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Weekly Contest #309
I was not superstitious. A broken mirror was just a shattered piece of glass; a black cat was just a cat. I did not believe in lucky numbers or in love at first sight, dismissing it as utter poppycock. That being said, I was not averse to being proven wrong. I was, actually – proven wrong, that is – but not quite in the way that I had imagined. It was a warm summer’s day, the first time I remember seeing the number. Eighteen hundred, on the back of a bus, trundling along a lonely, dusty road. I remember that day vividly, how the bus shone b...
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