Jack stumbled down the dimly lit street, the remnants of laughter echoing in his mind. The clattering of bottles and the friendly banter with Craig and Scott felt like a distant memory now, overshadowed by the numbing feeling of his half-hearted existence. He could barely remember how it all began; a silly game fueled by drunk bravado, discussing the kind of girls they fancied while lamenting their unfortunate luck. That was when Scott had brought up the old coin he had found, claiming it could grant wishes.
“Let’s be honest, we’d make better girls than the ones we’ve tried to impress,” Scott had laughed. Maybe it was the whiskey talking, but in that moment, their wishes had turned from a joke to a chance at a ludicrous adventure.
Now, as the city lights flickered like stars, Jack felt a strange sensation wash over him—not just the dull ache of disappointment, but something far more significant. He paused, glancing around to see if anyone else could feel the air shift. That’s when he recognized it. A tingle, like the fluttering of tiny wings, began at his fingertips and traveled slowly up his arms.
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