In one sentence is the spark of a story. Ignite.
Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a memory about this sentence. Write something about this sentence.
Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!
Phoenix
The medium gazed into the crystal ball
and then she intoned in serious, ponderous tones, “Your strength will only
appear once you’ve been destroyed—or nearly so.”
“Excuse me?” the young woman asked.
“You heard,” she said, in an entirely
different accent.
“Wait... what?”
The
medium rolled her eyes. “Jeez... why doesn’t anyone listen?”
“That... That was a real reading?”
“I am not a fake!”
“Really?” She waved a hand around at
the lamps covered with paisley scarves and the accoutrements that made it look
like a gypsy caravan even though the woman was the furthest thing from a Romani
she had ever seen.
“Okay, so it looks fake,” the medium
said. “People want to see what they want to see. They don’t listen to you
unless it comes with all the -” she waved at the offending decorations,
“-extras.”
“Fine,” the client snapped.
“Do you want to hear the rest or what?”
“Sure. Bring it.”
The medium tossed her head and closed
her eyes. She took a deep breath and then she said, “Your future is full of
struggle and anguish, most of it self-inflicted.”
“Oh... puleez.”
The medium opened one eye and huffed
out a breath, before she said, “Go to Saint Louis. You can win her back.”
“I want my money back; that’s what I
want. That’s the lyrics of a Perry Como song.”
“So you don’t love her?”
“Who?”
“The woman... the one you came here to
ask about.”
“I didn’t-” Her mouth snapped shut.
“Oh... ho. It’s love.”
“It is NOT!”
“Honey, the first thing you have to do
is admit she is The One. Capital T, capital O.”
“It was a one-night...” she finished on
an unintelligible mumble.
The medium folded her arms and glared
at her.
Silence for a beat.
“That is the ‘you’ that needs to
be destroyed,” the medium added.
“Destroy her? What do you mean?”
“Not her; you! That you... you
need to lose the ‘you’ that people think they know. The one they see at parties
and functions. The fake you. She needs to be killed; killed with fire.”
“Oh.”
“Then... you can live. Then you
will be so strong that you’ll be unbreakable.”
“It scares me,” she confessed.
“Of course it does. Being true to
yourself is always terrifying. How many times do you think people have accused me
of being a fake?”
“Sorry.”
“I forgive you.” She paused. “Forgive yourself.”
The client picked at the badly embroidered
tablecloth. “It was the first time I had ever tried... you know... with another
woman.”
“And it rocked your world.”
“Yeah... yeah it did.” She smiled at
the memory of it. “But I couldn’t tell her that.”
The medium reached over and grabbed her
hand. “Do you want to find her?”
She huffed out a breath. “Yes, I do.”
“Jezabels,” she said. “I don’t know
what that means.”
“It’s a band,” the client explained.
“Ah.”
“Her favourite band.”
“So she’ll be at their concert?”
“Probably.”
“There ya go.”
“Yeah.” She still looked unsure.
“If you find her and you tell her how
you feel, I promise that it will all work out.”
“You can tell that?”
“Of course, I’m Madame Zelda.”
“Okay, I believe you.”
“Excellent. Go get her.”
The client stood and leaned across the
table to grab her hand excitedly. “I will.” She shook her hand. “Thank you!”
She hurried out of the tent, a
different person to the one who had entered. The dejected, unhappy girl had
been replaced by one who was positive and hopeful.
Madame Zelda rang her bells for the
next client.
“I don’t get paid enough,” she mumbled
to herself when she saw his aura.
~~~~
© AM Gray 2014
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