Fate always gets the last laugh.

You expect one thing, another happens. You predict a storm, there's not a cloud in the sky. You bet on red, the ball lands on black.

Or worse, double-zero. Salt in the wound.

I hated it. Predictions, prognostications, fortunes even, for those inclined to call it that... they're supposed to be real. I always believed in that little bit of the supernatural, some little psionic impulse, letting you see fate, visualize fate, and perhaps even manipulate fate.

Only I could never get it right. Nothing ever rang true, even when I deliberately predicted the opposite of my hunch. Fate was a cruel mistress- no. Wrong term, and cliched. Fate was a stubborn child, contrary only for the sake of the argument.

I still had hope, but that hope was fading fast. Until just a few minutes ago. I knew the alleyway was a bad idea, despite the shortcut.

I went to tell the mugger not to shoot, but I didn't believe my words. "You're going to kill me."

With my dying breath I smiled. I was right