PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson
To them, I am a seer. They make their pilgrimages from every corner of the county. They rest on their bedrolls until it is their time to bring me their troubles, their dreams, and their secret desires.
My visions not only give, but they must have their due. Little Mary will walk again — but little Jimmy will drown. Their business will thrive – but their house will burn down. Mark will leave his wife – but will die young of cancer. I try to tell them, but they want only half-truths.
They leave me coins then walk away, smiling.
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields is the passionate host of Friday Fictioneers.