Four Leaved Clover (Fiction)

The girl knelt in the grass, desperately searching for a rare treasure. Her face scrunched a little. Failed again. Quietly, the man came up behind her. He dropped to one knee nearby and, without even looking at the ground, plucked a stem from it. He handed her the perfect four leaved clover with a smile. "It's not lucky unless somebody gives it to you."

"Thanks, Dad," she said, but there was a hint of irritation. That had not been fair, for she had been searching for a good half an hour. Still, she had one now. She tucked it into her pocket and stood up.

Martha, that being the girl's name, thought she had already had luck today. It being a Saturday helped. No school, no worries, perfect weather. Her dad, whom she looked up to as an idol, right there.

Of course, he had been the one who actually found the clover. She was almost mad enough to tear a leaf off of it. She felt as if she had looked for hours. Well, there was not much she could do about it. He was the one who had the luck. Now he'd given some to her, and as she skipped home along the street, a good twenty yards ahead of him, she knew something good was about to happen.

Her mother never came along. Her mother almost never left the house. Not really her fault, it was just so hard to get the wheelchair. She couldn't remember a time when her mother could walk.

Now that would be beyond luck, it would be a miracle. Miracles did not happen, but maybe she should...

Yes, she would. She couldn't open the door, though. Her dad said she would forget to lock it if he gave her a key. Her dad was probably right.

She waited, bouncing from one foot to the other, for him to catch up, but once the door was open, she sprung inside, darting into the living room. Her mother was in there, typing away on her laptop. She pulled the semi-crushed clover out of her pocket and put it on the keyboard, grinning.

Her mother just looked up, then smiled tiredly. "What's that, Martha?"

"It's a four leafed clover, of course."

Her dad had vanished into another room.

"Thank you." Her mother went back to her typing.

Busy, as usual. Martha was not entirely sure what her mother did. Write, but write what? She had never been allowed to read any of it.

She found herself some pop, and then went to her room, doodling four leaved clovers on a piece of paper. She did not come out until close to time for supper. When she did, she found her mother asleep in the chair. She would not stir, would not wake. She never woke again, for miracles do not happen. Not in this world. But the four leafed clover was still in her hand.

A sad one, I know. Luck can be the strangest thing...and perhaps, sometimes, what we think is bad luck is not so terrible after all.

Or is it?