karma feels | fiction

short fiction

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I think it’s unfair that karma whacks some people in the face and not others. Saying that feels conflicting—I’m lucky to have good people in my life. Wherever I have gone in the world an angel has rested on a shoulder of mine. When I make good choices, generally positive things happen to me. This makes me feel awkward for suggesting karma is not distributed evenly among people. Then I think of tough stuff like cobalt mines in the Congo, Fentanyl addiction, sudden illness. That kind of thought spiral usually clears things up quickly, let me tell you.

Recently, I read an interview with a refugee who said the only difference between him and us was luck. He was being deported on a plane back to his war-torn country after days spent clinging to the side of a boat. Quite the welcome. This kind of thought process really makes me feel shame for complaining about my small problems, and forget that ‘it’s all relative’ nonsense, it really isn’t.  

   We all know someone who walks through life smiling at the thought of how they got away with it in some way: cheating a partner, a promotion earned through playing the game, born with a silver spoon, an over imposing sense of entitlement. You know, the type of person with a ‘say, cheese’ smile smeared across their face. Because no one ever said no to them about anything that mattered. These individual types of people, they never so much as trip on their own shoelaces as they saunter through life. At least, that’s how it appears to be for these types of people. I repeat phrases when I feel nervous.