The Psychic’s Tale

Photo courtesy of Wendy Van Hove, writer [ Roadside Wonders ]

A sheet, blue as a robin’s egg, swooped at odd angles forming a makeshift cover, whilst cotton scarves and cheaply printed mandala throws trailed from what may have been the frame of a proper gazebo- in another life- before the duct tape and twist ties were employed to hold it together.

I took a deep breath, reminding myself that aesthetics probably should be the last thing on the mind of one who convened daily with the dead. After all, she’d come so highly recommended.

“Haloo?” I sounded inquisitively as I approached, in case it was necessary to interrupt the slow consumption of the Madame’s time by another sooth-seeker not quite as pressed for time as I was.

“Is anyone there?” I inquired perfunctorily as I strode boldly past the scarves- coming face to face with the purveyor herself, who motioned for me to both wait one moment and take a seat, with a flip of a single finger. 

She was currently engaged on her cell.

“Just tell her it’s a magic bean. You dropped it into the pot by accident, and it has to be eaten within the hour or it’s magic will be lost.”  

“What kind of magic? I’m a psychic, Marvin, not a magician! Make something up. She’s four. She’ll believe you.”

This piece was inspired by the prompt provided by Donna’s Sunday Photo Fiction and the three phrasal prompts provided by the OLWG #131. The phrases were:

  1. blue as a robin’s egg
  2. slow consumption
  3. it’s a magic bean

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