The morning sun poured through the cracked window of the small cramped looking attic that was above a room used for storage in an run down apartment building, the light casting reluctant beams upon the worn floorboards. Dust motes danced lazily in the air, illuminating a disheveled bed with frayed sheets, a metal chair with rusted legs, and a solitary boy, Alex. He sat hunched over, knees pulled to his chest, the weight of the world resting heavily on his young shoulders. At fifteen years old, Alex had long since learned that luck was a fickle companion—if it ever existed at all.
In the years since the accident, when a drunk driver had claimed his parents' lives, Alex had come to understand the cruel twist of fate. He spent his days toiling for a neighbor, an old woman named Agatha and owner of the run downed apartment building where Alex lived, who treated him more like a servant than a child. Beneath her roof, he was met with scornful glares and harsh commands, made to clean, cook, and run errands, all while enduring the sting of beatings for the slightest mistake. The bruises on his skin told stories of both his punishment and survival; each mark a reminder that in this world, there was no one to protect him.
As he peered out of the window, Alex's reflection caught his eye—a thin, scrappy boy with shaggy hair that fell into his eyes, giving him a shadowy appearance. He couldn't remember the last time he felt like a normal child—someone with hopes, dreams, and laughter. Instead, he was lost in a fog of despair, dreaming only of escape. For years, he had convinced himself that luck was a fairy tale reserved for the fortunate, but that illusion began to crack when an unexplainable feeling washed over him like a sudden gust of wind, stirring up the dust and stirring his soul.
In the heart of despair, on a seemingly ordinary afternoon, a strange shimmer caught his eye. It was as if a flicker of light emanated from the nondescript wall of the attic. Curiosity tugged at him, compelling him to rise from his makeshift throne of sorrow. As he approached, the air grew thick with a tingling energy, and there, nestled just between the planks, he spotted an ethereal glow—a glowing feather, soft and bright, as if it had captured a piece of the sun itself.
Alex got down on his knees, glaring at the feather and wondering where it had come from and how it ended up there. As he looked around for something to pry it out of the crack in the floorboards, he spotted a wire clothes hanger in the corner of the room. Rushing over to grab it with excitement, he bent the hook at the end to create a straight piece of wire. Carefully, he pressed the end of his makeshift tool into the gap between the boards and gently pried the feather up.
Alex reached out tentatively, his fingertips brushing against its radiant surface, and in that instant, it felt as though the universe itself had paused. Memories surged within him: his parents' laughter, the warmth of home, and a life unburdened by pain. The feather pulsed with a warmth that enveloped him, awakening a flicker of hope deep inside—a feeling he thought he had lost forever.
With no idea how this feather had come to rest in his hands, or what it could truly mean, Alex felt a shift in the air around him. Little did he know, high above, an angel watched with wide, regret-filled eyes, feeling the weight of their celestial responsibility. In the depths of their heart, they understood that Alex's luck had been their doing. And now, as Alex grasped the feather, it felt like a surge of electricity flowed into him. Jolted by the shock, he wondered to himself, What is this feeling?.