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An article by Bob Fischer, founder and president of the Good Luck for Kids Foundation, published in The New York Times on October 15, 2035.


It all started back in 2014 when I was about 10 years old. My house had been blown up by some terrorists. Let me tell you the story: I got home from school at about 4:00 pm,  and for some reason, my mom wasn’t home, which was weird because she usually is at home waiting for me. I just had thought my mom was late or was getting me something, so I went into our living room and turned on our tv to watch some television when, “Boooooooooooooom!!!”  

Pieces of my house were falling near me and dust was going into my eyes,  starting to make them sting. I looked around to see if anything I loved was still okay and not broken. I couldn’t find anything other than my iPhone 6, which was in my pocket this whole time. I kept looking around for the tiniest thing that I might be able to keep, when I heard, “Weeyoo, weeyoo!” Right away I knew I was saved. When I stepped out of what used to be my house, I ran to the policeman when I saw him, but when the policeman saw me he started to run at me. I didn’t know why he was running until I noticed that my neighbor’s house was for some reason on fire, so right away I knew that they weren’t here for me.  They had kept on running at me just to catch me, thinking that I was the person who destroyed my house. When the policeman finally caught up with me and grabbed me, I tried to tell them that I was just the child who lived there, but, of course, he wouldn’t listen. He brought me to the police station to ask questions about the explosion. I basically told them that I was at home minding my own business when for some reason my house was blown up.

They didn’t believe me so they brought in their big boss to get me to talk, but their big boss only came in to sit in front of me and gave me an intimidating stare. He was also leaning in on me, so it was very awkward. While he was leaning in on me he noticed that I had dust on my shirt, and in my hair there were some small pieces of tiles from my upstairs hallway. I also smelled very much like dust, so the big boss realized that I must have been in the house when the explosion happened and I couldn’t have been the bomber. He decided to let me go, and he called my mom to pick me up.

For about three weeks my mom and I had a hard a time financially because it took a lot of money to rebuild our house. We had so much trouble that I even needed to work selling lemonade at a stand on the street to earn money. My mom and I still couldn’t get enough money, so we had to sell our house, and we had to live in a tunnel we dug. After about a couple months my mom and I were able to rent a house which was nice. I was able to head away from lemonade and instead sell some candy to my friends at school. Lemonade got me about $20 a week, which was nice but nobody really wanted my lemonade anymore because the weather was getting colder and colder. In about a week or so the lemonade would freeze by the time my friends would come to buy it. I had thought of selling candy instead of lemonade because candy can’t freeze. Whenever people came to me at school I would try to sell them candy and also hot chocolate for an extra fee. I sold the candy for just $1.00 if it wasn’t very popular. The popular varieties would go more than $3.00 a piece.

   My candy and hot chocolate business was doing great. But before I knew it, it was already spring break and it got warmer, so I had to go back to selling lemonade because chocolate melts in the hot sun. This time I had a bunch of people to buy my lemonade, because word got out while I was selling candy that I was going to start selling lemonade again soon, so this time I was making $70 per week. I also helped my mom to buy the house instead of renting it. I even bought a Nintendo DS with my leftover savings.  I also was able to buy even more popular candy to sell later when it gets colder again.

After about a month, our luck looked as if it were getting better. It felt great having things like they used to be, but when we let our guard down, somebody almost bombed our house again!  Fortunately, a strong wind blew the bomb away from our house and toward our neighbor’s house. My mom and I had bought this detector thing that would beep whenever a flying object was coming near our house. It had worked great but it kept beeping even if a bird was flying by our house, and soon the detector became very annoying. So my mom returned it to the store and got our money back. And we used that money to buy another monitor that was less annoying. Instead this one wouldn’t beep even if an airplane went over our house, so basically, we still kept it so that the terrorists that were going to bomb our house would think that we would know they were bombing us so they would leave us alone.

The day I had to go to school again in the fall, I was very surprised that everybody was very nice to me as if I was the king or something. The big bully at my school was even nice to me. But what really surprised me was that whenever the kids were near me they would always rub themselves all over me. One day while my friend kept rubbing his hand all over my arm I asked why people kept on doing that. He said that ever since I came back from the explosion everybody thought I was lucky since I was able to live. The rest of my school was very weird because wherever I went, the place became happier, and wherever I left it got sad.

When I got home after school, my day turned upside down because what I saw was the worst. On the entryway floor was a dead body covered in blood with a gun in his hand and a handwritten note that said, “Bomber.” I thought my mom would be horrified when she saw this. (But she actually might have been happy that the bomber was  dead).

I had thought that the bomber would try to kill my family again, but instead, he killed himself in my house. I thought about what I should tell my mom for about half an hour already, but I just couldn’t figure out what I should tell my mom. I had come up with two different ways of telling my mom: I could just not tell my mom, or I could just tell her that he killed himself. The things that might happen would be: 1. My mom would find out where I hid the dead body, or 2. she would not believe me when I would tell her that I didn’t kill the killer and that instead, the killer killed himself and that I was just standing there waiting for her to get home. So I just went with hiding it, because there was a chance that she wouldn’t find it if I put the dead body in our trash bin. To make sure that my mom wouldn’t find out that I hid the dead body in the trash bin, I had to take out the trash every day till the day came when the trash truck would come to my house.

My plan had worked out great until one day when I got home from school later than usual. So my mom took out the trash, but that wasn’t the scary part. The scary part was when it turned out the dead body was missing. I knew that the body was missing because my mom wasn’t mad, surprised or basically any big emotion. She was just acting like her own self. I was happy about my life from then on, but there was always this main question I had in the back of my head: “What happened to the killer?”

Three months later, I was watching the news with my mom when I saw the news reporter show a picture of the bomber, and they said that he had turned himself in because he felt really bad that he had bombed a young child of the age 11 and his mom’s house. So I guess it turns out that the killer wasn’t actually dead and got out of the trash can before my mom took the trash out.

So now you know the story. That is why you should donate to the Good Luck for Kids Foundation, an organization that helps kids and their families when something unlucky happens to them. Because I know what it’s like.

The End


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