Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“My ability is a gift. It is not to be misused for personal gain.”
“Do you know when you’ll die?”
“No,” she says. “But I never wanted to know.”
“Maybe I didn’t either. Did that ever occur to you?”
“You get what you’re given. Sometimes you have to take the good with the bad.” She nudges her wire-rim glasses farther up her nose. “How’s the prince?”
“He’s not really a prince.”
“The right blood flows through his veins.” She shrugs. “I never understood all the nonsense about being born out of wedlock. The supposed shame of it. It’s good that society has moved on from such bullshit.”
“Yeah.”
“Of course, they’re counting on their blue blood to elevate them above the rest of us,” she says. “If the old rules don’t apply, then there’s nothing saying they’re any better. Just their money and everything else they stole over the years and refuse to return.”
“Not a fan of the monarchy?”
“Never saw the point.” She takes a swig from her nearby water bottle. “What do you want?”
“Not to die.”
She laughs. “We all want that. Well...most of us.”
“I want not to die on Sunday.”
“Mmm.” Her gaze softens. “Can’t help you, sorry. I am not all-powerful, I just deliver the message.”
I sit forward, choosing my words with care. “If I were to stay away from him, have nothing to do with him, would that stop the last two predictions from coming true? Would it put a stop to it all?”
“Do you really want to do that?”
“No. Of course not. I like him.”
“There’s your problem. He’s already in your heart.”
I snort. “I’m not in love with him. Sheesh.”
“I didn’t say you were. But you’re not immune to him either. You two are already on your way to becoming.” She pulls off a gardening glove and takes one of the crystals hanging around her neck in hand. Her gaze goes hazy as she stares off into the middle distance. “I’m not unsympathetic to your plight. But I can’t help you.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
She just sighs.
“There’s nothing I can do?” I ask.
“You can make the most of the time you have left.”
I let my head fall back and stare at the endless sky. High overhead, a crow passes, a blot of darkness against the blue. I should be thankful it doesn’t shit on me. Things can always be worse. Though Italians believe being crapped on by a bird is a sign of good luck. Guess it’s all about perception. “I still can’t believe this is happening.”
“Then ignore it and go live your normal life. There can be great comfort in routines,” she says. “Who knows, maybe I’m wrong?”
“Wait, are you?”
“What do you think?”
“What you’re basically saying is that the only thing I have control over is how I react to the situation, huh?”
“Got it in one,” she says, pulling her glove back on. “Now go away. I’m busy.”
I slide my sunglasses back on and wander out of the community garden. I remember hearing a quote about how aging is a privilege denied to many that feels particularly relevant now. I would have made a great grumpy old lady with sparkling silver hair. People talk about how your fucks fall away with age. How freeing it can be. Good Witch Willow certainly doesn’t suffer fools gladly. It sucks that I might not get to experience the same.
I order an Uber and stand on the sidewalk waiting. Every week or so, I stop at a nearby thrift store that donates their profits to charity. I help them with their books, sorting the new stock into categories and keeping the display looking great. It’s where I’m heading now. A car drives slowly past before parking halfway down the block from me. The person in the driver’s seat doesn’t pull out a camera or anything. Not that I can see, at least.
It turns out the lure of the internet is not one I can ignore after all. What can I say? I am weak.
There’s no sign of my name on the latest offerings from the gossip sites when I check on my cell. What a relief. A rock star and their model/actor partner had been seen shopping for baby gear. And a popular comedian had cheated on his wife. The text messages were cringey. An Olympic gymnast had announced her engagement to a celebrity chef. The photos of the two women were gorgeous, their beaming smiles and adoring gazes. Talk about showing that love is real. Alistair’s half brother, the Prince of Wales, also rates a mention due to rumors his recent big royal engagement is on rocky ground.
Some people love the fame monster. They crave it and chase it and make it their own. Having been briefly on the receiving end, however, made me wonder. How many of these people would choose to keep their private lives private? If they could do their job without the public scrutiny, would they? I know their position comes with immense privilege. But the pressure of the public gaze and being subject to so many opinions is a lot.