12, 13, 14.

I had a dream about this girl.

It was a dream so great that I didn’t want to wake up from it.

The girl in my dream was full of life.

I looked at her and I seen an elementary school playground.

I seen kids who are abused, bullied, and mistreated smiling and laughing.

I seen kids of all races, of all ages, of all classes get along as though they were transparent.

As though their race didn’t determine their behavior.

As though their age didn’t determine their maturity.

As though their class didn’t determine their success.

Their eyes sparkled the same way in which her eyes sparkle.

Their smiles were so bright, they may as well have been best friends with the sun.

Their laughs were so loud, the children in Africa forgot that they were hungry.

I looked at these kids and bad luck suddenly ceased to exist.

The number 13 became excluded from the chalkboards in the classrooms.

The bell rang.

The kids disappeared and all I could see was her.

She walked towards me and whispered in my ear,

“I am the number 13. I do exist. And I’m not bad luck.”

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