Anthrax (pronounced ‘Anthea’) had always been unlucky.
From the unfortunate autocorrect on her birth certificate, to her untimely idiopathic irritable bowel syndrome. Nothing ever went her way. All she ever wished for, was a little serendipity.
With red cheeks and a roaring stitch in her side, Anthrax arrived at the gallery. She took a moment to shake her clothes dry, ring out her hair and with a pointed finger, curse at her umbrella, which had jammed shut as soon as the rain began to fall. She approached the receptionist. After five minutes of explaining her name, Anthrax was finally inside the venue, her broken umbrella under her arm.
Before her was a massive crowd of elegantly dressed art connoisseurs and journalists, all transfixed on the stage. The stage itself was bare, save for a bright red button, seemingly floating in mid-air. On it, stood an elderly woman with a thin frame, whom despite her age, was dancing around manically. Anthrax felt a squeeze in her chest. Finally, she had laid eyes upon Madame Bernard, artist extraordinaire!
“After six decades of creating sculptures, I have exhausted myself! Every medium, every pose, I have left nothing untouched, unexposed!” cried Madame Bernard. With every sentence, spittle shot from her mouth, coating her smiling admirers in the front row. Anthrax took out her waterlogged phone to take a photo, but accidentally sent her draft confession of love to her crush, Simon. Her wet fingers frantically searched for a non-existent ‘unsend’ button.
“And now, I have only one final piece, a secret project I share with only those in this room. Upon the end of the countdown, I shall press this button and the piece and its title shall be revealed! The final piece is called…”
With giddy excitement, the crowd began counting down from ten. As soon as they reached zero, there was eager silence.
“…legacy!” screamed Madame Bernard.
She smashed the button and threw her head back with a cackle. Sprinklers in the roof started to spray a fine orange mist over the entire crowd, Madame Bernard included.
For a moment, everyone admired the beautiful amber rain. They felt the warm, sticky consistency between their fingers. Then panic exploded as one by one, the mist cooled and their fingers were glued together. Like drowning rats, the crowd ran for the exit and bashed on the unmoving doors.
The room lit up with flashes, as hidden cameras captured the hysteria. One of the bulbs went off in Anthrax’s face, and the surprise forced her to drop her useless umbrella. As it hit the ground it popped open, and without thinking, the half blinded Anthrax picked it up and instinctively held it above her head.
After a single minute, deathly silence befell the room. Anthrax was immobilized from the waist down, but fortunately, she was still breathing. Unlike the statues which surrounded her, her face was only lightly speckled with orange.
“Well, that was lucky,” Anthrax said, for the first time in her life.
