After the phone call with my grandmother, I felt a surge of anger. Why was she so controlling? Determined to waste as much time as possible to annoy her, I decided to take a leisurely walk down the streets of LA.
The weather was exceptionally pleasant today, with bright sunshine beaming down. Summer was slowly making its way, and I couldn't help but feel relieved that I wouldn't have to spend money on shoveling my grandmother's front yard anymore.
I have a complicated relationship with my grandmother. Don't get me wrong, I do love her, and she loves me dearly too. But there are times when she can be quite exasperating.
For instance, she insists on making me pay for the upkeep of her front yard, the repairs, and all the household bills to her mansion, despite being wealthy enough to rival Batman. It's perplexing, to say the least.
As I strolled along the bustling street, I couldn't help but notice the liveliness around me. When it's warm, everyone flocks outdoors, but as soon as it gets cold, the streets become deserted. Kids were already clad in their swimsuits, eagerly awaiting the arrival of summer. Ah, the carefree joy of childhood.
Lost in my thoughts, I glanced at my wristwatch, only to do a double-take. Time seemed to crawl at a snail's pace. I had been walking for merely ten minutes, yet it felt like an eternity. Deciding to retrace my steps and opt for a drive in my car instead, I couldn't shake off the feeling of someone's intense gaze from across the street.
I instinctively lifted my head, trying to catch the person staring at me, but to no avail. No one seemed to be fixated on me. Was it just my imagination playing tricks? Regardless, I decided to err on the side of caution and moved closer to the bustling crowd. I wasn't in the mood to encounter any peculiar individuals today.
A few minutes later, I noticed a figure trailing behind me. "Seriously, what now?" I muttered to myself in frustration.
Sighing deeply, I had a hunch that my grandmother might have dispatched one of her lackeys to keep tabs on me and report back to her. If you're wondering who my grandmother is, let me fill you in. She's outrageously wealthy and exceedingly greedy. I often wonder how she amassed such wealth without doing anything herself. As far as I can remember, she has been "retired" since I was five years old.
Only a select few people are aware of her true identity. She resides in a run-down house downtown, rarely venturing out. Every once in a while, she visits a grand, opulent mansion where she holds private and business meetings. I often question the logic behind her choices.
Oh, and did I mention she wears a black veil during these encounters, shrouding her true identity from the world? It's just one of her eccentricities. She claims it's because she's still mourning my grandfather, who passed away before I was born. Yeah, right.
"Excuse me," a voice interrupted my thoughts.
I turned around to see if the voice was directed at me. It was a black man with dreadlocks, adorned with tattoos and sporting an expensive-looking gold chain. He was seated under an umbrella, with the words "Fortune Teller" boldly displayed.
I observed him for a moment, and it didn't take long to figure out why he didn't have any customers like his fellow fortune tellers.
"It's because no one really wants to hear the truth," he said, cutting through my thoughts.
I gasped, taken aback. "Wait, can you read minds?"
He chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Calm down, lady," he said, amusement dripping from his words. "I can tell by the judging look you have on your face."
"Aah, you scared me there for a while," I admitted, my heart still racing from the sudden encounter.
Suddenly, his smile vanished, replaced by a serious expression. "You are like an open book," he declared, his tone tinged with a hint of offense.
Confusion washed over me as I wondered what had caused his sudden change in demeanor. "What? What was that look for? Why did he look so offended?" I thought to myself.
Nervously, I chuckled, attempting to diffuse the tension. "Everyone tells me that," I replied, hoping to ease the awkwardness of the moment.
But he dismissed my attempt with a wave of his hand. "Lies!" he exclaimed, clearly unconvinced.
"Why did you call me over?" I asked, growing visibly annoyed by the mysterious encounter.
His expression softened as he replied, "Don't you care to know what the future holds for you?"
"No, thank you," I retorted, my skepticism overpowering any curiosity I might have had.
"Sit down, please. I'm not asking for money or anything," he said earnestly, his words piquing my curiosity.
"Okay," I agreed reluctantly, deciding to stay for a while and pass the time.
I took a seat, and without any small talk, he delved straight into his work.
"Show me your palm, please," he requested.
I obediently extended both of my hands.
"No, your left palm," he specified, his eyes focused on my outstretched hand.
"But ideally, you should read both hands. Isn't that how it's done?" I questioned, puzzled by his request.
"Yes, but I'm not interested in your right palm," he calmly explained. "The left hand entails what the gods gave you, and the right is what you do with it. So, I'm not interested in your right hand because, in your case, you don't get to decide your fate."
"That's bullshit! I don't think you know what you are doing."
I braced myself for an outburst of anger, expecting him to explode with frustration.
However, he just took my left hand and began his mystical practice. I wanted to inquire further about his cryptic statement, but I opted to remain patient, not wanting to disrupt his concentration. Secretly, I couldn't wait for the moment to expose him as a fraud—such a sweet victory it would be.
But as the seconds ticked by, my patience wore thin. "Umm, excuse me?" I finally interjected, unable to contain my curiosity any longer.
No response came from him, intensifying my belief that he was indeed a fraud. I decided to jerk my hand away, ready to expose his charade. However, before I could make a move, an intense wave of pain surged through my body, causing my vision to blur, and it felt as if I were being consumed by flames.
The next thing I knew, I stood amidst an assembly of peculiar creatures, their features swirling in a disorienting blur of shapes and colors. It was as if their appearances were intentionally crafted to confound recognition, each contour and hue bending the rules of familiarity. I tentatively looked down at myself, only to discover that my attire was more surreal than the scene around me – a bizarre amalgamation of fabrics, both ancient and futuristic, adorned with symbols that seemed to shift like living tattoos.
A voice, simultaneously distant and intimate, sounded beside me, its words weaving through the fabric of my consciousness. To my own surprise, I responded with an uncharacteristic calmness, as though this distorted reality had siphoned away my instinctive fear and replaced it with an eerie tranquility. Though I couldn't grasp the full scope of the situation, I held onto a fragment of understanding – I wasn't alone in my own body. The 'me' I recognized as 'myself' had been relegated to the role of an observer, a passive spectator to a sequence of events that defied logic and reason.
And then, in a moment that felt like an echo from the depths of mythology, the other 'me' – a version of myself that felt simultaneously alien and intimately known – uttered words that resonated with both resignation and an unspoken history. "It is decided," this doppelgänger proclaimed, the words carrying the weight of inevitability. "I lose against Moirai, the sisters win, and I'm defeated."
The name 'Moirai' rang through my mind, triggering a sensation of familiarity buried beneath layers of obscurity. Moirai – the weavers of destiny, the sisters who held the threads of existence itself. The realization struck me like a distant memory resurfacing, a narrative thread that had been expertly concealed.
As the words hung in the air, a profound sense of foreboding settled upon the scene, intertwining with the enigmatic atmosphere that enveloped me. The creatures around, their indistinct features now appearing as if they were glimpses of forgotten dreams, seemed to shift uneasily. I, or rather the version of me that now inhabited this surreal realm, felt a ripple of defiance. A singular question emerged, resonating from the depths of my being: Could I alter the course of destiny, even from this disjointed vantage point?
Suddenly, I found myself back in Los Angeles, standing in front of the eerie fortune teller who now wore a sorrowful expression.
I jerked my hand away in shock. "What was that? What trick did you play on me? And how did you manage to plant those vivid images in my head?" I yelled, hastily rising from my seat, knocking the chair down, and drawing strange looks from the people around us.
"Worry about yourself, Alora," he whispered, his voice carrying a somber warning. "You have little time left to enjoy the bliss of a normal human."
"How do you even know my name? You're crazy!" I shouted, visibly trembling with fear. I grabbed my purse and keys, rushing toward where my car was parked, fervently praying to never encounter that creepy weirdo again.