Luck || MARKHYUCK

{BONUS} 8,000 Everything

A little disclaimer before we begin: This doesn't entirely follow the main plot of Luck and mostly was just made for fun. You are not entitled to read nor acknowledge this. I just made this because I wanted something fun to do and maybe show the readers I don't just write 1 genre.

Thank you for all the love and support I've received since creating Luck. This, I suppose, is a little thank you to my readers and anyone and everyone who has supported me throughout this amazing and wonderful experience.

To anyone who came across Luck, whether it be you read it or chose to ignore it: Thank You.

This is the bonus chapter of Luck.

𝙳𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟿𝚝𝚑, 𝟸𝟶𝟶𝟿.

🅃hick, heavy snow pelted the ashen ground in front of a small boy. With a worn, yellow backpack on his back, he stared bug-eyed out at his old house. Firefighters rushed around, yelling and trying to put the fire out while this small boy sobbed. He was around 10 at the time, and his Mother or Father was nowhere to be seen.

"MAMAAAAAA!!" He let out groggily, the smoke around him choking and hot. The small boy coughed, falling to his knees and weakly calling for his mother again. He was in the middle of the street, ugly tears falling down his red face. A firefighter approached him, picking him up and holding him against her chest. The rough fabric of her uniform gave him some sort of safety as he slowly fell asleep, coughing his lungs out in the process.

The boy heard his father calling him in the blurriness of his senses. Everything spun. Twisting, snapping, breaking. Mountainous buildings with clashing colors flew through his mind, the raging storm of hope clearing in a second. Sirens called out, screeching in his ears as he felt himself on a less-than-comfortable bed. Mumbling and incoherent noises of unrecognizable people made the feeling worse. He shivered, slightly turning his head to face a crying man. His father. "Why are you crying, papa?" He tried saying, yet, nothing came out. Only a small whisper asking for a cup of water.

Everything went black.

"What do you mean he won't make it?" His father protested while the boy could only listen. The never-ending voice in his head told him to give up. Being only 10 years old, this scared him. He found himself in a completely white room, the constant beeping of machines beginning to annoy him. "And what the hell do you mean my wife didn't make it!? I can't have that happening!" Weak, the boy tried his best to sit up. He slipped right back down, confused and scared.

"Mama? Mama's dead?" His mind spun once again, trying to grasp the thought. Consciousness and strength slowly made its' way back into him, a heavy cloud of dust surrounding him. "Where am I?" Successfully sitting up, the small boy ripped a needle out of his arm, tripping out of the snow-white bed and falling onto his face. Men and women in white lab coats all turned their attention to him, one of them putting him back in the bed and another re-inserting the needle. He protested, weakly flailing his arms around and sobbing violently.

"Mama!!!" He cried, the doctors and nurses holding him down as he struggled to get back out of bed. The small boy looked over at his Dad, his eyes clouded with fear. "Papa..."

"I'm not going anywhere, Mark." His father replied quietly, being instructed to stay where he was in the corner of the room. Flowers and teddy bears and balloons surrounded him, even a 'get well soon' card on a table beside him. Mark eventually calmed down, giving up. He now knew where he was. He was in a hospital room, a patient on a bed beside him being woken up. The other boy looked to be around Mark's age, maybe a bit younger. Everyone besides Mark and the kid beside him, even his father (even though he had promised to stay), left the room.