I just turned and walked away. My feet hurt under me, aching as they pressed into the pavement. I shoved my hands into my pockets and tried to hold back my shivers. Retreating, my ears still caught the fading whispers of your show, heard your old voice croaking the well-practiced lines to the gathering crowd who’d never heard it before. Not a word had changed from your spiel in all the years since I first heard you. It seems darker now, but I guess that’s expected: A day is dark, then bright, then dark again, and you brought me into the light I won’t deny. Lucifer was an angel of light, and Satan the father of lies. Between you and the darkness, I’ll choose the cruel truth.
A glare, a mirror catching the sun, blinds me a moment, and I reach my hand up to my eyes, my head reeling. Shortly, I feel a sharp pain as I stumble into the edge of something. Groaning, blinking, I massage where my leg hit a palm reader’s table. She’s looking at me, at my reflection in her glass ball, and I gaze into it as well, seeing her distorted visage peering at me, stretched and squashed and upside-down. Whatever likewise distorted image she sees of me cannot be much different from the truth of my soul. I try to smile. I wonder if I succeed. I move on.
My life is moving on.
Tale Told 