Mis-Fortune (Reflections)

This story can be found in my collection Reflections:  

Reflections: 15 Twisted Tales by Cj Carlin, Paperback | Barnes & Noble®

Five days.

My friends Cass, Alex, Jordan, Dana, and I were eating at the Third Eye, which served Cantonese, Indian, and Mediterranean food. I had ordered the almond-pressed chicken, which came with a fortune cookie. We were all taking our time, chatting in between bites and enjoying one another’s company. When I finally pushed my plate away, I cracked open my fortune cookie. It was my habit to read the fortune while I ate the first half of the cookie. This one gave me a nasty shock:

“You will die in 5 days,” the little slip of paper said. There was nothing else.

I showed it around to my friends, and we summoned the waiter. He apologized profusely and proffered a new fortune cookie. He made to take the offending slip, but I told him I wanted to hang onto it.

The new fortune just read “You may learn some good news soon,” and the lucky numbers 49 33 5 16 7. I tucked both fortunes into my handbag and we made for the door.

When I got home, I emptied my handbag like I always did, wondering where to put these two fortunes. I ended up leaving them on the coffee table before heading to bed. 

Four days.

The next morning, the death-predicting fortune was on my nightstand. I live alone, and there is no way my cat did this. I picked it up, wondering if I needed to burn it, but the text had changed:

“You will die in 4 days,” it said now.

I went cold. Was this some kind of curse? Did I need to be worried about this? Was it some sort of malignancy doing it to mess with me? I thought about it, and resolved to put the slip of paper on my altar with a piece of volcanic glass on top of it, to see if I could draw any negative energy from the fortune and trap it in the stone. Then I could just clear it by moonlight.

I felt better once this was done. It was my day off, so I went about my day only slightly worried. I worked on projects both physical and cerebral, I did some cleaning, gave myself a pedicure. For the most part, I barely thought about the little piece of paper that seemed to think I was about to die. Surely the obsidian would do the trick. I decided to leave the stone on the fortune for a couple of days, and then check on it again. 

Three days.

I had plans to work the next day, so I did not even look at the fortune. I just had my coffee and then went to work. I am a realtor, and my office is not far from my house, so I always walk to work with a thermos of hot coffee in hand. My workdays are usually pretty busy because there is a lot of paperwork involved in the transfer of home ownership. So I worked steadily all day, taking short breaks and eating lunch at my desk with the “Back at 1:00 pm” sign on the door. There were a few walk-ins and one client who actually made an appointment and showed up on time. I had some mailing to do, so I worked on that until six, and then closed up shop for the day.

By the time I got home, I had more or less forgotten all about the fortune. I cooked up some nice salmon with rice and steamed cauliflower, decided against dessert, and spent some time reading my favorite author’s new novel. When I started nodding off, I shelved the book and took myself to bed. (One of the best things about living alone is that I can go to bed and wake up whenever I want.)

Two days.

I woke up to another work day. It looked like we would get some sun, which would be nice after all the rain we’d had. I took my coffee out on the back porch, watching the birds and bugs coming out as sunlight crept across the backyard.

Deep in thought, I suddenly remembered the fortune and wondered if I was living as though these were my last days on Earth. I could skip work. It wasn’t like I needed the money; I had inherited a fortune from my grandmother and I only had a job because I would get bored otherwise. I had no appointments that day. Maybe I should take some time to just enjoy life. Give myself a few days of vacation. Because one never really knew, did one?

Back in the house I dropped my coffee cup off in the kitchen and made my way to my library. I pulled down the book I had been reading and curled up on the comfiest chair in the room. One of my favorite things to do was immerse myself in a good story for a while. I sat there reading until my stomach started to rumble, at which point I whipped up a little breakfast of eggs and avocado toast and another few cups of coffee. While I enjoyed my repast, I planned out the rest of my day. I would take a walk around the neighborhood, smelling the roses and chatting with any neighbors who were also out. Then I could do something creative that I haven’t done in a while, like playing around with clay or writing a poem.

I realized I was deliberately not looking at the fortune at this point. I did not want to know what it said. I was just trusting that the volcanic glass would do its job and protect me from any hex or curse that somebody may have put on the paper. But I also had to admit to myself that I wasn’t sure. Not completely. Hence the few days of vacation and treating myself to things like avocado toast. If I was going to die, I wanted to die happy.

I went on my walk, and there were a few people out whom I knew and stopped to chat with. The roses were in full bloom on this warm June day, and I spent almost as much time talking and sniffing as I did walking. I bought a single long-stemmed red rose from a vendor selling them from a handcart on the corner. It was a beautiful bloom, so I also gave the vendor a tip. He spoke no English, but he smiled broadly and I was happy to smile back.

At home, I pulled down a vase for the rose and put it in some water, then set it on the coffee table. The other fortune, the normal one, was still there, and I looked at it again. Mybe both of these fortunes were prophetic, and the good news will be that I won’t die after all, that it was all a lesson in learning to find joy in your daily life. I took the normal fortune into my study, where I kept my altar. Without looking at the death fortune, I put the other one on the opposite side of the altar with a single piece of clear quartz on it to magnify and focus any positive energy that may be present within it.

Feeling even better, I sat down to write some poetry about roses and friendly people. That inspired a short story, so I wrote it, too. Then I went out to the garage, where I had my art studio, and threw a vase on my potter’s wheel. The act of sculpting was so soothing, I also did a bowl and plate. There was an unfinished oil painting against the wall, somewhat abstract, just layers of color. I picked up my brush and squeezed out a little yellow, orange, and red, and started adding layers, completely guided by instinct. The result was a vibrant rainbow, the colors blending perfectly together. Yellow was in the middle, giving the whole painting depth and dimension.

There were no clocks in the garage; I never wanted to feel rushed while I was in there. But I pulled out my cell phone and checked the time. 6:30. I cleaned my paint brush and scraped the residue of paint off my palette so I could go have dinner. I was calm, but inside I felt the pressure of the hours, maybe my last hours.

What form would it take? If I were to die in a couple of days, how would I go? I was in good health, relatively young, quite happy with no reason to end my life. The area I lived in and the areas I frequented were not known to be particularly dangerous. I didn’t drive much; there was a bus system that was a lot cheaper than gas, and besides, I didn’t go out often, making a car accident unlikely. Probably the most hazardous thing I did was walking to work; there were no sidewalks for most of the trip. But traffic was light and slow in this neighborhood, so I would probably survive even if I did get hit by a car. That left some kind of random, out-of-the-blue thing like an aneurysm or heart attack. Thinking about it scared me. There’s no way to stave off a sudden heart attack or brain aneurysm; you cannot predict and prevent it. Like a lightning strike, it just happens. I shook myself and tried to shelve the anxiety.

After a light dinner of pasta mixed with chicken and broccoli, I enjoyed a snickerdoodle with a cup of hot chocolate. I read over the poem I had written earlier and decided I was happy with how it came out. 

One day.

I slept in for the first time in months on what the fortune had said would be my last day alive. When I got up, I steeled myself and went to see what the fortune said now.

“You will die today,” it said. However, the other one said: “You will receive good news today.”

While I was brewing some coffee, my phone rang. I did not recognize the number. Heart hammering, I answered the call.

“Hello, Taylor. This is your mother’s attorney. She was taken to the hospital last night with heart palpitations and had a fatal heart attack. I am so sorry. But there are also some documents I need you to sign; you are the sole heir to your mother’s estate, so you’ve inherited everything, and there is a lot to it.”

Tears were coursing down my cheeks. My mother and I had been close, and I was actually planning on calling her. I knew she had amassed a considerable amount of money over the years, but I kept thinking that I would trade a mountain of cash to have her back.

I do not remember what I said to the lawyer, but somehow I got through the call and went to sit in the library, which had been my mother’s favorite room in my house. I sat in her favorite chair and just wept, letting the grief and the pain happen. After a while, I got up and went to see what the fortune would say now.

“A part of you has died,” it said.

I burned it.