There is no such thing as luck.

Hey, my name is Lenoa and I don't believe in luck. If you want me to spell it out for you I can. 'Luck' is spelled exactly like 'bullshit' with all caps. That's how. So, how did I end up playing a game of Russian roulette with the city Mayor? I really don't know, but the gun is spinning like my head. I suppose seduction and alcohol work wonders.

Most of my life I had barely enough to get by. I mean, all of it. You wouldn't even believe how it feels to have nothing to hold onto. No security and the jealousy of watching other nobles eat well and buy things they want. I feel like I should at least not have to worry about food. Why is life like this? I don't even know.

My parents were nobles, at least by lineage. They died though and I can't change that. They died playing Russian Roulette. Since I was twelve years I learned to take care of myself. I mean, I lived in foster homes my whole entire life and I've picked up a few tricks on my own. I'm relieved that part of my life doesn't bother me anymore. It's over and you wouldn't even believe what I had to do to keep the peace with everyone. I'm not going there.

I'm twenty-two now. That's my lucky number if I had one. So, I wish my parents could see me now. I wish we were all together. Maybe tonight I'll walk away with all the tax-payer money in front of me. The mayor brought it all in a suitcase and all I had to bet was my body. I least I convinced him to play a game with me. It's like foreplay except it's deadly. I heard the mayor likes it that way. I did my research and it has nothing to do with being lucky.

Anyways, my mother would smile on me tonight. She was a con-artist before she met my father and taught me how to smile and use the right make-up. The smell of vanilla is all over my body. I chose carefully and it seems to be working. The mayor is still smiling and caressing my arm. It's really starting to annoy me. Especially, the lucky ring he has clenched between his knuckles. It's cold and his drool is already over the whole thing as if kissing it will bring him good luck. God forbid, it actually does well for him.

I know it won't though. There's more to life than holding lucky charms. Everything is a calculation. Everything can be thought through. The pistol is slowing to a crawl. I feel sick each time it passes me, then him, then me. I feel like we're both counting the seconds and I'm really not in the mood tonight, if you know what I'm saying. Not to mention, the mayor isn't exactly the most pleasant looking man. He's gross and I can smell the corruption in his heavy breathing. It smells like alcohol and tartar sauce.

As our gun crawls to a standstill, my sighs become deep and heavy. I just want to focus on my money and the poverty I'm about to leave behind. The Mayor loses this time.

Suddenly, the gun stops and I smile as the mayor points it at his head.

“This is just foreplay. It isn't loaded right?” he asks.

“We checked it, remember?,” I smile. “There was nothing in the chamber.”

The mayor grins vivaciously. The gun shakes as he pushes it against his skull. In one quick movement he pulls the trigger and I cover my ears with excitement. I feel wrong for being so excited, but I just don't care. A loud crack leaves my ears ringing with fright. Emotions and relief rush over me with a deep sense of panic. Then, I open my eyes.

The room is left eerily silent as I take a look around me. The suitcase is stained in crimson and it means I'll have to do extra work to clean it off. No biggie. I planned for it to be that way. Did I mention I didn't believe in luck? You can't just pull what I pulled off without having a solid plan.

I look down at the mayor in pity. I hope no one heard the gunshot. It won't be long before someone comes looking for him.

You know, the worst part of being broke is the creeps. Just because I'm poor doesn't mean you can buy my sex. I'm not a prostitute. I'm a noble in the making. I don't need your help and I don't need a prince charming. I'm working to get myself somewhere again and it has nothing to do with being lucky. Careful planning will solve most of my problems. That's what my mother told me. She was a con-artist. In fact, I knew where the gun would land. I knew exactly where I'd place the magnets beneath the table. I knew the gun was loaded and had a secret compartment.

Like I told you, I don't believe in luck. I just don't. Then again, my father was a pistol-maker and my mother was a con-artist. I guess you could say I was lucky to be born their daughter.