Thursday, February 15, 2007

The Oracle

Created from a prompt for a writing exercise.

Sixteen in the last three hours alone, with each pilgrim more desperate than the last. Lust in most requests, while others begged for sympathy.

All morning long, she’d played marionette to the gods. Her lips and tongue moving in unison with theirs. Frightening, hearing the glacial tones come from her. She hadn’t known she could cut off all the variance that made her human. But someone had.

Her eyes on the cards; her lips foretelling the gods’ plans. All day. Every day. As if her body was meant only to be their transistor. Her words remained forever entombed within her mind, and her voice was never her own.

They said it was to prevent charlatans—pranksters who would subvert the sacred tools. Twist the images and archetypes into a false story, while demanding payment for each additional chapter.

But as she watched her fingers turn over the Death card, she longed for the comfort of fiction.


Rachel said...

Yeah, that's good.

c.rooney said...

I thought you'd like this one. :)

It was so funny. I read it and someone went "I like the idea of the Tarot Card reader as the conduit. That must be what it feels like." And I thought " Never."

Rachel said...