Today's A to Z Blogging Challenge is dedicated to a little piece of Fiction I wrote this morning:
The Fortune Teller
Fiona gazed into the crystal ball, willing it to give her good news. She watched the psychic's hand roam over the globe; the old lady had a feather tattoo on her middle finger, which waved and fluttered with every movement.
“You're a pretty lady,” the psychic observed, “I sense heartache.”
“Yes.” Fiona whispered, her heart racing. She'd just broken up with Frank Fitzgerald that day, after he'd taken that job at McDonald's. She'd been mortified when she heard. I can't go out with someone who works there!
“You will meet someone, very soon. His name starts with J,” she glared at Fiona, cautious, “you may not have chemistry straight away, but persevere. This man will make all your dreams come true.”
“My God, is he rich?” she squeaked, all thoughts of Frank vanished.
The psychic smiled, but there was sadness in her eyes. “Persevere.”
Fiona thanked the woman and left, her heart bursting with optimism. As she approached her beat-up, old car, she began rummaging through her bag for the keys.
“Excuse me, do you have change for the parking meter please?” A tall, gangly man stood in front of her, waving a £5 note. He stank of B.O and his face was scarred with acne.
Repulsed, she replied, “I don't, sorry.”
“Thanks anyway.” he said, folding the note back into his wallet. His drivers licence poked out from one of the slots, and Fiona's eyes clamped on it in shock.
“Your name is... James?”
“Yes. Do we know each other?” His glassy blue eyes slithered over her face, looking for recognition. Her flesh crawled.
“Let me check my car, I may have change in there,” she retrieved coins from her glove compartment, “here,” she giggled, letting her hand linger in his.
“Thanks!” Blushing, he smiled, flashing his decayed, rotten teeth at her.
As he turned to leave, she yelped, “Wait! So... what brings you to the Psychic Centre anyway, are you having a reading?”
“Oh no,” he laughed, “my Aunt is in there. I said I'd pick her up, but I'm an hour early!”
“Perfect,” she gasped. This is fate, “would you like to go for a coffee?”
And so it began. Coffee turned into a whirlwind romance, and they were married within three months. They lived in his mother's converted loft, and he continued to repulse her daily, but she just kept telling herself: Bide your time. It will pay off in the end.
She continued this mantra for the next ten years, distracting herself with visions of a fancy house, a fleet of sports cars and all the jewellery she could ever want.
Three kids and five stone later, she'd resigned herself to the fact the psychic was wrong. Her husband still only worked part-time at the local pharmacy, and she still had the same beat-up old car from when they met.
One day, James burst into the house, in tears, “My poor Auntie Florence has died!”
Fiona feigned sympathy, but she had a good feeling about this. Maybe she was wealthy. “Florence? I don't recognise that name. Have I met this aunt?”
“She's the reason we met,” he sniffed, “she was the Aunt I picked up at the Psychic Centre. She couldn't make the wedding though, she was in Monaco at the time.”
Fiona's heart raced. It was destiny.
It was the first open-casket funeral she'd been too. Aunt Florence was decked out in jewels that sparkled from the entrance to the parlour. As she got closer, Fiona's excitement diminished. The jewellery was fake. It was all plastic, costume jewellery.
Then she noticed the feather.
It lay still now; etched onto the cold, dead finger of the woman who promised her a life of riches, ten years previously.
Back at home, Fiona was half-way through her daily bottle of vodka, when James came off the phone with an announcement to make.
“I've been offered the assistant team manager's job at McDonald's. Apparently the last guy won the lottery yesterday. £83 million he won, the lucky sod! He came from your old area, do you know him? Frank Fitzgerald?”
I hope you enjoyed that! :)
Today's F music video is dedicated to Fats Domino. I think this is what Frank would sing to Fiona, don't you?