1/14/18 - 1/18/18
We simply can't accept good news
1/14/18
August is back. He appeared in my office as I worked. He looked, changed. A twisted, shattered version of himself reforged by God knows what forces. He didn’t speak, he only pointed at the cards. I drew the Eight of Wands reversed, it suited the occasion perfectly. We are both changed, yet, our situation is the same. How do we go on like this? Different than we were, but forced into the same rolls we filled before… I didn’t tell him about the house.
1/15/18
“You’ve got nothing to say for yourself?”
“No.”
“No apology? Nothing?”
“You’ve ruined my life, August, I won’t apologize to you.”
“When did you become such a bitch. Read my card.”
“Ten of Cups reversed.”
“My cups runneth over with misery.”
“Indeed.”
1/16/18
Nine of Swords. Nightmares. I woke up in my reading chair with knives pinning my hands to the arms. Pain was second to surprise, at first. When I tried to move the knives only sliced deeper into my palms. I felt the pain in my gut, tearing at me. I screamed. I woke up in bed. August was running the edge of a tarot card along my right palm, the Nine of Swords. Nightmares.
1/17/18
“Well that card seems oddly out of place in my life.”
“Your death, you mean. Maybe I did something wrong,” I said, looking down at the upright Ace of Wands, a card of inspiration and new beginnings.
“You must have.” August backed out of the room, grinning.
“Yeah.”
1/18/18
“Ugh, I hate when it does this.” I pushed the card away from me and sat back in my chair.
“Blast, it wasn’t a mistake, then.”
“Nope.”
“Ace of Wands again.” August hovered above the table, eyeing the cheery card.
“So now what?”
“Truce?”
“No.”
“Of course not.”
