Throughout the sun, I was only able to see the cloud. They huddled together like a flock of woolly sheep, wavy but fluffy as marshmallows. Last night, I discovered the same cloud. They were unfolding like the muddy lake’s surface, with no ripples as if it were about to engulf anyone who crossed it. And the woman to my right did the same thing.
She kept looking out of the window; sighed or occasionally muttered. Honestly, that was much better than listened to the old man snoring on my left. Then I sighed, too, stretched my legs, wondering why I chose this seat for the eleven-hours flight.
“Are you bored?”
I gasped, 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.
I looked at her wrinkled eyes. Her long curly hair began to gray; reminded me of Mags, the old Panem at Hunger Games. Her eyes looked sad and wistful; as if she was mourning. She grabbed my right arm, giving too much attention on it.
“Jay,” I replied.
“Jay,” she said my name in a whisper, “You have a 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 kept turning my palms, probing every detail down to the smallest corner.
“But, look.” Her soft finger tip was tracking the lines on it, “Behind all the perfection you have, you carry major problems, although the results are not too serious if they overlap. Do you still have unresolved issues, son?”
Hesitate, I tried to keep my arm away from her—even though she resisted. “Well,” I did not answer it properly as she was touching my palm, again. It felt awkward and shamed.
“Why do you not finish it?”
I sighed, “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 confused, started feeling uneasy. And the next moment, I felt a rumble, considerable turbulence in our room. The old guy snoring next to me came awake, swearing.
“Because our lives will be ended soon,” she ignored to listen to the pilot in command.
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?