Convert
By Mari Harrison
The old penny appeared on the church steps, glinting green in the light. I picked it up and felt a gentle pressure behind my eyes. Snakes slithered out of my dreams that night—iridescent, coiling around my wrists. By morning they were gone, but shamrocks sprouted wherever I stepped, even on concrete.
Luck meant protection, I thought, until the voices started: Gaelic prayers in my head, endless, insistent, maddening. St. Patrick himself, mosaic-eyed and bearded, appeared in every reflective surface, holding clovers like keys, calling for new missionaries.
My pocket fills with pennies now. I know what I must do.
In Massachusetts, Mari Harrison writes short fiction pinned beneath a giant Great Dane who insists her lap is prime real estate, while a cat rules the keyboard with ruthless deletions. Find her other stories in Claudine, Apex Magazine, Book XI Journal (forthcoming), manywor(l)ds, Anomaly (forthcoming), and elsewhere. mari.nichols@gmail.com | @javajnkie on Bluesky.
Happy St. Patty's Day! Very fun take on the Luck of the Irish.
Love this! Well done!