The Fortune Teller

(Originally 24th October 2006, 3:58pm)

Standing amidst the mad hustle and bustle of the overflowing carnival was a single worn and weather-beaten tent. It seemed to hold an old, nostalgic luster in its glory days, but now it could not draw more than a glance in its current colorless and bland façade.

Except for a girl.

Perhaps she caught on the majestic aura that this tent once commanded. Perhaps she saw beyond the fading colors and mended patches to realize how this tent once was the main draw of thousands who would travel over perilous distances to pay it a visit. Perhaps… perhaps…

Perhaps she just wanted some answers to her life, some answers to the confusion that was falling like snow all around her. Perhaps she was jaded by love, or she is happy as a lark. Perhaps, after all, it is human nature to always seek answers, regardless in happiness or sadness.

Humans never seemed to be satisfied, and so she walked into the fortune teller’s.

An old crone sat silently behind a clouded crystal ball. Actually, she couldn’t be sure if it was a crone or a buzzard; she couldn’t even be sure if it was human. It was humanoid at least. And that ball, was so clouded until it seemed to be more marble than crystal. Yet the ball was more mesmerizing this way, and the more she looked at the ball, she thought she saw something looking back. She was sure it wasn’t her reflection, in fact, it seemed like, an eye was looking back at her. A huge eye, with cataracts.

“So you want to know about what the future holds for you?” the thing (not the ball, the other thing) asked.

It was an obvious question wasn’t it? She thought, “Erm, ya.”

“Marry him you shall in four seasons from now. His children you will bear within another four seasons. Your abode will not be near, for it shall be to his liking. But be warned. You will give your life for your heart’s fleeting fancy, and each season will bring you woe: The spring will bear flowers too dull to pluck, too pungent to caress; the summer will bring you unbearable heat instead of idyllic warmth; the autumn will bring you decay and despair, not golden coins that sing the praises of love as they fall; the winter will bring you biting cold, a cold that cannot be warmed by your lover’s hold. And if that hold wasn’t a chokehold, then you would live to see another four seasons, where it will all happen again. However, my dear, you will love him nonetheless, for it’s a wicked spell that the gods have created; a mockery to the likes of you who revel in the joy of the fleeting moment to waste an eternity. For you will tie yourself to the moment, and beg Father Time to stretch that moment for you. And as seasons pass, that moment will be so tight that it will snap at any moment, swallowing you up in the darkness of empty eternity.

Happy, you shall not be, sadness won’t come to you, nor death will ever be a release. That will be 20 dollars my dear.”

What the…

But she didn’t let the thought continue. That ball held her and that gaze pierced deep into her mind. It convinced her not to argue. It convinced her not to question. Perhaps more importantly, it burned every single word the fortune teller said into her mind, and convinced her to pay and leave.

She paid her 20 dollars, but then again she couldn’t be sure; it might have been 40. But she didn’t think, question or argue about it. She turned and walked out.

The next day, she was greedy for more answers, but that torn and battered tent had been gone. In place, a few children were kicking around what seemed like some poor chap’s glass eye.