it's finally done! bah, this thing is a monster. I also hope it sounds better than I think it does. lol, i think to me the concept had boundless potential, but i didn't take full advantage. Anyways, read at your own discretion, its long.

oh and I realize the first chunk isn't actually 'lucky' but meh,

X~

1936 it read on the dull and dented coin, with embossing now smooth from the years it has seen. The face of the man that adorns it is still as scornful though, and Milo can’t help but wonder whether the now deceased president would have approved of this particular representation of him to be minted billions of times over. ‘Had I known I would have trimmed my beard on picture day,’ he might have said.

Milo pushes away the keyboard tray, content for now to just study this vintage coin that other wise would simply be change, a broken twenty dollar bill. 1936, he ponders, that’s three years before the war. And perhaps this coins has seen more bloodshed than he can ever imagine, tossed about in the pockets of a paratrooper over Normandy. Or perhaps it has spent the majority of its days buried under dust and dirt, watching the countless feet step over it, waiting to be someone’s lucky charm.

This one has a story to tell, Milo decides, I know it.

*********1936

A whole shinny penny! Jack can’t keep his contentment from spilling out as he skips towards the general store. Mum had given it on account of his room being so clean and it has been quite sometime that he has been given anything, no matter how well he behaved. But now that Dad’s found work again, Mum’s purse is no longer a vault. Needless to say a nickel would have been a real treat, for then Jack could indulge in a soda pop from the drug store fountain machine, but a penny is a good start in tough times.

He fiddles with the coin in his stubby little hands as he hurries onward. In his mind he can imagine the bowl at the counter, filled with a melange of toffees and caramels. When Jack is older, he wants to work at the general store, because then he could take as many as he wants. Why didn’t dad get a job at the general store? He wonders. The textile mill seems so boring.

He rounds the corner, the store is only half a block down but between him and the store, leaning against the wall smoking a discarded cigarette butt is Tom. Tom is Aunty’s ‘bastard’ child. Whenever he asked Mum about that word she would glare at him disapprovingly and tell him to mind his own business. He doesn’t have a Dad, Jack thinks, maybe that’s why he misbehaves so much.

Tom is a menacing kid, and the fact that they’re cousins doesn’t mean much to him. Jack does his best to steer clear on most days, but today he is on a mission. He walks defiantly forward, purposefully towards Tom. Maybe I should say hello, or maybe he won’t see me. As he draws closer, the bigger boy snaps to attention, watching him approach step by step.

Tom shoves jack off the the sidewalk. ‘Where do you think you’re headed?’ he asks, looming over the small child, drowning Jack in his shadow.

‘Um...nowhere’ Jack stammers, he knows his prize is all but gone if he’s to reveal it.

Tom flares his nostrils bullishly. ‘Don’t lie to me!’ he yells, dousing Jack in spittle.

‘I was...’ But Jack doesn’t get to finish, in a flash the words are knocks from him as Tom’s fist connects with his gut. He grimaces and his little fist loosens, dropping the shinny penny to the street. It rolls towards the on coming traffic.

There is a loud honk.

*********1944

The young soldier checks his gun as he waits nervously in the foxhole. The barrel was scrubbed out yesterday, the stock polished the previous week, and the lucky penny wedged solidly into its crevasse on the underside of the rifle. He wonders why the sergeant insists on such meticulous care of something that ultimately can never be cleaned of it’s sins. It is after all still an instrument of murder.

Suddenly he hears the pop pop of gunshots not too far off in the forest, the German columns are advancing. An instant later the husky looking sergeant begins to yell commands. The first few men sprint forward and the sound of gun fire intensifies. The second wave follows and he is among them, spurred on by the sergeant’s war cries. He is panting hard but not letting up, afraid that if he were to slow down he would be trampled by his own comrades. Soon the first these comrades begin to fall, with chilling screams and dull thuds on the frozen French soil.

He is determined, determined to dodge all bullets and not have to kill anyone. To him this gun he is carrying is only a toy, for target practice and hunting hares. His eyes focus far in front, at the giant oak tree trunks that will be his salvation. Surely these humble pillars of the forest will protect me. Suddenly he feels his feet knocked from underneath and his knees hit the frosted grass hard. The rest of him follow suit so that he is soon sprawled on the ground, his skull ringing from the impact.

Immediately he scans his body for any indication of pain, but aside from his bruised knees and swirling head he does not feel an injury. He looks ahead, his platoon has already passed him into the forest where the dense trees muffle some of the sounds of war. He looks back, to make sure that his legs are really still there and is relieved to see that it was just a root that had tripped him. Directly behind the root, to his surprise, is the still body of the sergeant, a pool of blood spreading around his head.

The sudden realization dawns on him, if I hadn’t tripped...

*********1969

Rain dances across the campus lawn, her long flamenco skirt spinning with her. She glides over the damp grass towards the man standing stiff in his brown corduroy blazer. Under his horn rimmed glasses his eyes look disapproving.

Rain falls into his arms, smiling up at him. ‘You look especially stern today, professor.’ She knows very well that word particularly bothers him. After all, he doesn’t call her pupil.

‘They’ve postponed my tenure, again.’ his voice is bitter with indignation.

Rain runs a soft hand over the man’s unshaven cheek, sure tale signs that he had been up all night again at his desk. ‘That’s a shame, those pricks don’t deserve you.’ She stands on her tip toes to kiss him but he pushes her way, holding her at half arm’s length.

‘No they don’t.’ He looks across the campus grounds to the regal buildings, the Corinthian columns and domed auditoriums. He loathes the academic men who reside in those walls, the men who cannot stomach his work, cannot fathom his ideas. And he will be suppressed beneath them forever; the thought sickens him.

He decides to change the topic, perhaps Rain can still save his day. ‘So why are you so happy today?’ He attempts to unfurl his brows.

‘I found a lucky penny!’ she exclaims exuberantly, holding out an old coin in her palm, ‘guess what it brought me?’

‘Well, luck, presumably.’

‘Don’t be smart. What did that lead to?’ she presses on.

‘I don’t know,’ he refuses to play her puerile games, ‘stop being childish and just tell me.’

‘You’re a complete kill joy aren’t you?’ she pouts, ‘I’ll tell you when you’re a little less grumpy.’ She shrugs out of his hold and spins away, flicking the coin at him as she walks briskly back across the lawn again.

‘Heads its a girl.’ she says before she is out of ear shot.

He watches her angrily, not comprehending her words. He looks down at the coin in his palm, the austere expression of Lincoln greets him.

‘Heads.’ he says to himself.

And then he understands.

*********1988

The rain hammers her down as she runs, her shoes have landed in so many puddles that they are now saturated, soaking her socks and chilling her feet. Some of her hair thrashes behind her while the rest is plastered to her face. Every layer of her clothes now cling to her thin frame so that periodically she is hit with a shiver of cold. Perhaps there are also tears in her eyes as well, but it is hard to tell. She runs on.

The pendant bounces around her neck, threatening to snap itself from the thin chain, but somehow the chain remains resolute. She holds it in her hand for a moment, feeling the cold metal against her palm, it always seems to calm her. Her stride quickens.

She can hear the jeep behind her, filled with those men who will deny her freedom. She dodges into the underbrush, hoping the thin vegetation will camouflage her. The jeep creeps closer.

Her chest heaves with heavy breathes and she is afraid that her breathing will not be drowned out by the pattering of rain on leaves. She reaches into her pocket to fish out the penny she had found in Guadalajara, all those days ago when she had first decided to head north. It had seemed like a sure sign then, this American penny. She runs her fingers over the worn face and prays, prays for her thin silhouette to disappear into the shadows of these bushes, for the safety of her husband at the hands of those men, and for a reunion when the skies stop bleeding rain.

She reads the words on the coin to calm herself, those three words of latin that seems to soothe as it leaves her lips. E Pluribus Unum, she repeats, not knowing what it means. She closes her eyes, concentrating on the distant shuffling of feet and the shouts of frustrated curses. Her eyes squeeze tighter.

Soon the jeep’s engine fires up again and the crunching of tires soon disappears. The rain lets up to a light mist that on any other day would be refreshing. She continues to hug her legs, shivering from the cold that has enveloped her, still mumbling those latin words.

E pluribus unum. She is like the coin grasped firmly in her fist. Of many, she is but one.

*********
‘So what did you do at work today?’ Aimee asks, sounding too much like a housewife for Milo’s liking.

‘Fuck all.’ is his curt answer. He stuffs a large fork full of pad thai into his mouth.

‘Well, maybe you should tell me a story then if your life is so damn uneventful.’ She says as she nimbly tosses a shrimp into her mouth with a pair of chopsticks.

A wide grin spreads over his face. ‘You’re in luck!’ he speaks and chews concurrently, ‘I’ve got a bunch.’
 


 

~~~



1936 it read on the dull and dented coin, with embossing now smooth from the years it has seen. The face of the man that adorns it is still as scornful though, and Milo can’t help but wonder whether the now deceased president would have approved of this particular representation of him to be minted billions of times over. ‘Had I known I would have trimmed my beard on picture day,’ he might have said. ...interesting. wonder what i'd do differently if my face was put on a million coins

Milo pushes away the keyboard tray, content for now to just study this vintage coin that other wise would simply be change, a broken twenty dollar bill. 1936, he ponders, that’s three years before the war. And perhaps this coins has seen more bloodshed than he can ever imagine, tossed about in the pockets of a paratrooper over Normandy (wow, I wouldn't have thought of it. And someone really paid attention in Manlow's history class...). Or perhaps it has spent the majority of its days buried under dust and dirt, watching the countless feet step over it, waiting to be someone’s lucky charm.

This one has a story to tell, Milo decides, I know it.

*********1936

A whole shinny penny! Jack can’t keep his contentment from spilling out as he skips towards the general store. Mum had given it on account of his room being so clean and it has been quite sometime that he has been given anything, no matter how well he behaved. But now that Dad’s found work again, Mum’s purse is no longer a vault. Needless to say a nickel would have been a real treat, for then Jack could indulge in a soda pop from the drug store fountain machine, but a penny is a good start in tough times. whoa...great depression era eh? I really love the narrative shift to match the time. lol though its funny how everyone was named john or jack back then

He fiddles with the coin in his stubby little hands as he hurries onward. In his mind he can imagine the bowl at the counter, filled with a melange of toffees and caramels. When Jack is older, he wants to work at the general store, because then he could take as many as he wants. aw...i used to think that too. Why didn’t dad get a job at the general store? He wonders. The textile mill seems so boring.

He rounds the corner, the store is only half a block down but between him and the store, leaning against the wall smoking a discarded cigarette butt is Tom. Tom is Aunty’s ‘bastard’ child. Whenever he asked Mum about that word she would glare at him disapprovingly and tell him to mind his own business. He doesn’t have a Dad, Jack thinks, maybe that’s why he misbehaves so much. (<-- love this paragraph. stunning in how you captured the reality of parent-child conversation when it comes to taboos).  

Tom is a menacing kid, and the fact that they’re cousins doesn’t mean much to him. Jack does his best to steer clear on most days, but today he is on a mission. He walks defiantly forward, purposefully towards Tom. Maybe I should say hello, or maybe he won’t see me. As he draws closer, the bigger boy snaps to attention, watching him approach step by step.

Tom shoves jack off the the sidewalk. ‘Where do you think you’re headed?’ he asks, looming over the small child, drowning Jack in his shadow.

‘Um...nowhere’ Jack stammers, he knows his prize is all but gone if he’s to reveal it.

Tom flares his nostrils bullishly. ‘Don’t lie to me!’ he yells, dousing Jack in spittle.

‘I was...’ But Jack doesn’t get to finish, in a flash the words are knocks from him as Tom’s fist connects with his gut. He grimaces and his little fist loosens, dropping the shinny penny to the street. It rolls towards the on coming traffic.

There is a loud honk.

*********1944

The young soldier checks his gun as he waits nervously in the foxhole. The barrel was scrubbed out yesterday, the stock polished the previous week, and the lucky penny wedged solidly into its crevasse on the underside of the rifle (gah, & i thought i knew my guns. tsk, is this what they teach you in engineering? =P). He wonders why the sergeant insists on such meticulous care of something that ultimately can never be cleaned of it’s sins. It is after all still an instrument of murder.

Suddenly he hears the pop pop of gunshots not too far off in the forest, the German columns are advancing. An instant later the husky looking sergeant begins to yell commands. The first few men sprint forward and the sound of gun fire intensifies. The second wave follows and he is among them, spurred on by the sergeant’s war cries. He is panting hard but not letting up, afraid that if he were to slow down he would be trampled by his own comrades. Soon the first these comrades begin to fall, with chilling screams and dull thuds on the frozen French soil.

He is determined, determined to dodge all bullets and not have to kill anyone. To him this gun he is carrying is only a toy, for target practice and hunting hares. His eyes focus far in front, at the giant oak tree trunks that will be his salvation. Surely these humble pillars of the forest will protect me. Suddenly he feels his feet knocked from underneath and his knees hit the frosted grass hard. The rest of him follow suit so that he is soon sprawled on the ground, his skull ringing from the impact.

Immediately he scans his body for any indication of pain, but aside from his bruised knees and swirling head he does not feel an injury. He looks ahead, his platoon has already passed him into the forest where the dense trees muffle some of the sounds of war. He looks back, to make sure that his legs are really still there and is relieved to see that it was just a root that had tripped him. Directly behind the root, to his surprise, is the still body of the sergeant, a pool of blood spreading around his head. O_O yeah, the lack of comments in a paragraph = extremely intrigued reader 

The sudden realization dawns on him, if I hadn’t tripped...

*********1969

Rain dances across the campus lawn, her long flamenco skirt spinning with her. She glides over the damp grass towards the man standing stiff in his brown corduroy blazer. Under his horn rimmed glasses his eyes look disapproving.

Rain falls into his arms, smiling up at him. ‘You look especially stern today, professor.’ She knows very well that word particularly bothers him. After all, he doesn’t call her pupil.

‘They’ve postponed my tenure, again.’ his voice is bitter with indignation.

Rain runs a soft hand over the man’s unshaven cheek, sure tale signs that he had been up all night again at his desk. ‘That’s a shame, those pricks don’t deserve you.’ She stands on her tip toes to kiss him but he pushes her way, holding her at half arm’s length.

‘No they don’t.’ He looks across the campus grounds to the regal buildings, the Corinthian(!) columns and domed auditoriums. He loathes the academic men who reside in those walls, the men who cannot stomach his work, cannot fathom his ideas. And he will be suppressed beneath them forever; the thought sickens him. *sigh* the field of academia is stifling like that.  

He decides to change the topic, perhaps Rain can still save his day. ‘So why are you so happy today?’ He attempts to unfurl his brows.

‘I found a lucky penny!’ she exclaims exuberantly, holding out an old coin in her palm, ‘guess what it brought me?’

‘Well, luck, presumably.’

‘Don’t be smart. What did that lead to?’ she presses on.

‘I don’t know,’ he refuses to play her puerile games, ‘stop being childish and just tell me.’

‘You’re a complete kill joy aren’t you?’ she pouts, ‘I’ll tell you when you’re a little less grumpy.’ (...they sound like Aimee & Milo's past incarnations) She shrugs out of his hold and spins away, flicking the coin at him as she walks briskly back across the lawn again.

‘Heads its a girl.’ she says before she is out of ear shot. clever girl.

He watches her angrily, not comprehending her words. He looks down at the coin in his palm, the austere expression of Lincoln greets him.

‘Heads.’ he says to himself. (& you've been pretty darned clever too.)

And then he understands.

*********1988

The rain hammers her down as she runs, her shoes have landed in so many puddles that they are now saturated, soaking her socks and chilling her feet. Some of her hair thrashes behind her while the rest is plastered to her face. Every layer of her clothes now cling to her thin frame so that periodically she is hit with a shiver of cold. Perhaps there are also tears in her eyes as well, but it is hard to tell. She runs on.

The pendant bounces around her neck, threatening to snap itself from the thin chain, but somehow the chain remains resolute. She holds it in her hand for a moment, feeling the cold metal against her palm, it always seems to calm her. Her stride quickens.

She can hear the jeep behind her, filled with those men who will deny her freedom. She dodges into the underbrush, hoping the thin vegetation will camouflage her. The jeep creeps closer.

Her chest heaves with heavy breathes and she is afraid that her breathing will not be drowned out by the pattering of rain on leaves. She reaches into her pocket to fish out the penny she had found in Guadalajara (wow, i dont even know where this is. go, you!), all those days ago when she had first decided to head north. It had seemed like a sure sign then, this American penny. She runs her fingers over the worn face and prays, prays for her thin silhouette to disappear into the shadows of these bushes, for the safety of her husband at the hands of those men, and for a reunion when the skies stop bleeding rain (10 points for awesome metaphor use!).

She reads the words on the coin to calm herself, those three words of latin that seems to soothe as it leaves her lips. E Pluribus Unum (of many, one!), she repeats, not knowing what it means. She closes her eyes, concentrating on the distant shuffling of feet and the shouts of frustrated curses. Her eyes squeeze tighter.

Soon the jeep’s engine fires up again and the crunching of tires soon disappears. The rain lets up to a light mist that on any other day would be refreshing. She continues to hug her legs, shivering from the cold that has enveloped her, still mumbling those latin words.

E pluribus unum. She is like the coin grasped firmly in her fist. Of many, she is but one.

*********
‘So what did you do at work today?’ Aimee asks, sounding too much like a housewife for Milo’s liking.

‘Fuck all.’ is his curt answer. He stuffs a large fork full of pad thai into his mouth.

‘Well, maybe you should tell me a story then if your life is so damn uneventful.’ She says as she nimbly tosses a shrimp into her mouth with a pair of chopsticks.

A wide grin spreads over his face. ‘You’re in luck!’ he speaks and chews concurrently, ‘I’ve got a bunch.’


wow. totally blown away. i know there isn't much of my red throughout but that's probably cuz I was too wrapped up in it to comment on little things. You definitely hit a milestone with this and should consider submitting it somewhere. I'm kind of jealous because this is a little bit like a piece I've been meaning to write for a while (similar in the time-shifty thing), and who knows, maybe I will. But really, it was just a really insightful take on something most people would never think about. A penny from 1936 has gone through a hella lot more than any one person!