You win 1 million dollars every time you sneeze. Sadly you have chronically unresponsive sneezes.

You win 1 million dollars every time you sneeze. Sadly you have chronically unresponsive sneezes.<br><br>You were once trying a new spicy Korean sauce for your chicken when suddenly it hit you. The sensation starts at the back of your nose, Amazon prime fast, and travels all the way to your sinuses. It's a hard hitting sensation that stops you dead in your tracks.<br><br>You try to hold it in. Air pulling into your nostrils at an alarming rate as you close your eyes, your pupil's constricting, trying to stop the impending doom that's about to become your date with destiny.<br><br>With the speed of a cheetah it slams into the base of your nostrils. On a scale of 1 to 10, the itch register's at a 10.5. With your eyes closed, air still pulling into your nostrils, you wait patiently. You've outlasted countless sneezes. How hard can it be to outlast this one?<br><br>Sometimes it stops. If you're lucky enough. But not this time. With all the force of a hurricane, the sneeze is released. It sounds like a freight train. "Achoooo!"<br><br>You turn your laptop on, then open it's lid. The screen turns on and it's your bank account. You click "refresh," and the page doesn't even need a second to refresh. It's as if the second you refreshed it, the good news already invaded your screen. You check your balance. You now have 1 million dollars more than you did when you logged into your bank account 4 seconds ago.<br><br>You look at the screen wide eyed and wonder what just happened. You turn your head a little, looking at the couch. You fell onto the couch while sneezing. You look at the chicken, the sauce on it as red as a fire engine.<br><br>You hope it's real. That it's not just a dream. It has to be real right? You look around at everything in your house. Your couch, your bed, your TV, your laptop, the chicken on your plate, the sauce on top of the chicken, your comforter, the blankets, the sheets. It's all real.<br><br>You stand up, still looking at the comforter, and walk towards it. What if it only happens once? What if you got lucky? You pick up your comforter and throw it at your face. You inhale deep, and then you wait.<br><br>And you wait...and you wait...and you wait. The inhaled into the comforter begins to feel like an eternity. You've waited at bus stops. Amazon prime was faster than your current wait time.<br><br>Finally, your body allows you to exhale. You try again. And again. And again. But nothing. You've been hitting your comforter for almost an hour. Nothing.<br><br>You've never been so annoyed at your own body as you are now. You inhale over and over and over. Nothing. You start to wonder if it was just a once in a life time situation. That you're just not cut out to be a millionaire. You try and you try, but you just can't seem to sneeze at all. You're body has never seemed to betray you so.