MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’s

Tale Weaver # 22: Fortune Cookie

TITLE: Creating Masterpieces

Some days I don’t feel like writing. On those days I just want to kill. It is on those days that I produce my masterpieces because then I don’t love you, I love no one.

The doorbell rings and that make its way into the manuscript, just in a different situation.

I leave my desk and head towards the door. You do the same after a slight hesitation.

I open the door and a cheerful lad greets me, “Hey Mr. Richards, here’s your order.”

You place your hand on the doorknob, a feeling of trepidation overcoming you.

“Hey Mikey. How’s it going?” I say, removing a fifty from my wallet and gives it to the lad. “Keep the change.”

He grins and thanks me before he leaves. I close the door, stomach growling at the food’s delicious aroma.

You’re still standing by the door. Outside the wind howls and the rain batters the house.

I dig into my food; I haven’t eaten since last night.

You back away from the door and move to the telephone. I’m expecting no visitors, you think as you grip the receiver. Now it’s not only the rain battering the house. The person had begun banging on the door. Better call the cops, you resolved.

I crack open the fortune cookie that accompanied my meal. I blinked looking at my fortune.

Take a chance, it says.

On what? I wondered. On whom and where?

You replaced the receiver and open the door.

“Johnny!” You gasp in surprise and relief at the rain-drenched man by the door. “Darling I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow!”

“Sorry. I w-wanted to sur-surprise you.” He rushes inside, shivering.

“I thought you were a burglar or something!”

“Ringing t-the doorbell?”

“Well you never know.” You say defensively, hurrying him off to the bath. “You’re lucky I took a chance! A huge risk!”

“Woman, were you w-watching some crime movie again?” His teeth chatters from the cold as he hastily strips and stands below the warm shower. “Oh this feels so good. Or was it horror?”

“Maybe I should’ve left your ass out there.” You say, dumping the wet clothes in the basket.

I laugh and put aside the empty containers before returning to my desk to continue your story. Now, I feel like writing and killing. Isn’t it frightening to know that your faith rested with a fortune cookie? But worry not, I’m going to make you a masterpiece.

Thank you for reading,

— N