Luck is just what’s left after shit hits the fan.
Luck was on her side that day. Out of nowhere, a rare corner of green and blue beauty unraveled in front of her. Dazzling on the outside. A static mess on the inside. Perfect for the hilarious film she was working on. The one about Bibi, the nutty-slutty lady who was living like a millionaire from reviving emotional flat couples by doing nothing except being herself. Lucky them, lucky her.
Crazy as the writer depicted her in the script, Bibi knew the true nature of people. They didn’t care about their expired love stories, all they wanted was an artsy-looking stranger to tell them how great they are and how good they looked together. Someone who could make them laugh and feel lucky at the same time. Just a bit luckier than others, no one wanted to be alike. A natural-born funny lier. Illusions that feel too real for the truth to matter. That was all it was needed. And Bibi and her tiny ugly dog always dressed in superhero pet clothes knew it.
God knows what the luck story is about. A departed Romanian who came back to randomly land in the making of a movie no one cares about. A derailed Indian male director and a neurotic American female producer who became her narcissistic new friends in a visionless country. Unlucky folks who felt luck was on their side just because they could fly high in the underground. They were the story of what life is when it goes wrong or when we get it wrong. Failed pilgrims.
What’s the difference between me and Bibi? She wondered that morning when she woke up again in the middle of nowhere. How can such a fictional impostor feel so real? Is this true or am I just projecting whatever I hide from myself? Many things were so perfectly wrong about her, but was there an end? Maybe luck is just what’s left after shit hits the fan.
While she was looking through a window inside the house, the sound of a mad elephant running on heels hit the door.
- Who the hell are you?
- Get the fuck out of my property!
- My name is…
- I don’t give a shit about your name. Fuck off!
Oh! No, no, no. This was real. The shock at the impact on the living world. Her strange addiction. Nothing made her feel better than ripping off people’s masks and the masks under the masks. Taming beasts always had a reviving effect on her hope. This wounded elephant was perfect. It was indeed a lucky morning. A new day, a new hunt, a new victory. She really needed one.