The prompt: You’re on a long flight, and a palm reader sitting next to you insists she reads your palm. You hesitate, but agree. What does she tell you?
She takes my hand in hers…she looks and sighs. She tells me that if she was reading my cards she would probably have picked “The Fool” for me. I ask why, reluctantly. I use the word “reluctantly” for I cannot handle one more ounce of criticism. She tells me it’s because I am a fool for allowing myself to feel so forlorn, and lost, and tired…and that I had better find a way to sort out the darkness. I look at her in anguish and tell her that I don’t know how to get rid of the dark and let the light in…then she tells me again – “That is why you’re the fool!” As she walks back to her seat, she trips and falls flat on her face.
(That’s the nice thing about writing, one can take vengeance in it – I should have made her nose bleed with the fall)