Fortunes Untold

The way she got out of the chair was nearly a ballet. She lifted herself up slowly, with an almost dramatic grace. She had the supple, lithe body of a born athlete and though she was wearing clothing that fit loosely about her, the rippling of her toned muscles was still evident. 

With a quick, fluid movement she stepped over to where I was standing and took a hold of my left hand, lifting and turning it over so that she had my palm facing up. Staring at the lines that crossed and intersected over the rough, calloused skin, she pursed her lips and let a quiet whistle escape.

"This line here," she said, tracing her right index finger just below the area where my fingers met my palm, "Is your line of heart. It is long, and it is crossed with thick lines representing fate, success, and health. Those are all good. But you have another line here, next to the line of life that also crosses your line of heart. That concerns me - I do not believe I have seen such a thing before."

I momentarily stared down at my palm, then looked up at her. "That? That's the scar I got from when I held onto a thin nylon rope that I was using to walk my dog with when I was seven years old. Burned like hell. Can't imagine it means much though."