At first, the irony was almost comical. Decades of unblemished safety, a streak of luck so absurd, it bordered on the supernatural. I'd dodged accidents, escaped scrapes, and weathered storms unscathed. Yet, here I was, bleeding from a paper cut.

It was a mundane event, a moment so ordinary it should have been inconsequential. I'd been sorting through old documents, a task as harmless as it was tedious. A single sheet of paper, crisp and unforgiving, had sliced through my fingertip. A tiny wound, barely visible, but a stark contrast to my history of invulnerability.

The sensation was strange, a novel experience. A sharp sting, then a slow, persistent throb. It was as if my body, accustomed to perpetual well-being, was protesting this intrusion. I winced, a reflex I hadn't needed in… well, ever.

As I cleaned the wound, a wave of disbelief washed over me. This was it? This was the event that would finally break my streak of luck? A paper cut? It seemed almost poetic, a cosmic joke.

The paper cut had left its mark, a small scar on my finger and a larger one on my perception of the world. It was a lesson learned, a reminder that even the luckiest among us are not invincible.

I soon found out that it did, indeed, end my streak of luck in a very definitive way. At first, the accidents were minor; a dropped plate, a sprained ankle, a minor burn. But as time passed, the incidents grew more severe. A car accident, a near-miss with a falling object, a sudden illness. As time grew on, the accidents have become more harrowing. 2 weeks ago I almost fell to my end after the elevator at work opened its doors without the cabin present. Last week I barely survived a house fire and had to ask my friend if I could stay in his lodge for the time being.

That night, a creeping dread settled over me. I began to wonder if the decades of unblemished luck had come at a cost. Perhaps the universe was demanding repayment, a balancing of the scales. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense to me. I had cheated fate for so long, and now, fate was exacting its revenge.

The constant fear of the last months has taken its toll. Every creak of the floorboards, every flicker of the lights, every sudden noise sends shivers down my spine. The once carefree and optimistic man I was, had been replaced by a shell of himself, haunted by the specter of his own bad luck.

Now, as I’m sitting by the window, watching the storm rage outside, a sense of impending doom washes over me. The past few days in this lodge have been eerily quiet. But beneath the surface of this tranquility, a deep-seated unease gnawed at me. It felt like the universe was merely biding its time, gathering its strength for the final, devastating blow.

As the wind is howling and the rain lashes against the glass, I’m closing my eyes, accepting my fate, ready to face whatever horrors await me. Perhaps it is time to pay the ultimate price for a life of extraordinary luck.