Again and again and again,
She kept drawing the cards.
But the lots drawn would not change.
She threw the cards in exasperation.
Frustratingly enough, even in accident the cards spread out with the same faces up.
Perhaps some things are just not meant to be?
She mused, defeated and upset.
After all, for her talent as a fortune teller to make sense
Fate would have to be absolute.
If fate could be changed,
her predictions would not matter at all.
Sure, she made bucks selling fake cures and charms,
But her predictions were always accurate and inevitable.
To her, it was neither a blessing or a curse,
For she genuinely did not care about her own fate.
And she never really bothered about the fates of others.
What’s the use? Everything’s decided. Why mourn? Why celebrate?
Birth, death, relationships, affairs, breakups…
All were but events and occasions that were predestined.
Living was nothing more than an actor going through motions of a rehearsed play,
The story of which they had not control whatsoever.
So why was she feeling upset? Why be sad?
She had known all along, it was just a play,
She just had to act out her role.
She was done, it was time for the exit.
Why then was she wishing she could change the inevitable?
She could hear the door banging.
She heard the door break.
She heard the footsteps approach.
She saw the figure tower over her.
She heard the click of the revolver.
She looked up, and saw,
The ashen face of a grief stricken man.
Whose wife she had promised to save.
She didn’t feel any guilt.
She didn’t feel any fear.
All she felt was a longing,
She closed her eyes as she heard the clock tick out..