So it’s the next to last day of vacation, and one of the kids sharing the house with us—the youngest girl, a golden-haired cherub—asks me if I’d like my fortune. She has one of those folded paper oracles that kids make. So I pick a color, and she spells it out, folding and unfolding the paper flower. B-R-O-W-N. Then I pick a number, and the counts it out, moving the flower again. Then I pick my final number, and she lifts the flap and says:
“You’ll live tomorrow.”
Which is nice, I guess. But even as innocently as she said it, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the kids were about to orchestrate a great culling of the tall ones, and I alone would be spared.
Rob
Monday, August 11, 2008
Macabre Tales of Vacation
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2 comments:
It would seem likely that that particular cherub would be the one who picks who lives and who dies.
It's lucky I'm in her good graces, then.
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