fate

Flash Fiction Prompt: The Cards Said One Man Would Love Her—The Other Would Bury Her

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When fate deals the cards, love might be the most dangerous prediction of all.

Engaging First Line:

When the Death card turned itself over, the candle went out—and something in the dark whispered her name.

Paragraph:

She laughed nervously, blaming the flicker of candlelight, but the Tarot reader didn’t laugh. Her eyes—black, endless—fixed on the spread before them. “You’ll come close to dying,” the reader said, voice low and deliberate. “Then two men will enter your life. One will save you. The other will finish what Death began.” The room suddenly smelled of burnt roses and smoke. Outside, a siren wailed. That night, she dreamed of a coffin half-open and two men standing beside it—one weeping, one smiling faintly. When she woke, there was a red rose on her pillow and her phone buzzing with two messages: Call me back, please. Both from different numbers. Her breath fogged the mirror as she whispered, “Which one are you?” Behind her reflection—just for a second—someone smiled.

If you saw your fate laid out in cards and one choice led to death, could you resist testing destiny’s hand?

Today’s Quote: Place No Limits on Yourself

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“It matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be.” ― J.K. Rowling,

What Is To Come ~ A Poem by William Ernest Henley

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What Is To Come

William Ernest Henley

What is to come we know not.  But we know
That what has been was good–was good to show,
Better to hide, and best of all to bear.
We are the masters of the days that were:
We have lived, we have loved, we have suffered . . . even so.

Shall we not take the ebb who had the flow?
Life was our friend.  Now, if it be our foe –
Dear, though it spoil and break us!–need we care
What is to come?

Let the great winds their worst and wildest blow,
Or the gold weather round us mellow slow:
We have fulfilled ourselves, and we can dare
And we can conquer, though we may not share
In the rich quiet of the afterglow
What is to come.

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Today’s Poem: Fate by Francis Bret Harte

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Fate

Francis Bret Hart

“The sky is clouded, the rocks are bare,
The spray of the tempest is white in air;
The winds are out with the waves at play,
And I shall not tempt the sea to-day.

“The trail is narrow, the wood is dim,
The panther clings to the arching limb;
And the lion’s whelps are abroad at play,
And I shall not join in the chase to-day.”

But the ship sailed safely over the sea,
And the hunters came from the chase in glee;
And the town that was builded upon a rock
Was swallowed up in the earthquake shock.

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Today’s Poem: Fate by Francis Bret Harte

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Fate

Francis Bret Harte

“The sky is clouded, the rocks are bare,
The spray of the tempest is white in air;
The winds are out with the waves at play,
And I shall not tempt the sea to-day.

“The trail is narrow, the wood is dim,
The panther clings to the arching limb;
And the lion’s whelps are abroad at play,
And I shall not join in the chase to-day.”

But the ship sailed safely over the sea,
And the hunters came from the chase in glee;
And the town that was builded upon a rock
Was swallowed up in the earthquake shock.

Source

Today’s Poem: Fate by Ralph Waldo Emerson

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Fate 

Ralph Waldo Emerson

That you are fair or wise is vain,
Or strong, or rich, or generous;
You must have also the untaught strain
That sheds beauty on the rose.
There is a melody born of melody,
Which melts the world into a sea.
Toil could never compass it,
Art its height could never hit,
It came never out of wit,
But a music music-born
Well may Jove and Juno scorn.
Thy beauty, if it lack the fire
Which drives me mad with sweet desire,
What boots it? what the soldier’s mail,
Unless he conquer and prevail?
What all the goods thy pride which lift,
If thou pine for another’s gift?
Alas! that one is born in blight,
Victim of perpetual slight;—
When thou lookest in his face,
Thy heart saith, Brother! go thy ways!
None shall ask thee what thou doest,
Or care a rush for what thou knowest,
Or listen when thou repliest,
Or remember where thou liest,
Or how thy supper is sodden,—
And another is born
To make the sun forgotten.
Surely he carries a talisman
Under his tongue;
Broad are his shoulders, and strong,
And his eye is scornful,
Threatening, and young.
I hold it of little matter,
Whether your jewel be of pure water,
A rose diamond or a white,—
But whether it dazzle me with light.
I care not how you are drest,
In the coarsest, or in the best,
Nor whether your name is base or brave,
Nor tor the fashion of your behavior,—
But whether you charm me,
Bid my bread feed, and my fire warm me,
And dress up nature in your favor.
One thing is forever good,
That one thing is success,—
Dear to the Eumenides,
And to all the heavenly brood.
Who bides at home, nor looks abroad,
Carries the eagles, and masters the sword.

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