Thursday, March 17, 2011
Luck of the Irish Blogfest
“We’ll be lucky if we can pull this off,” Artie said. I didn’t appreciate his doubt.
“Luck has nothing to do with it,” I said, incensed. “You have to stop thinking like you’re on the outside. The laws of physics and normal human behavior are suspended here on the inside.”
We had gathered in the day room for one last review of our plan to liberate our confiscated personal effects.
“Maybe Simon could bless the mission, just in case.” Tessa said. “It is St. Patrick’s Day, after all.”
“Be happy to,” Simon said, a smug grin on his lips.
I shot Tessa a nasty glare, “What are you talking about? Simon’s Scottish, not Irish.”
Tessa shrugged, looking a little put out that I’d snap at her. “Close enough,” she said.
I rolled my eyes and sighed. We could use a little luck, but asking Simon for a blessing was like throwing gas on his megalomaniacal fire.
“Okay, fine, whatever, just make it quick,” I grumbled, folding my arms over my chest and tapping my impatient foot.
Simon cleared his throat and drew himself taller. “May the path rise to meet you, may your team always have your back, may the darkness always shroud you, may your mission meet with success, and until we meet again, may Nurse Cratchit remain entirely unawares.”
Mia giggled and clapped, “perfect!”
Tessa tossed a handful of sparkly glitter, which floated and drifted in the re-circulated institutional air almost like a magical leprechaun glimmer.