Throughout the sun, I was only able to see the clouds. They flocked, overlapped, like a league of woolly sheep; wavy and soft as marshmallows. I also found the same clouds at night. They were unfolding like the surface of muddy lake; without a ripple as if it would swallow anyone who crossed it. And the woman on my right did exactly the same.
She keeps looking out the window; sighing or occasionally muttering. Honestly, that is much better to do than listen to the old man snoring on my left. Then I sigh, stretching my legs, wondering why I chose this seat for eleven-hours flight.
“Are you bored?”
I gasp, glancing out of the corner of my eyes. She asked me without turning around, leaving a little frightened in my chest.
“What is your name?” She asked another question mark.
I look at her wrinkled face. Her long curl hair begins to be gray; it reminds me of Mags, the old Panem at Hunger Games ‘Catching Fire’. His eyes look sad and wistful; deep as if she is mourning. She grabs my right arm, giving too much attention on it.
“Jay,” I replied.
“Jay,” she said my name in a whisper, “You have beautiful hand, give a nice balance between the realist and the dreamer. You appreciate all that is refined and beautiful; also motivations are based on intuition or inspiration rather than on cold, hard facts, reason, logic and rational analysis.”
She keeps turning my palm, probe every detail down to the smallest corner.
“But, look.” Her soft finger tip is tracking the lines on my palm, “Behind all the perfection you have, you carry major problems, although the results are not to serious if they overlap. Do you still have unresolved issues, son?”
Hesitate, I try to keep my arm away from her—even though she resists it. “Well,” I do not answer it properly as she is touching my palm. It feels awkward, and ashamed.
“Why do you not finish it?”
I sigh, “Too complicated.”
“You will not have another opportunity to do so,” then she showed me her arm, align with mine.
“What do you mean?”
“We have the same life line,” she pointed to the broken line that stretched between the thumb and forefinger to the wrist.
“I do not understand,” I confuse, start feeling uneasy. And the next moment, I feel a rumble, considerable turbulence shakes my chair. Even the old guy snoring next to me comes awake.
“Because our lives will be ended,” she stopped to listen to the pilot in command loudspeakers. “Right now.”
In response of Daily Post’s writing prompt challenge “Life Line“: You’re on a long flight, and a palm reader sitting next to you insists she reads your palm. You hesitate, but agree. What does she tell you?