Write about a visit to a fortune teller of your choice. This can be fictional, involving characters you create or are currently working with; or it can be nonfictional, involving you or someone you know; or it can be a mixture of the two.
"I see death."
His raspy voice seemed to become lost in the sequins and velvet
walls. Incense fogged the room, turning all the angles into curves.
"Um, can you be a little more specific?" His rough hands graded
against the back of Millie's skin. His musky perfume and the incense
made her nose itch. She watched his dark eyes narrow and looked again
to her open palm. Using his other hand, he pointed to a long defined
line which ran from her index finger, passed her palm and seemed to
curl around her wrist.
He pushed his finger harder against her flesh. It stung.
"Here," he said. His blotchy, pale skin glowed with a thin film of
sweat under the candle light. His rotten teeth were barely
noticeable.
"Um," Millie blinked. There was just something about the way his eyes
got all wide and dark. She forced her attention to the back of her
hand. The long fingernail stood erect, like a compass needle marking
a path.
"Here," he said again.
Millie leaned in towards him. Her large breasts resting on the top of
the table.
She strained her neck to look over. His finger was pointing to a very
small break in the line.
She could hardly see it. She leaned in a little further, her left arm
now propped on the table.
"That means death?" Her eyebrows crunched. That small break, could
that really-
He gave her arm a hard jolt. Millie flew across the table, his left
arm pinned hers to her side and his right curled around her back and
pinned her head against her other arm, pulling her neck taunt and
exposing it to the night air. Blood thundered through her. She could
not think, scream. His eyes. His eyes turned an electric blue and
seemed to throb with each beat of her erratic heart.
"Yes." He whispered, then bit.
No comments:
Post a Comment