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The Palm Reader Tells You...
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The Palm Reader Tells You... |
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UNTAMEDelegance Member
since 2009-05-30
Posts 222Oregon |
The Palm Reader Tells You… Slowly walking up to the tent, she hesitates. She doesn’t want to be here. She doesn’t want to take in the view of the heavily brocaded tent with its thick tapestries bedecked with jewels and elaborate embroidery. She feels nauseated but the smell of rich, smoky incense hinting of jasmine and roses. The unwavering aura of mystery and so-called magic suffocates the rational personality of the young, budding bio-chemistry major. She hates going to such a place, but she must go. The tug of her best friend on her long, navy blue shirt sleeve awakens her from her pessimistic musings and she quickly picks up her pace to match the excited friend. Stepping through the tasseled curtain, her senses are assaulted by the scents and sights of the Palm Reader’s dwelling. A voice purposely trained to sound mysteriously inviting welcomes them in and a woman as jewel-strung as the abode ushers the two newcomers further in, beckoning the two girls—the believer and the skeptic—to cushy, wine-hued cushions in the floor. She sharply observes her surroundings, tuning out the incessant, mystique babbling of the inane Reader. Every single object in the room is reminiscent of cheap, two-star, blockbuster films. A “Persian” rug here, a Raja-esque tea set there, and of course the standard over-abundance of glitz and glam in the form of excessively large, jewels in every color of the rainbow. It’s like a cheesy, destiny-centered horror movie. The “oh-so-powerful” Great Palm Reader of Ancient Ardalubialankia tells you you’re going to die and you do everything within your miniscule, mortal power to avoid the gruesome ending predestined for you, but inevitably you cause your own death in exactly the same way as the Palm Reader/ Madame “Magic” said it was going to happen. How over-used! “Arianna.” She jumps. Then, a slight frown crosses her incense-cloyed brow. How did the Palm Reader know her name? Arianna glances at the elder woman. Offhandedly, her thoughts take record of the gruesome amount of make-up situated on the Palm Reader’s face. What a wonder it doesn’t just fall off. And her face with it. Taking a peek over to her right, a flash of rationalization streaks through her mind. Of course! It was only proper that her friend introduce the two of them. The lady smiles kindly. “Hold out your hand, child.” She hesitates. Arianna doesn’t believe in this kind of hocus-pocus stuff. She’s only there as a favor to her friend sitting not two feet from her, Mary—who, it seems, has already had her palm read. This stuff is just a ridiculously executed ploy for money. But Mary is smiling and her eyes are shining with the intoxicating lure of the unknown, so Arianna indulges her friend’s whims and holds out her soft, pale right hand. The Palm Reader studies the appendage intently for close to five minutes, tracing the delicate lines etched into the flesh. She frowns. Her eyes widen dramatically and her breathing hitches with the ever-fatalistic gasp of a “fate” realized. The Palm Reader looks up gravely and grips Arianna’s hand as would a vice of the most deadly kind. A harsh, raspy whisper erupts from her drawn lips, most different from the smooth polished voice of the temptress of the mystics. “You are going to die in three years!” A stunned, steel-thick silence clamps down on the seated women in the tent; both equally horrified. “Arianna…” One trails off as tears gather at the moist corners of her eyes. The other scoffs. How cliché! Picking herself up from the dusty cushion, Arianna grabs her black jean purse and haughtily makes her way out of the stuffy, more-than-gaudy tent. She is late for her Physics 101 class. *** Black pervades the day, three years and seven days later. Mary stands weeping at the fore-front corner of a dark wood coffin. In her hand is a single, pristine rose; black as sun-heated tar. The rose is placed upon the coffin and a saline droplet joins the pitch black beauty. She will never visit a Palm Reader again. Misa: I can't imagine a world without Light! |
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