Pretty Ugly

Every once in a while, I sign myself up for things that feel like a good idea at the time.

This was one of those times.

I entered a short story competition through Writing Battle, where they give you a genre, a character, and a setting – and you just figure it out from there. No overthinking. No endless spirals. Just writing something, submitting it, and hoping for the best.

Naturally, I leaned into what I know best: things going mildly, consistently wrong.

The genre prompt was “Useless Superpower,” and I may have taken that personally. The character prompt was, “mover”, and setting prompt was, “hostel”.

So, this is my entry. It’s a story about bad luck, and the realization that sometimes what feels useless might just be misunderstood.

Or not. Jury’s still out.

Either way – this is Felix.

---

WHERE THE BAD LUCK GOES

My mother named me Felix because someone told her it was Latin for lucky.

Statistically, for me anyway, that’s incorrect. As far back as I can remember, I was never the girl who got the guy, landed the cartwheel, or entered a room without immediately regretting it.

Felix. Unlucky, despite branding.

I became what some would call a nomad over the last few years. Wandering around, attempting to find somewhere, anywhere where things don’t go wrong.

The last place I stayed was nice. Excellent reviews. I overheard a couple checking in before me, they’d gotten upgraded for free. To be fair, it was the middle of the week. The place was empty, besides the random businessman wandering like he’d given up on joy sometime in the early 2000s.

If you were wondering… no, I was not offered the same upgrade. Not that I expected it – I know better than that. Though I imagine it might have helped avoid the whole ‘ceiling collapsing at 4:45 a.m.’ situation.

…Not the whole thing. Just enough to feel personal.

Situation. That’s what the front desk called it. Like this happens all the time.

So, I moved.

When you live out of a bag of unkempt clothes, changing locations isn’t even that much of an inconvenience. Sometimes it’s less than desirable, even scary. Sometimes it’s funny, and that’s a treat. Most of the time it lands somewhere in the middle.

People are always asking how I do it. It’s not that complicated.

Let’s be honest, no matter where I end up, there’s always a diner. Not dirty enough to be concerning but not really clean enough to be comforting… looking for a breakfast server.

It was while I was slinging eggs, a customer told me, “Things don’t go wrong, they simply happen.” Quoting some hematologist, which felt like an aggressive choice for a man ordering eggs benedict.

Yes, I also questioned the source. And no, I don’t know what he meant.

I do know that if anyone has ever had things happen at them, it’s me.

—

While Milwaukee was graced with my presence, for reasons I can’t defend, I tried a trendy coffee place on Brady Street. Everything looked expensive for no clear reason, and the vibe was embarrassingly perfect.

Until the barista, with an awkward stare, handed over my cold brew and charged me twice.

When I pointed it out, she said, “Oh, weird,” like we were both witnessing a rare natural phenomenon. Not wanting to deal with whatever that was supposed to become, I tipped her anyway.

It felt safer. Like paying a small fee to avoid a larger, more confusing problem.

—

Once, on a bus to Chicago, the air conditioning broke.

Oh… no, I’m sorry. Not all of it. Just the vent above my seat.

We’re talking about July, and instead of cool air, I’m suddenly getting the greenhouse effect treatment. Sweat starts to bead along my hairline, and I hear a woman behind me complain that it’s a little chilly.

I turned around, now including my upper lip in the sweat predicament, and I stared directly into her soul. As predicted, her soul did not respond.

It was that exact moment, on a sticky bus ride, I started looking at my options to get the hell out of the Midwest.

—

Colorado had been on my bucket list. After doing my due diligence (a light Google search), I found a hostel.

A new experience is exactly what I was in the mood for. New scenery, new people, shared bathroom – what could go wrong? Naturally, a shared living space wouldn’t normally make the cut. But for reasons I can’t defend, I booked my stay at Waypoint Collective and put in my notice at the diner.

Quitting felt dramatic, considering I burned my wrist on the coffee pot, was called “sweetheart” by a man who refused to make eye contact, and had someone send their eggs back for being “too eggy”… all in my three shifts this week.

It didn’t feel like quitting, it felt like self-preservation.

—

The hostel sat just outside a mountain town and had a vibe like it was designed for people turning their lives around. Clean air. Scenic views. The perfect kind of quiet that felt deliberate.

The building itself wasn’t much. Wood siding, big windows, a couple people out front drinking coffee like they had nowhere else to be. Everyone looked…settled, which caught me off guard. Like they had long-term plans. Bold.

When I’d imagined a hostel, I figured it would be a little more chaotic. Louder?

I wasn’t sure how any of this worked – if I had to go claim a bed, if there was a system, if it’s rude not to introduce myself?

Just when I started to spiral, Hazel introduced herself.

“Hey – Hazel.”  

She said it like we’d already met, like I was the one who’d forgotten. She had a backpack slung over one shoulder and the kind of ease I’d already decided was a theme here.

I startled, visibly, but recovered enough to acknowledge her presence.

“Felix.”

She smiled, like that was the correct answer. Which, based on recent history, felt unlikely. Still, I was more appreciative of the gesture than willing to admit.

“Come on,” Hazel said, already making her way in. “I’ll show you around.”

She moved through the place like she belonged there. I followed, trying not to look like I was actively reconsidering all of my life choices.

“This is the kitchen,” she said, pushing open the door. Inside, a guy was attempting pancakes.

“First time,” he admitted.

And then goes ahead to flip it in the air – landing perfectly. Golden. Intact.

“Nice,” someone said from the counter.

“Thanks, man. Guess I just got lucky.”

Hazel didn’t react, but I couldn’t help myself. I started clapping like a fool – like I had personally never seen success before. Hazel motioned, and we stepped further in.

Reaching for a mug, the handle snapped clean off in her hand. No warning, no resistance. Just…gone. She stared for a moment and proceeded to set it down like this sort of thing happened often enough to have a protocol.

Behind us, someone dropped a full glass, it hit the floor.

There’s the chaos I was expecting!

Except, it was intact. It didn’t break.

“Wow,” someone said.

“That’s crazy.” Another person laughed, “that should’ve shattered, for sure.”

Hazel glanced at me. I glanced at the mug. And we moved on.

“Common area,” she said, like we hadn’t just seen whatever that was.

There were backpacks everywhere, random water bottles and can strewn about, mismatched couches. Yet, it was kind of cozy. My assessment was interrupted by a guy on the couch. He was hunched over his laptop.

“NO WAY,” he said. “I GOT IT.”

“Got what?” someone asked.

“The job. I didn’t think – wow.”

Everyone congratulated him as expected. Like things just…worked out here.

We kept moving.

“Bathrooms are down this way,” Hazel said.

I barely turned my head to look, and in true Felix fashion, I slipped. Not dramatically. Not enough to fall completely. Just enough to make a spectacle and question my overall coordination as a human being.

Hazel caught me – and immediately stubbed her toe on the wall.

For a second, neither of us said anything. She tilted her head slightly.

“You see it too, right?” I half whispered.

She leaned against the wall, like she’d had this conversation before.

“Nothing actually goes wrong here,” she said.

I looked back towards the kitchen. The guy now on his third perfect pancake.

“Feels like things are going very right, actually…” I said with a hint of snide. She shook her head, shifted again – looked me dead in the eyes and plainly said,

“They just don’t go wrong for them.”

I let that statement move around my brain and sat with it for a moment.

“…Wait a goddamn second.”

Hazel gave a small, knowing smile. I looked past her, back into the kitchen. The guy had moved onto eggs. Still winning. My brain began a flashback sequence that I didn’t ask for. The mug. The slip. The bus. The coffee. The ceiling. A greatest hits compilation I never agreed to release.

“Okay,” I said slowly.

“So, what…you’re saying we’re just…unlucky?”

Hazel shook her head.

“No.”

I didn’t respond right away, for once I didn’t have an immediate argument. I let out a short laugh, the kind that shows up when something isn’t funny, but you don’t have a better option.

I looked around again. Everyone moving through their lives like things worked out for them. Like, worst-case scenario was just…hypothetical. 

And then it clicked. Not all at once, not dramatically.

“It’s not that nothing goes wrong,” I said.

Hazel finished my thought.

“It’s that it doesn’t go wrong for them.”

“So what? This is my thing?” I blurted out. “This is the skill I’ve been developing?”

Hazel shrugged. “You get used to it.”

“Great. A completely useless superpower.” I said while laughing in a sarcastic tone.

The amazing reviews this place has? The five stars? They weren’t written by anyone like me. Or Hazel. Which, in hindsight, feels like an important detail.

This place has always felt lucky, because people like us pass through it.

—

I didn’t move right way. Which, for me, felt like progress.

“Does it ever…stop?” I asked Hazel over breakfast, prepared by my new friend – the pancake guy. I willed her to say yes.

“No,” she said, like she already assessed the theory.

“Oh, perfect,” I said. “Would’ve hated for this to be temporary.”

Together, we watched someone nearly knock over a full pot of coffee. It wobbled. Tilted. Corrected itself like it had a sense of self-preservation. The guy holding it blinked.

“Wow. That was close,” he said.

“Yeah,” someone else said. “Good Save.”

He hadn’t done anything. I couldn’t help the intrusive, cynical thought.

I exhaled, “unbelievable”.

Hazel smiled, just enough to know we had an understanding. I took one more good look around. At the near misses. At the easy wins. At everything that didn’t land where it should have.

“I guess if you weren’t me, or you…” I said, “this place would feel pretty lucky.”

Hazel didn’t argue.

I adjusted the strap on my bag and glanced toward the front door. It was propped open, letting in that crisp, judgmental mountain air. People moved in and out like they had somewhere to be. Like things were waiting for them on the other side.

I’d done that. Left before things could get worse, and I thought about leaving again.

I really considered it.

Then I set it down.

“Great.” I muttered. “I guess I live here now.”

---