A Fortune Teller Worth Her Ball Should Refuse to Tell You When You’re Going to Die by sheena d
Associate editor Heath Joseph Wooten on today’s short: In sheena d’s “A Fortune Teller Worth Her Ball Should Refuse to Tell You When You’re Going to Die,” a voice at once both intimate and conspiratorial guides us through one woman’s fortune. With details as bizarre as they are precise, d delivers a story that approaches the mundane in the same way as the terminal, with all the joie de vivre of your best friend on a particularly fluorescent weekend night.
A Fortune Teller Worth Her Ball Should Refuse to Tell You When You’re Going to Die
but Magenta says for $584.13, which is exactly, coincidentally…?, what’s in Jia’s checking account, Magenta will reveal Jia’s WHEN & WHERE [5/14/2032, YELLOW SPRINGS, OHIO]. but, to be honest, Jia doesn’t know if she believes the future is a detectable, fixed thing. but, to be clear, Jia is sitting at Magenta’s shop, not because Jia holds stock in the superstitious, she swears, to gawd. but 100% only because Jia thinks it is sort of like reading your horoscope, which is not something you do because the stars hold infinite truths.
but rather because to discredit a celestial warning could be a mistake.
but, also, Sicily, Jia’s former accountant, said Magenta saved her life. but—that’s just the condensed version of events, the whole story is longer, maybe too long. but, actually, it will just take a minute—so, last June, Magenta told Sicily to hold off on any renovations because the city was about to tear her housing complex down and Sicily would get the same amount for her house, remodeled or not. but even though she was not rich enough to watch her dollars get chopped up, serial killer style, Sicily wanted a new kitchen and a new bathroom and an extended deck, so Sicily got a new kitchen and a new bathroom and an extended deck. but, duh, Magenta was right—Sicily should have listened. but, like, at least now Sicily knows?
but Magenta didn’t make Sicily feel bad about it, and for just $200 Magenta told Sicily to place flowers in three different places in her temporary apartment, and—IMPORTANT—to avoid yellow chrysanthemums and all flowers that pretend to be happier than they are, oh, and also, to stop wearing black underwear if Sicily ever wanted to experience sexual excitement or get a promotion again, and—MOST IMPORTANTLY—in a hushed tone that scared Sicily, to go in for a check-up, SOON. but, that time Sicily listened, and the doctor said if she had waited any longer it would have been too late and when Jia heard this she made an appointment. but, with Magenta, not the doctor.
but, now Jia is not sure—$584.13 is a lot—and so many fortune tellers are scammers, so to check, Jia asks Magenta what Jia’s planning to eat next and Magenta says something from a red box. but Jia knows the Stouffer’s Swedish meatballs frozen dinner box in question is technically both red and brown. but, damn, Jia knows a box that is both red and brown is still a box that is red and she also knows that in fifty-six minutes she will pierce fork-holes into plastic even if she can’t figure out how Magenta also knows this.
but Magenta is a fortune teller worth much more than the $18 crystal ball she scored at the flea market on Rugsby Lane before it became a charter school that requires students to wear uniforms that make them look like Dunkin Donuts employees.
but, holy shit, before she goes to pop that dinner in the microwave, Jia wants to know the WHY and HOW of her death, too. but, instead of being honest and just telling Jia she’ll die in one of the most painful ways imaginable, and alone, Magenta says knowing hurts the organs—especially the heart and spleen—and reminds Jia that there’s a lot her organs still need to accomplish before disintegrating into past tense. but, pleading, Jia says she’ll pay more to know the WHY and HOW.
but, knowing Jia is broke, Magenta says there’s no amount Jia could pay. but, of course, Magenta could simply tell Jia, for free. but, alas, if Magenta tells Jia more, Jia will change her mind about the Stouffer’s, about eating anything microwaved in a plastic bag, and besides, it’d be reckless of Magenta to tell Jia her destiny because Magenta knows that Jia, like the 933,940+ others with her condition, will, thinking she can outsmart her fate, resort to pointless shit, like drinking her own urine mixed with apple cider vinegar and injecting young Bolivian kids’ plasma into her right buttcheek. but, none of that works, none of that can change diddly-squat—because once Jia knows her fate, it will affix to her like dried gravy to a plate.
but, maybe, if Jia leaves right now, she will find some other way to die in the prettiest part of the plainest state. but, also, let’s be real, it doesn’t take a fortune teller to know that she won’t.
sheena d. is an exaggerator, humorist, and doodler based in NYC. Her stories and essays have been published in Autostraddle, Taco Bell Quarterly, Split Lip Magazine, and elsewhere, and featured on the Longreads Best of 2022 list. sheena tweets @bookofsheena
