Here’s a little story I wrote a while back for school on a prompt from my teacher (Your character meets someone with an unusual talent. Write!)
I sit waiting, Gypsy at my side. My trusty Norwich Terrier pants up at me. “You think we should do it?” I ask. She gives a bark, which is good enough for me. I carefully walk into the midnight blue hut with the Fortune Teller sign in front and suddenly I’m taken aback. The ceiling! Cloth hung covered with stars that look vivid in the candle light. I was itching to write about this in my notebook. What would Pop say? He would probably mention that candles in a wooden shack is a safety hazard. But Mom would probably say that it was the perfect place for the flow of energy, a place for seeing the beyond. Sometimes I wonder how they ever fell in love in the first place.
I was still lost in my own head when the Fortune Teller emerged from behind a curtain. “Yes dear?” she said. I turned and stared. Then tried not to look like I had stared at her. She reminded me strongly of my own mom, the same curious way of looking centuries old yet bright and young as a new penny.
“You,” she said smiling, “must be Darleen’s daughter. She was such a talented Seer, that one. But how’s life as an art teacher treating her?” I knew very well that Mom used to be a Fortune Teller. It was interesting meet another one like her and see how similar they might be. Were they all as dreamy and flighty as her?
“I brought money,” I said suddenly shy, “to get my fortune told.”
“Of course.” She took my five dollars and handed my a small pair of scissors. “Please cut a lock of your hair and cast it into the fire.” I snipped of a curl of my dark, dark brown hair that look ridiculous next to my pale skin and freckles and tossed it into the small fire place.
“So what now?” I said, but I was being ignored. She was staring into the fire, her green eyes glistening. I was getting uncomfortable from the heat of the fire.
“You will find happiness if you follow your passion,” she said in a soft, voice. My mind flashed to my writing. Could I really be an author? “Your parents are ends of a scale in you,” she continued, “you must learn to keep the balance to have a balanced soul.”
I interrupted. “Will they get back together?”
“No.” Well, I guess I didn’t really expect it. But what did these “fortune tellers” really know anyway? As I turned to leave she said “And Ebonny? Keep that dog with you. You’ll need her.”
“How do you know my…..?” But she had hurried my out of the queer little house in anticipation of the next customer.
Hmmm…. Well, I better get writing, I thought, trotting off with my dog at my heels toward my house.
-astrid lightly
