Rebecca?" Elle asked.

"Those were found at her home. They'd been left there the day before she went missing: three days before she died and five days before she was found. Her parents found them sealed and addressed to you," A deep voice said. A tall man in a police uniform entered the room. "Detective Presley," He introduced himself.

I swallowed. "You mean... Rebecca wrote theses as... Suicide letters?"

"Ms. Lawson I'm afraid that's not so," Mr. Hall said.

"The police have found evidence of struggle," Detective Presley explained. "Rebecca Vaughn was kidnapped and murdered,"

My heart went cold. I was numb and breathless. Rebecca was... Murdered? But everyone loved Rebecca! Until she left...

"Who did it?" Rachel pushed.

"I'm afraid we cannot yet confirm who, exactly, but we are working on suspects," Presley said. "After you open your envelopes, we can get started with those as evidence," He reached over James' shoulder and patted his letter.

"C-can we have some privacy?" Elle asked, ever the calmest.

Presley nodded. "Of course, call us in when you're done or if you need us." He smiled with no teeth, and took Mr. Hall out into the hallway.

For a moment, no one spoke. We just stared at each other, shocked, unsure of quite what was going on. "Well, this is kind of insane," Rachel broke the silence.

Nervous laughter filled the air. "Well... I guess we should probably open these," Luke said.

Elle nodded. "Uh, everyone read their own and then we can share afterwards, okay?" She said.

We all mumble yes's and begin tearing open the envelopes. I carefully open mine so not to rip anything.

I pull out a piece of white paper, written in the same blue ink. DEILS, it was addressed to:

WOW, HAS IT REALLY BEEN THREE YEARS SINCE I LEFT? I GUESS IT HAS... I HEARD RACHEL AND JAMES ARE STILL TOGETHER. THAT'S GREAT, I'M SO HAPPY FOR THEM!

TO BEGIN, I KNOW YOU ARE ANGRY WITH ME FOR LEAVING. BUT, DELIA, I'VE NEVER QUITE BEEN ABLE TO EXPLAIN MYSELF. SO, AS I SIT HERE PREPARING TO DIE, I AM GOING TO TRY.

HERE GOES NOTHING: SOMEONE HAS BEEN THREATENING ME SINCE LUKE'S CHEMO BEGAN. I'M NOT SURE IF THAT IS WHAT STARTED IT, BUT WHOEVER IT WAS THREATENED ME, HIM. YOU. ELLE, KATELYN, JAMES, RACHEL. ALL OF YOU.

I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO, SO I SHUT YOU OUT; I COULDN'T LIVE WITH MYSELF IF HE HURT ANY OF YOU.

WHEN YOUR CALLS AND TEXTS SEIZED AND YOU VOLUNTARILY UNFOLLOW-ED MY SOCIAL MEDIAS, IT HIT ME: I WAS TRULY ALONE; I'D SUCCESSFULLY UNFRIENDED YOU ALL. AND BECAUSE LUKE WAS OFFICIALLY OKAY, I LEFT. MY MOTHER GOT A JOB IN CALIFORNIA AND I HAD NO REASON TO STAY ANYMORE.

BUT THE THREATS FOLLOWED ME. THEY GOT HARSHER AND DARKER UNTIL THEY CAME DAILY AND I ALMOST NEVER LEFT MY ROOM.

I WAS SO SCARED, BUT NOT ANYMORE.

HE WARNED ME; HE'S COMING FOR ME TOMORROW. I AM OKAY WITH IT; I'M TIRED OF LIVING IN FEAR. SO I WILL DIE.

BUT DEAR GOD, I CANNOT LET MY DEATH GO AS A QUESTION, AND THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO CAN FIGURE OUT WHO HAS BEEN THREATENING ME IS YOU AND THE OTHERS SITTING AROUND YOU. PLEASE, PLEASE DO THIS ONE THING FOR ME: FIND THE GUY(S?) WHO ARE THREATENING ME BEFORE THEY FIND YOU.

I UNDERSTAND IF YOU WON'T HELP, BUT I AM TRULY SORRY. I LOVE YOU GUYS, AND I'M BEGGING YOU TO HELP ME. PLEASE. LUKE WILL KNOW WHERE TO BEGIN. GOODBYE, DELIA.

XX, REBECCA <3

When I looked up from the letter, their faces we're blurred from my tears. I wiped my eyes and realized I wasn't the only one crying. In fact, we all were.

I reached next to me for Katelyn's hand and grasped tightly. She followed suit with Rachel, who passed it to James, to Luke, to Elle, back to me. We all closed out eyes before looking shakily towards Luke.

"Luke," Rachel sniffled. "What do you know,"

His shoulders shook, his head in his hands. "Sh-she said she loved me," he cried. Elle rubbed his back; Rebecca had been his only love.

"Shh," Elle hushed him. We all sat silent again, waiting. But tears kept rushing down out cheeks with no stop, and I was getting restless.

"Luke," I whispered after a few minutes. He looked up at me with his big, blue doe eyes, and all I could see was fear. I smiled slightly, and nodded, confirming: 'It's okay, just tell us,'.

"Well, I guess-"

"Wait," James interrupted. "We're actually doing this? She left us, betrayed us! And even if she had a decent reason, she never even said goodbye," He stood up. "You can't be serious," He gestured to our softened expressions.

"James, she was our best friend," Katelyn said.

"Yeah, and she tore us apart,"

We all looked down: James was right. But for Rebecca, I coughed, raised my head and spoke: "And now she's dead," Their eyes' widened. "I guess she got what was coming for her, huh?" I added.

"Delia," Elle said, shocked.

Rachel nodded. "Easy, tiger." She said to Elle, who backed up. "Delia is right. She got what she deserved, in a twisted way, but she was our friend; and this is- was- her dying wish," She cringed and Elle reached again for Luke, instinctively.

James cleared his throat. "Alright," he sighed, throwing up his hands. "Luke, what do you know?"

He said it more like a statement than a question, almost accusingly. But it worked; Luke surrendered.

"I knew something was wrong," he began through more tears. "She told me some things were going on, that I wouldn't understand, but she wouldn't... Specify." He shook his head. "I should've pressed... I-I, I should've known!" He cried.

"Luke, we all should've seen it. Or, something, at least! It's not your fault," Katelyn said.

"I know, but... It is," Luke stared at the floor, not daring to look at our eyes. "I knew someone was threatening her," he admitted.

"What?" We all cried, confused and tired.

"I'm sorry, okay? She said it wasn't a big deal and not to worry about it, then I guess she... Lied. She said it stopped,"

"Well clearly it didn't," Rachel sneered.

"Hey," Elle warned. She turned. "Luke, you didn't know,"

"I could've saved her!" Luke sobbed. "But she left, and when I reached out she shoved me away! It's all my fault!"

"Luke, she didn't die until three years after she left, you couldn't have anything to do with her at that point," I said, trying to calm him down.

Luke guiltily looked at his shoes. "Unless..?" Katelyn challenged.

"I sent her emails continuously," Luke whispered. Elle looked like she'd been slapped, and Katelyn was taken aback. Rachel and James just stared blankly. "For months, until I realized: she's never coming back..." His voice cracked. "I stopped about one and a half years after she left," he bit his lip to keep from crying out.

"Well that's good, you weren't in contact when it happened," Elle offered.

Luke finally looked up. "She emailed me back the night before she died." He said. "She said that she had gotten a new email and never checked her old one, but that I needed to stop contacting her altogether. She told me that she was moving on and that I should too," He let out a sob. "She said it would be bad for both of us if I kept emailing..."

"Shit, Luke..." Katelyn said. "I'm sorry,"

"You should've told us," Elle said. "Or at least me," she added.

"But how could I do that? Because, the thing is guys, I think I killed her,"

The world

is yours.

Take it,

dominate it.

Carve your

perfect world.

And may you,

live forever.

Right or wrong,

it never matters.

Live or die,

It's in your hands.

Win at

all cost.

cream soda smiles and

pineapple purées,

that's how we spent

those last summer days.

fall cut like a sword,

your worn-leather jacket

cradling my wounds,

drowning out the racket.

to keep warm in winter,

you heart was a warm kitchen.

cooking up love potions

and keeping me utterly smitten!

but we approached spring

with a broken weather vane.

the east wind caught us by surprise-

on our romance put strain.

bright summer smiles

like I hoped, we pulled through.

confirmed my suspicions:

I've fallen for you.

I could see headlights outside of my room and I heard someone knocking but I didn’t get up. Insanity had come fast, but it came certain. I didn’t know if it was the years behind it, or if the room was simply the last straw, the snapped end of string with no time left to replace it. I knew that I had lost my mind sometime in the passing week, but coming to terms with it only lost it further. I wanted to be surprised that it had finally found me there in the room, but I wasn’t surprised. The time it took had been well-earned, since the age of 16. The speed of its arrival was only offset by things bigger than the room that I wouldn’t let break me. The room was only there to garnish the grave, what the room reflected was what I’d traded my mind for, to let it go without another fight in me.

I was dead and destroyed, wasted, sorry, lonely and fucked. I had once had women and people who believed in my work. I was once a human with honor and strength and muscular flesh. Now it was gone. Everything was so gone I wondered if it had ever existed. Maybe I was born in the room and everything had been a dream, a neuro-chemical hallucination brought on by flies crawling down my throat and copulating as I slept. I had quit masturbating because it exerted me, and it only made me hungry afterward. I was not even alive. I was a cell in a jar and I was being monitored by giants who had painted this life for me to live as though it was real. I inhaled deeply, closed my eyes and refused to breathe. Not because I wanted to die, but because I was bored with breathing. My body went through a cold wave and then it was dark.

I heard a statistic that 88% of resolutions made will fail. A 12% overall success rate. This year I refuse to make any resolutions...instead I am making commitments to my mind, body and soul. These are not things I want to "resolve" but things I want to make a full commitment to. This might seem like semantics to some but the very definitions of those 2 words illuminate 2 completely different paths. Happy New Year, no fear, next tier. Prose.

L.A. trip, as I flip from the grip of the dark sky to the shine, warmth divine feel, drinking a pale ale with my meal, on a deck by the beach is for real. Reach to the teal sky as I stretch out my arms high, relaxed as I sigh and think about the life, I live away from L.A. My mainstay, would never trade it ok? But I will say, Californ-I-A is cool for this one winter day.