It Started With: | P. SH

It Started With: The Move.

"New York?!" I slammed my hands on the table, standing up.

They didn't even argue. They just kept eating, I thought my brother would back me up with whatever I was saying.

Every madness spewing out of my mouth like I was Martin Luther King making a 'I had a Dream' speech.

"Maziah." I turned to him, my dad placed his fork beside his plate and looked at the boy. "Maziah, go to your room."

And just like that, he got up and left.

Oh, I see.

──── ・❥・ ────

A Week Later

"Ugh this sucks" I complained, staring at the 'Keep' and 'Throw Away' boxes.

I groaned loudly and threw myself back onto my bed.

──── ・❥・ ────

A Month Later

I looked at my boarding pass and up to the number in blue above two seats.

Stupid seat number. Why am I so unlucky?

"Myra, what's your seat number?" My mother sat down in her seat, 2 seats across from mine. I sighed just thinking about this dreading number.

"17.." I mumbled, my brother froze looking at me with wide eyes as he slowly grabbed my carry on bag and put it in the small storage compartment above us.

"Say it again?" My dad sat next to her, getting into a comfortable position.

I sank in my seat "17." I forced out "Stupid seat, A17." My dad stood straight up, my mom staring at me with wide eyes, and my brother—this fucking douche—was looking at the ceiling with his hands holding one another on his chest like he was telling God how grateful he was to have seat A16.

"Maziah, switch with your sister" My mother reached over my father and flicked him on his neck, making him jump out of his praying state and frown.

"Nah, not again. Last year, a tree literally fell on my arm! Are you crazy?!"

Back in our hometown, MarclesField, Seventeen was the unluckiest number alive, to the point where there were major lock downs.

Every month, on the seventeenth day, there was no school, no working, no dating, not even eating. It was the biggest risk to ever happen.

Whether you had luck in the morning or not, it'll come out of nowhere.

There were plenty of theories of why the town was so unlucky.

There was one my grandfather talked about, he said back in 1717, his father was a part of the war where our town lost horribly to Hornstip, New Jersey. And because of that horrid loss, we were punished on the day September 17, 1717.

Others talked about magic, like being cursed by a witch, or it was because God believed we weren't cut out with days full of good luck so he cursed us with one bad day.

Honestly, I didn't believe either of those until my 17th birthday and I woke up to the biggest tree leant over me.

"You still got your arm! Be grateful I ain't rip it off after you cursed at the world." My mother scoffed and went back to journaling.