Lucky

Benny Grimes had always been a bit of a loser. Not the lovable kind you root for in indie films, fumbling toward redemption with a crooked smile and a heart of gold. No, Benny was the kind of loser who built a shrine to failure and lit candles made of maxed-out credit cards. A dyed-in-the-wool, all-in, stone-cold loser.

In his twenties, his life was a blur of half-baked schemes and late-night infomercials. He started small, scratchers, lotto tickets, the occasional Craigslist hustle. But his appetite for risk metastasized like a tumor. By thirty, he’d gone full tilt. Pyramid schemes. Forex scams. Flipping NFTs of pixelated frogs. If it promised wealth with minimal effort, Benny was there, wallet open, hope burning like a nicotine patch on a bonfire.

Each new plan was his lifeboat, his promised land, his one big shot. Every single one failed.

His apartment, if you could still call it that, was an extension of the man himself. Faded. Musty. On the verge of collapse. The carpet was an archaeological dig of fast-food spills. Cigarette smoke clung to the walls like desperate memories. A stack of unopened mail, final notices, collections, legal threats, grew like a tumor on his kitchen table.

Emma, his sister, had been witness to this unraveling in slow motion. She was his opposite in every way. Clean. Consistent. Responsible. A high school teacher with a mortgage, a gym membership, and a retirement fund. She had tried. God, how she had tried. But love only stretches so far before it frays.

When Benny turned forty, Emma brought him a gift. Not money. Not a job lead. A dog.

“His name’s Lucky,” she said, holding out the leash like a peace offering. “He’s a rescue.”

“I don’t need a damn dog, Emma,” Benny grumbled, rubbing sleep from red-rimmed eyes. “I need a damn miracle.”

“Maybe this is one,” she said.

Lucky was a wiry golden mutt with sad eyes and a tail that seemed permanently set to whip speed. He bounded into Benny’s apartment and immediately began sniffing every crevice, completely unaware or uncaring of the cloud of failure hanging in the air.

Benny tolerated him at first. There were perfunctory walks, rushed feedings, brief moments of play in the weedy lot behind the building. The dog didn’t complain. Lucky was just there. Watching. Waiting.

Weeks passed. Benny’s schemes continued. He lost half his rent on a Twitch streamer’s stock tip. Dropped another bundle on a guaranteed crypto AI bot. He told himself this was just the preamble to success. His breakthrough was imminent. Any day now.

Meanwhile, Lucky chewed shoes, chased pigeons, and stared at Benny with those steady, eerie eyes.

By month three, resentment bloomed. Benny began blaming the dog. “Ever since you showed up, everything’s worse,” he muttered. “You’re like a sponge. Sucking up all the good vibes.”

When Lucky barked during a webinar on passive income, Benny screamed at him until the walls vibrated. He started leaving food out as an afterthought. Skipped walks. Kicked the water bowl when he was frustrated. Lucky never fought back. He just watched. Stoic. Almost knowing.

Then came the lotto night.

Benny was four fingers deep into a bottle of budget whiskey, channel surfing between late-night reruns and home shopping hysteria. The lottery numbers flashed across the screen.

Lucky perked up. Moved to the center of the room. And started tapping the floor. One tap. Then a pause. Another. Then three in quick succession. Benny, amused and buzzed, grabbed a receipt and started scribbling.

7
14
29
23
33
44

“Alright, Nostradogus,” Benny laughed bitterly. “Let’s see if you’re worth your kibble.”

The next morning, Benny dragged himself to the gas station and bought a ticket. The clerk gave him the side-eye. Benny looked like he’d spent the night wrestling raccoons. Which he sort of had, mentally.

Two days later, the numbers hit.

Not just hit. Matched.

Ten. Million. Dollars.

Benny screamed. Danced. Sobbed. Called Emma and babbled like a lunatic. “I DID IT! I finally won! Lucky picked the damn numbers!”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’M RICH! We’re — ” He paused. Looked down.

Lucky stood in the doorway, tail still, eyes locked on the fluttering ticket in Benny’s hand. Without warning, he lunged. Snatched the slip with surgical precision and bolted out the front door.

“HEY!”

The chase was chaos. Benny barefoot. Shrieking. Careening through alleys and intersections. Lucky ran like he knew where to go. Benny ran like he had finally caught up to fate and it was slipping through his fingers.

The final moment came at the corner of Ridge and 8th. Lucky dashed across the street. Benny followed.

And the truck never slowed down.

The impact was surreal. Time fractured. Benny’s world went silent, then exploded into light.

When he came to, he was on the pavement. Blinking. Breathing shallow. Something warm pressed against his chest.

Lucky.

The dog dropped the crumpled lotto ticket gently onto Benny’s heaving chest. His fur was matted. One paw bled. His eyes were soft. Sad.

Benny coughed. “You… came back.”

Lucky stepped back.

Sirens wailed in the distance.

“You always were… too good for me,” Benny rasped.

Lucky turned. Limped away. Disappeared into the shadows between streetlights.

Benny faded.

* * *

But he didn’t die.

Three surgeries. Nine months of rehab. Permanent nerve damage. Paralyzed from the waist down. Lucky was never found.

The winning ticket? Torn in half by paramedics looking for Benny’s ID. Discarded with bloodied clothing and twisted paperwork. Gone.

When Benny finally opened his eyes in a white room full of antiseptic and pity, Emma was there.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” she said.

Benny winced. “Wrong dog.”

She didn’t laugh.

“You threw it all away,” she said flatly.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“You never did. That was always the problem.”

She left. He didn’t call after her.

* * *

Years passed.

Benny lives in a halfway facility now. Government aid. Sponge baths. A window view of a parking lot and a dead tree.

Some nights, he saw a golden blur trotting past the gates. It never looked up.

He didn’t call out.

Because he knew the truth now.

The dog’s name was never Lucky.

He was the last chance Benny had to love something more than his own broken fantasy.

And Benny, true to form, lost him too.