Fiction, Health and wellbeing, Melbourne, Relationship and marriage, Writing

My choice

The door bell tinkles. I am in the back, filling the kettle with water. Desperate for a cup of tea and a biscuit. I leave the kettle on the bench and fling the curtain wide.

She stands, somewhat stooped, in the room. Her eyes downcast. The aura from this girl is forceful, yet stilted. Blocked, maybe.

‘Good afternoon,’ I murmurs gently. ‘How can I help you?’ I want to help her. She truly needs help.

‘Um, hi,’ she responds. ‘I’m not sure. I don’t even know why I walked in here.’

‘Sit, please.’ I wave my hand in the direction of the table. It has a purple tie-dye tablecloth covering it, with four chairs around it. Each chair has a cushion-padded seat and back rest, with wooden frame and legs.

She wavers. Turns as if to leave. ‘I’m sorry…’ her voice trails off.

‘I think your instincts drove you in here,’ I say. ‘Tell me your name.’

‘Sally,’ she mumbles.

‘Sally, nice to meet you. I’m Glenda.’

Now, ten minutes later, I caress the crystal ball with meticulous attention. I want to see. I have to deliver positivity. My gut instinct tells me that Sally, who now sits more comfortably across from me, needs good news.

As I scry, she fidgets. I try to block her out, to only see her future.

‘What is it?’ Sally asks nervously. ‘What do you see?’


She moves her hands from the table at the same time as I see what lies ahead. My heart skips a beat. With my eyes closed, I decide not to relay what I foresee.

Instead, I make up a wonderful tale of a future filled with happiness. It’s wrong of me, I know. But it’s my choice for Sally.



9 thoughts on “My choice”

  1. Now I want to set up a virtual fortune telling service in these pandemic times. I’m happy to tell happy stories, and for arseholes, I’ll explain their painful death in excruciating detail.

    Liked by 1 person

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