Dear James,

I am so, so, sorry. I know you hate these but please, just this once send this on- but only to people you trust! I got this earlier and really weird things have been happening since then. I just don’t know what to think any more, and I’m scared.

Whatever you do, don’t send it back to me.

M.

FW: It’s your lucky day!

Congratulations! You’ve got all the luck in the world!

Keep it, or send this on - what you make of it is up to you ☯

James stabbed the delete button with a sigh.

Damnit, Molly. I thought you of all people would know better. He rolled his eyes and flipped the phone into his pocket like a victorious gunslinger.

He stretched and got up from the park bench, hoping the walk to his bike would wash the frustration out of his system. It helped that it was an absolutely beautiful day, with just the right balance between bright sun and cool breeze. There weren’t even any beggars in sight.

A shapely young jogger came by, but stumbled and came to a halt, bending over in front of him to tie her shoelace. James broke his own stride for a moment before he caught himself looking and hustled on.

Reaching his bike he headed out to finish the rest of his errands. Traffic was light and his face split into a grin when he didn’t have to stop for a single red light.

His heart fell as he reached the post office and found the dreaded chaos of a weekend afternoon. The complementary pen worked for a change, though, and he found the forms he needed and filled out his labels without any trouble.

No sooner had he reached the line for the counter then the lady in front of him gasped, rummaged in her purse for a moment, and then ran out the door with an expression of panic. That distracted the fellow in front of her who dropped his package, and James wasn’t the only one in the room who winced at the sound of breaking glass. As the unfortunate fellow was unwrapping his parcel off to the side, the next guy also departed, just seconds after getting a text on his phone. James felt a shiver run down his spine as this happened again and again, the line melting away in front of him like butter under a blowtorch.

What the hell? His mind flashed back to the email. That can’t be possible.

In just moments, there was only one person left. A young man, pale faced and sweating, but with an envelope clutched tightly in his fist. His phone rang, but he ignored it. Then he, too, staggered off to the side, and the clerk called James to the counter.

The clerk had dimples when she smiled, James had filled everything out correctly, and even had exact change.

He was just turning to leave when he saw the young man topple to the floor from where he’d slumped up against the wall, his sweat-stained letter falling to the floor from nerveless fingers.

The paramedics were there in minutes and James followed them out in a daze, watching as the ambulance careened away down the street.



He saw them again, twenty minutes later when he was checking out of Trader Joe’s. He’d abandoned his cart after the second person in front of him got an emergency call, but he still wasn’t fast enough to save the old lady in the ‘twelve items or fewer’ lane with the heaping basket and oxygen tank.



He never made it to Walgreens - he was too distracted to even notice the light. Fortunately, the oncoming van blew a tire and slammed into a light pole instead, and he left before the cops arrived.



Starbucks wasn’t usually crowded at this hour. At least, James hoped that was the only reason for the empty table waiting for him. He sat down heavily and cradled his head in his hands. This is so messed up. If I send the message will it go away? Or even out? But what happens if I don’t? …Or if I encounter someone who kept the email?

The phone was heavy in his hand, and his stomach twisted when he spotted the email, still sitting in the trash folder. His fingers shook as he reached for the screen.

Dear David,
…