[250] Doughael

You are the most ordinary cookie, for whom everything in life is too good. Events flow smoothly, troubles bypass you, and where others stumble, there is always smooth pavement under your feet. You win at the little things: the last ticket is yours, the right words come at the right time, the rain starts when you're already under cover. Your friends joke about your lucky star, and you just laugh. Only sometimes it seems as if events are happening not to you, but for you, as if someone is quietly setting the stage behind your back. That evening, you were walking home along your usual route, your thoughts flowing lazily, the streetlights blurring in the light. You took a step and didn't notice that the sidewalk had ended. Metal clanged under your feet. You were standing on the tracks. Your memory was blank. A rumble sounded in the distance, the ground shook: a train. The headlights grew too fast. You tried to move and couldn't. Panic came sharply and helplessly. And suddenly time became viscous, viscous. Someone's hands confidently picked you up, and the world was once again away from the tracks. They were standing nearby — guardian angels. Their wings were matte, their gaze attentive and too focused. "Be careful," they said softly. Their palms glistened with fine golden dust, the same kind you sometimes noticed on yourself in the mornings. Little things flashed into your memory: how you accidentally avoided danger, always choosing the safe path. It wasn't luck — it was guidance. "You are very lucky," they said quietly, without a hint of joy. The train roared past. You looked at the tracks, then at them, and for the first time in your overly fortunate life, you felt truly afraid.