Bad Luck for A Friend, Bad Luck For Me.

Essay by thegizHigh School, 11th gradeA+, September 2005

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It was tough luck for my friend. He would catch a new kind of common cold every other month, twist his ankle everyway possible way, and he always managed to set foot on the stair that was most likely to break under his weight. My dog would intimidate him by biting at his legs while we were arriving home from junior high. Things would fly towards his face, be it a soccer ball or his skateboard. He had a chronic stomach flu that kept him out of school for weeks. His eyes like the eyes of a sad panda.

My friend's nose was a magnet, a magnet for random objects to fly towards. There was no one to stop the rotten, half-eaten apple being thrown down the hall, from hitting him straight in his nose. No one held his bicycle up as he was trying to learn how to ride while it was raining.

He was always the one to be seen doing something wrong on the playground during recess, by the principal. He was always caught piling six people at a time onto the slide for no more than one person. It seemed he was a bad kid, and there was no one to whisper in his ear, "No, do not throw it," instead he was seen throwing the pumpkin off the roof and he was sent home from school.

As for me I always seemed to have good luck at times when most would have no luck. Some spirit must have made it, so as my car was hit by another car that no cars were going through the intersection and no other cars hit my car. Someone must of whispered into my ear, not to sneak out the window, because two minutes later when I had decided...