256-word post, or “Friday the 13th”

Friday The 13th slept soundly as dawn crept peacefully across her cheek. Her eyes snapped open and she sat bolt upright in bed.

It was Friday the 13th.

Friday The 13th had always had a morbid fascination with Friday the 13th, possibly stemming from the fact that her parents had actually named her Friday The 13th, even though her birthday was April 29th (and a Tuesday, at that).

“Damn it!” she said, hiding under the covers. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” She’d forgotten to book the day off, as she always did when the day and her name matched up.

Paralyzed with fear, she shuddered under the covers.

But when nothing bad happened, she realized nothing noteworthy had ever happened to hear on Friday the 13th, ever. “Fuck it,” she thought. “Get up! Go to work! And buy a lottery ticket, too!”
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She threw off her covers and stepped right into a bee-hive. As the angry bees swarmed, she ran for the stairs, madly thud-clambering down them with her unwanted hive-shoe.

Her panic activated her dormant pyrokinesis, and she set fire to everything she looked at before she remembered to close her eyes, and just fall down the stairs like a normal person.

An orca driving a stolen water truck crashed through her front door. The water extinguished the fire, but the flood swept her into the path of a badger parade.

Later, she flirted with the handsome paramedic, thinking how silly she’d been. Why, other than getting Mr. Dreamboat’s phone number, today had been same-old, same, same-old.

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