I thought the shadows around her were odd but fortune tellers often have an oddness about them. Her words didn't quite seem to come from her mouth but again I blamed the poor lighting and the multitude of gauzy fabrics wrapped around her haphazardly. It was like she fell into a scarf bin and called it a day.
All of this should have been a great big head's up that something wasn't right, a non-verbal neon sign saying "INHUMAN" and yet I somehow managed to ignore it all in favour of hearing my fortune, risking my life yet again just to find out if anything had made it out of the portal that opened up near Tashla, Russia.
The fortune teller kept saying nothing got loose, in fact, nothing was any more free than it had been last week which didn't exactly answer my question to begin with. I chalked it up to the whimsy and mystique that the job requires rather than seeing the signs as they were thrown at me.
As she opened her third and fourth eyes, those molten amber slit-pupil monstrosities that were thrice the size of my own head, I froze. It felt like they were pinning me as a child pins their first butterfly to rough cork-board. When I woke up again the tent was gone and all that remained were bloodstained silk scarves and paw prints the size of a small car.
All of this should have been a great big head's up that something wasn't right, a non-verbal neon sign saying "INHUMAN" and yet I somehow managed to ignore it all in favour of hearing my fortune, risking my life yet again just to find out if anything had made it out of the portal that opened up near Tashla, Russia.
The fortune teller kept saying nothing got loose, in fact, nothing was any more free than it had been last week which didn't exactly answer my question to begin with. I chalked it up to the whimsy and mystique that the job requires rather than seeing the signs as they were thrown at me.
As she opened her third and fourth eyes, those molten amber slit-pupil monstrosities that were thrice the size of my own head, I froze. It felt like they were pinning me as a child pins their first butterfly to rough cork-board. When I woke up again the tent was gone and all that remained were bloodstained silk scarves and paw prints the size of a small car.
No comments:
Post a Comment