My mother had adopted the myth of the black cat crossing the road is bad luck, and when a cat would begin to cross the road, my grandmother would hold her tight into her arms, so she'd see nothing but the print on her clothing. I had believed the same myth until i was in my early teenage years, when i began to believe my childish ways we're stupid but, little did i know at the time so was I.

I was hanging out with a couple of friends when one pointed out that a black cat was crossing the road, we all watched it make it's way to other side and, after one exclaimed, "Well here begins our bad luck." We all laughed. But, the atmosphere became uncomfortable to me, giving me a bad vibe of regret.

The next day, my boyfriend, of nine months, and I broke up. He claimed we just weren't working out and needed to see different people. And the following event, the death of my grandmother, had occured a week after that. But, like I said, I was in my airhead stage of my teenage years.

 Months, after the death of my grandmother, the air seemed calmed, I began to losen up, believing that the spell had worn off. 

Boy, was i wrong.

Everyday, after summer camp, I'd walk home, with my earbuds in most likely playing whatever my latest obsession was. But, in their one partically song, vilions played so softly, I coule hear the birds chirping and children yelling. I could hear a car, fastly inching toward me as i crossed the street. Strangers begin to crowd around me asking each other what had happened, and the driver steps out of his car rushing to me, repeatently apologizing and asking if i was. I look to my left, away from all the commosion as my vision, goes in and out. Behind the tree stood the black cat, for what seemed had a devilish grin, as he paraded on his way.