"I don't get it."
Normally, when someone say those words, it usually means they don't understand something.
Just what could Elias Crowe didn't understand?
Well, for starters, he burned his tongue on the eggs despite being fully aware that they were still too hot, because patience had never once been his strong suit. The toast betrayed him. One corner snapped off mid bite and fell jam side down onto his uniform pants, leaving behind a bright red stain that absolutely refused to be ignored. His grandmother noticed the stain immediately but she didn't comment on it. This somehow made it worse. While standing up, his right leg decided to remind him of its existence with a sharp, unpleasant twinge that made him grip the table a second longer than he wanted to. His cane slipped for half a second on the kitchen tiles, producing a loud, humiliating suction pop that echoed far more than physics should have allowed. The silver chain around his neck caught on the collar of his shirt, yanking just enough to irritate him but not enough to justify taking it off. His phone vibrated with a reminder for school he absolutely did not need, displaying a cheerful notification tone that felt deeply personal in its mockery. And finally, the most agonizing of all, he had accidentally stepped on his ATM card, breaking it apart when he re-entered his room to get dressed for school!
Worst yet, all of these happened in a span of less than fifteen minutes.
Elias stared at the two broken halves of his ATM card lying innocently on the floor, as if they had not just committed a personal act of betrayal against his already fragile morning. He slowly bent down, wincing as his right leg protested, and picked them up between his fingers.
"…Wow."
That was all he could say.
Somewhere in the house, a kettle whistled cheerfully. The birds outside continued chirping. The world, apparently, was doing just fine.
"I don't get it," Elias muttered again, rubbing his temple with the back of his hand.
It was not that any of these things were catastrophic. Burned tongue, stained pants, a rebellious leg, a dramatic cane, a snapped card. Individually, they were nothing. Annoyances at best. Things that normal people would laugh off, forget about by lunchtime, or complain about to friends on the way to school.
But stacked together like this, one after another, with mechanical precision, it felt almost deliberate.
Like someone had decided to kick him while he was down.
He leaned back against his desk and let out a slow breath.
Was this supposed to be a sign? Some kind of cosmic joke? Or was this just how things were for him?
Elias glanced at his reflection in the mirror. No matter how he looked at it, there was absolutely nothing special about the reflected individual. All he saw was an ordinary eighteen years old male with slightly questionable luck.
And yet, days like this made him wonder.
Not why bad things happened. Bad things happened to everyone and no one was an exception except perhaps someone with the power of luck.
But why they happened so consistently, so casually, and so often to him.
He slipped the broken card into his pocket anyway. Maybe it could still be fixed. Or maybe it was just another thing to add to the pile.
Grabbing his bag, Elias straightened his posture as best as he could and tapped his cane against the floor.
Squelch! Thwack! Each hit of his cane produced a familiar sound that he found utterly ridiculous. It was mostly because he had replaced the rubber tip with a bright green, oversized suction cup for some reason. Even he had forgotten the reason. In any case, he possessed no intentions of removing the cup despite it being the source of the sound.
He stepped past the living room, where his grandmother sat knitting silently, who occasionally flicked her gaze toward him without saying a word.
The hallway was cluttered with trinkets and framed photographs; snapshots of family outings, vacations, and a younger, more carefree version of himself. Elias' gaze lingered on one particular photo of him and his childhood friends — two of them, really, the ones who had somehow survived the most ridiculous adventures of his adolescent years without losing their minds. One was a tall, lanky boy named Kieran, who seemed perpetually to be in motion even when standing still, with a shock of untamed black hair and a mischievous grin that could ignite trouble anywhere. The other was a girl, Maris, a few inches shorter than Elias, with a cascade of chestnut hair that caught the light, and a sharp, calculating gaze that made it impossible to hide anything from her. Somehow, they always managed to know him better than he knew himself.
Shaking his head, Elias moved toward the front door, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His cane clicked against the tile near the threshold, the suction cup thwacking with each step. The metal gate creaked as he pushed it open, revealing the narrow street that led out of their small residential complex. The sun had climbed higher, bathing the neighborhood in bright, almost unforgiving light. The world outside seemed blissfully oblivious to his morning misfortunes.
He didn't have to wait long.
From down the street came Kieran, bounding up with the energy of someone who had already lived three mornings' worth of chaos before breakfast. His bag swung loosely over one shoulder, and he gave Elias a mock salute, a wide grin plastered across his face.
"Morning, Elias! You look… unusually intact for a Monday."
Elias smirked despite himself, tapping his cane against the pavement.
"Barely. Today's been a disaster in slow motion."
"And you're still alive," Maris appeared from behind Kieran with her usual air of precision. She adjusted the straps of her satchel and raised an eyebrow at him. "Barely counts as surviving when you step on your own ATM card, you know. By the way, how does something like that even occur? It's really uncanny."
Elias groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "Please. Don't remind me."
Kieran leaned against the gate, with that unwavering grin of his plastered on his face. "So, what's the plan today, Mr. Disaster Magnet? Or are we just collecting bad luck like a hobby?"
"I have no idea," Elias muttered, stuffing the broken card deeper into his pocket. "We'll figure it out. Maybe survive the walk to school without any more calamities. That's ambitious enough."
"Now aren't you a wet blanket? You should be more ambitious!"
"Aren't you an energetic fellow? It must be nice."
"Huh? What is that supposed to mean?! Is that a code for a secret message or something like that!" Maris rolled her eyes and began walking without looking at either of them.
"Oi! Wait up! Just where are you rushing to work those tiny legs?!" Kieran shouted energetically before moving forward as well.
Elias groaned again, the weight of his morning disasters pressing down on him, and began walking toward the school gate with Maris on one side and Kieran bouncing along the other. The sun was higher now, throwing long shadows across the cracked sidewalk, but the warmth didn't quite reach Elias' mood.
"So," Maris' voice felt deliberately casual as she adjusted the straps of her bag, "have you ever wondered why bread always seems to land jam side down? There has to be some physics behind it."
Elias blinked, tapping his cane against the pavement. "You're serious? Right now you're worried about toast?"
"Of course," she replied matter-of-factly. "It's a valid scientific problem. One that has caused civilizations to reconsider the value of tablecloths."
Kieran laughed loudly, bouncing a little too high as he gestured wildly with one hand. "I've got an even better one. Why do socks disappear in the laundry? Where do they go? Are they escaping to some secret sock dimension? I mean, come on, I've lost three pairs this week alone!"
Elias gave a slow, dry blink. "I feel like this is a tactical discussion on chaos theory at this point."
Maris rolled her eyes. "You just don't appreciate the subtle beauty of pointless observation."
"Pointless observation is an art," Kieran added solemnly, as if reciting a sacred mantra.
Elias shook his head, muttering under his breath, "I can't believe I grew up around these people."
The three of them continued down the street, the conversation drifting between utterly meaningless topics: whether squirrels had a social hierarchy, if clouds were plotting against humanity, and whether a dropped ice cream cone could be considered a meteorological event. Elias tried to respond when needed, but mostly let the other two argue animatedly with each other while his cane made its familiar squelch-thwack noise against the pavement.
Then, as if the universe couldn't leave them in peace even for this, Kieran suddenly froze mid-step. His wide grin faltered and his body stiffened.
"Uh… guys?" he whispered, his eyes darting toward the corner of the street.
Elias squinted, trying to see what had caught him off guard. Then his expression turned blank and he gave Kieran a weird look.
Seriously...?