fortune teller stories
The red of her nail shone in the glaring light beneath the crystal ball. With a flourish, the teller skimmed her fingertip across the glass, the faintest whine as the nail tripped the gleaming sphere.
Anabelle rolled her eyes, her arms folding in petulant disregard. Silently she counted the crass theatrical fluff of the performance: the costume-jeweled headscarf, the obvious LED light stand under the ball, the vague smell of a smoke machine. She tutted.
The fortune teller looked deep into the ball, her face flickering in shock.
“Lemmie guess: tall dark stranger?” Anabelle spat.
“No,” the teller whispered.
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Promo image by Gioia Fabbri via Unsplash.
Today’s story title was suggested by fellow short story blogger RockieRoad276. Thank you so much – I’m looking forward to more fab stories from you. You too can follow them by visiting rockieroad276.wordpress.com/2016/05/06/amber-short-story/
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