She did it the same way as always. She would rub the round seeing thing from its sides into the middle. Then she would focus on the area that she had dented the time she was in the deepest throes of a vision. She would stroke it back and forth till the clear ball would begin to reveal a secret message that only she could see, first of thrashing colours, and then, telling images. Sometimes she would hum deeply, but this was just to focus when she was in the midst of anxious clients that were breathing too loudly. “Well, what do you see?” the fretful woman asked as she held on steadily to her husband’s hand. She looked older than her likely age, with soft wrinkles that would soon become aggressive, telling of her failed trials at conception and her last-resort desperation of coming to a fortune teller. Her anxiety was probably heightened by the pitch-blackness of the room, with only a glowing light shining mysteriously over Denzia’s face. But that mood-lighting was a staple of the trade. “Will we have a child?” Denzia hummed and rubbed, but nothing came. All she could see through the ball was a magnified picture of the couple’s scared grip. This had never happened to her before.
She remembered how, in a life that seemed so far away, she had a normal job, with files that littered her desk. She would sit in the room full of little cubicles with phones blaring off the hook, and her mind would constantly wander off into a place where all was quiet. Back then, she used to hold on to the stress ball that she’d found in a little trinket shop, and use it to keep her mind far away from this place that she despised. As other marketers ran around the room and made numerous calls, she could be found reclining in her chair with her eyes closed and the stress ball in her hand. She remembered the day her phone rang to tell of her husband’s demise. How she shocked the teller with her calmness. She had seen it coming already. It was a knowledge with a clarity that scared her, of the way and the when. So she had mourned silently before she was told, not understanding what she knew, but being convinced of its truth. She had to mourn because she knew intuitively of time and fate. So she loved him harshly and wholly in that last week, humming songs that they’d danced to back when they used to dance. That very day, with her stress ball in hand and a little glisten in her eye, she walked out of that space for the last time. She went straight to Mother Divine. She had heard stories about her from friends who had gone looking for answers and miracles. One day, she had actually received a flyer in her post, and mused about how, even these people that lived in thoughts of the future had to tolerate the commands of modernity and promotion.
Mother Divine had smiled at her so warmly when she arrived, as though she was not a stranger. This familiarity made Denzia quiver with an anxious excitement. She knew about her. Mother Divine sat her down that day, and explained the history of the world through the wonders of divination. To see greater than plain-eyed vision was a gift that only a few were given. It was a calling that Denzia had no choice but to respond to. It would be all that could ever fulfil her. Mother Divine told her of their future-seeing relatives around the world, and how the craft was defined by different tools in each culture. Some used cloths; others used animals or cards; and some others could just close their eyes and see. Those were the most powerful. Mother Divine explained that their clan used the clarity of a crystal ball. Denzia sniggered at the predictability of this, but stopped when she realised that Mother Divine was no longer smiling. Mother Divine explained how she was the caretaker of all the crystal balls that had the power to be seeing things. So she held Denzia by the hand, and took her to a back room where up to fifty balls were piled neatly on a shelf. She had to pick the one that would be her companion on her divination journey. So she chose her seeing thing. It saw her through opening “Denzia the Divine” on the boardwalk; it saw her through the laughter of her peers because she knew it would turn to fear; and it saw her through the lives and revelations of numerous clients. But her seeing thing could not see her through her present problems.
“Well”? The anxious wife inquired. Denzia furrowed her brows. “I’m afraid I can’t see anything”. She retreated from her ball as though it had burnt her. “Wh-what does that mean?” the man asked in a panic. “I really don’t know”. After she let out her disappointed customers, full refund in hand, Denzia closed the blinds and sat on the floor, worried about this happening. She had always thought that her only limitation in fortune-telling was that she could not see her own future. That was the same ailment that inflicted all diviners. It was a terrible thing to obsess over, that people who knew so greatly the value of seeing the future, could not see their own. But then again, the life of a fortune-teller was plagued with such utter simplicity, that one could safely assume a continuity of customers and their unending questions of whether they would succeed, or be promoted, or get married. As Denzia sat, she tapped softly against her heart. That was the only way she knew to look into her own future, by how steady her heart was beating. Its strength assured her of more time with more heart beats. That was enough.