She shuffled the deck again. “What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t,” he replied, his foot tapped the table slightly as he shook it.
She smiled. Not a friendly smile but a systematic one. She remained stereotypically mysterious with her long scarf which wrapped her head, shoulders and breasts.
She lay the tarot cards face- down.
She had colourful movements which were emphasized by the sparkly beads she wore around her wrist and the henna that stained her dark hands; that acted as a map for the way her hands moved gracefully.
He exhaled, and studied the cards before him.
“There is no right or wrong choice,” he said under his breath, his hands were folded on his lap, his knuckles were white from the way he balled up his fists.
She nodded as she glanced at him.
His body felt heavy, He blinked as his eyes adjusted. The dim lit room didn’t seem to help the fact that he hadn’t gotten rest in weeks. The candles didn’t calm him either. His eyes were wounded, full of bags and dark circles around them. He kept tapping his foot against the table, a routine movement to keep himself from falling asleep, the nightmares had seemed to get more real each night.
He reached over nervously, flipping the fourth card. Death.
“Well, Joe it seems you might just get some rest after all.” she sighed.
©️ Ashleigh Wenyika
I wrote this after being inspired by Little Fears on