This week our prompt on Writers Island is superstition and at Sunday Scribblings, surrender.
Last Friday was the thirteenth. It’s the day that friggatriskaidekaphobics dread! Freddy was born the thirteenth, the thirteenth of February to be precise. But Freddy has no time for superstition; in fact on Friday the thirteenth he makes a point of walking under ladders, and clapping his hands at black cats so they run in front of him. If he sees an ambulance he pinches his nose until he sees a brown dog.
It’s a sad fact however that things always seem to go wrong for Freddy not on the thirteenth, but the on the fourteenth. Last Saturday was the fourteenth. He was walking down Fountain Street and cockily passed under a ladder when a pot of pink paint fell from on high bumping him on the head. He toppled on to a black cat which screeched and scratched his nose. A brown dog passed by and mistaking him for a log, pee’d on him. Then an ambulance arrived to take him to A&E.
Today is the fifteenth. A few hours ago Freddie discharged himself from hospital. Whilst there he’d had plenty of time to think. He decided that it was about time he surrendered to superstition . He declared himself defeated. He worked out that the next Friday the thirteenth will occur in January 2012. On that day he intends to open his umbrella indoors, he’ll spill salt on the table and maybe even break a mirror. Perhaps then, superstition will see him as less of a toy to play with. And just to make sure, he’ll push his spoon through the shell of his boiled egg to let the devil out. He’ll touch wood at every opportunity making sure of course that there are no nails poking out. He’ll sniff pepper so that he sneezes three times before breakfast and he’ll touch his toes because that wards off bad luck on the thirteenth.
I’ve just had a call from the hospital. It seems that Freddy was so deep in thought as he walked down the road, that he walked straight into a lamp post and knocked himself out. Bad luck Freddy!