Elaine Chang (10) | Staff Reporter
TAROT READINGS & FORTUNE TELLINGS —
$2/10 minutes
The sign stood, propped up on a potted plant, outside a tiny, four-post tent. As Molly read the hand-lettered, swirly font, she privately thought the material of the tent’s drapes looked just like her grandma’s carpet. Despite her skepticism, she counted her palmful of change: two dollars exactly. Between the overpriced ice cream and the bustling arcade, there wasn’t exactly anywhere else along the boardwalk to spend the money. I suppose there’s no reason not to. She surveyed the dense bead curtain, shrouding the figure inside from a proper view, and stepped through it.
The first thing that hit her senses was the thick, medicinal smell of burning incense. She blinked quickly, fighting both the odor and the darkness of the small tent. A singular candle lit up the tiny space— just enough to reveal the shriveled, old woman who sat in a plush, purple ottoman. Responsible for half her height were the numerous shawls draped around her body, each boasting intricate, colorful paisley patterns that made Molly’s head spin with exertion. Her hands, gnarled from age, displayed a sizable ruby ring that matched her blood-red nails. Her face shared similar signs of age: deep-set wrinkles spanned across her forehead and the corners of her eyes. Heavy, brass earrings tugged at her earlobes, and a similar brass armlet coiled like a serpent around her upper arm. A faded, veiny rose perched on a thin band that encircled her temple. While all these were relatively expected from a tarot reader, what unnerved Molly about her was that the woman’s eyes were closed; perhaps she was sleeping? Molly hoped she hadn’t died from overheating from the combined effects of the summer sun and the numerous heat sources in the tent.
“Excuse me?” she asked tentatively.
The old woman’s painted, red lips spread in a smile. She blindly gestured to the wooden stool in front of her.
“Please, sit.”
Molly sat, fidgeting with the fraying edge of the midnight blue tablecloth. She watched as the woman withdrew something from within her cloak; a red, velvet satchel out from under the table, undoing the drawstring to reveal a worn set of tarot cards. She took her time, gently laying them out on the table in front of Molly. The back of each of the cards were the same; a prune purple with a painted, glowing moon.
Molly’s interest wandered away from the tiny table, and her eyes veered to the space around her. Inside a large fish bowl floated two, desolate-looking, golden fish. Propped up on an iron rack were an array of what looked like animal horns. a neat collection of vials that seemed to contain crystal salts and dried tea leaves. She turned back to the table as the woman started to speak again.
“Your fate is yours to claim…” The woman said airily, gesturing to the array of cards.
Molly frowned as she drew a card, looking at it. It was a tower: a dark, gray column with a singular bolt of bright yellow lightning. It looks like two silhouettes are falling from one of the cracked windows. She opened her mouth to describe the card to the woman; after all, her eyes were closed.
“It’s a tower, with this lightning bolt…and two people falling from it.” The woman smiles knowingly.
“The tower card is a card of sudden change— something dramatic. It rocks your foundations and will change your beliefs drastically…hmm…yes, it does seem that way.”
“What kind of change?” Molly asked skeptically.
“Well…it may be physical or emotional, though in your case, I am sensing a more physical change. Yes, your auras do indicate so…” The woman said wisely. Molly felt otherwise.
“My auras?” She scoffed. The woman’s thin lips pressed together in disapproval.
“Yes, indeed. Feel closely. Do you not feel it?” She asked.
Molly sat very still for a moment.
“I don’t feel anything.”
“Feel closer!” The woman’s tone turned harsh.
Suddenly, a strange feeling overtook the surface of Molly’s skin. It began with a tightening feeling, as if her skin was shrinking four sizes. Then, it became itchy. As if tiny insects were scuttling across her arms, she felt the hairs on her arm rise. Discomfort crawled across her skin, but when she reached over to scratch at her skin, she felt something strange. It was no longer pliable, but her fingers clawed at the nerveless surface quite uselessly. Her skin had turned to scales.
The next thing that hit her was a piercing pain in her neck and head. It was as if she was breathing, but her lungs refused to follow suit. She gasped uselessly, fighting to do the simple act. She pressed a hand to her neck and was shocked to find her flesh had split open into a set of gills on either side of her neck. The world rapidly spun and dilated around her, or rather, she had begun to shrink. To her horror, the woman’s, now gigantic, hand reached for her and succeeded in picking her up.
The horrible, horrible, inability to breathe continued through her journey across the tent— which now seemed to stretch on for miles. The unbearable tightness in her chest only wrung tighter, still. She willed it to end, willed for any kind of possible relief from the situation.
She felt it, finally, when she was dropped inside the fish tank. Then, she felt relief.
This piece was written in February 2024.
