Lies. Maritza formed the word with her lips. Lies. It was such an easy word to say, but it had the sharp edge of a disobedient sword. What did morals matter when the truth was buried in a vault of suggestions and assumptions? The past wasn’t real, just a story we told ourselves, over, and over, and over again.
Maritza never told lies, just stories. All day people came to her and she gave them the script written for a better day. And sometime the day would come and it would be real.
Some people thought she was lying, but they didn’t realize, self-fulfilling prophecies are prophecies all the same.
In the quiet days like this one Maritza played through her most interesting visits. All kinds of strange people came to see the Magi, some evil, some good, some curious, some just strange.
On this day she remembered one particular visit, one it would be hard to forget. A tall hooded figure had burst into her tent and spoke to her in a voice so raspy that it had to be fake.
“Why did you put a calendar on his back?” Maritza was taken aback. She had had no idea what the strange man was talking about. She had never put a calendar on anyone’s back.
“You count down his seconds and he doesn’t know the end.” Maritza had gasped.
“One of the chosen ones.” And the man had grabbed her by the collar.
“Don’t expect me to believe the lies you Magi cook up to sweeten up your curses.
There are no chosen ones. What is at the end?” Maritza had closed her eyes.
“And the two will live and breathe as one.” The man had shaken her and tightened his grip.
“I know the prophecies. I don’t need that crap from you. I need answers. Who is the other one? How will they become one? What does it mean?” Maritza had given him the typical magi answer.
“The prophecy will find its own end.”
Nihilistic Porcupine 