Strange Stars Chapter 3

Hi, welcome for first timers, this is chapter two of an ongoing series. If you are interested, head over to Chapter 1 for the beginning. If you are a returned reader, welcome back, hope you can enjoy:)

Intro: A small book about the little things —like interdimensional space travel, UFOs and how to make a decent cup of coffee. Also, the more simpler questions like do ghosts exist? Are we all alone in this universe? What is the meaning in life and what the hell do you do with it, will of course be answered here.

A girl, let’s call here Anna Smith—a lie, but oh well, that is the name she goes by for the night—is just riding her car, minding her own business, running away from some stuff. Checking into the Deserted Inn however, will not give her the good night sleeps she’s paying for. There she meets the penniless photographer, Sam, claiming her name is something else and constantly hinting to know more than anyone else. And as the night progress, the motel pool overflows with lies, the numbered rooms closes and the stars keep their secrets. But under them, those sparkling nightly glow, Anna will happen to run into a coincidental meeting with fate.

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Chapters: 1 - 2

Strange Stars Chapter 3: Fate already decided

Spreading her clothes on the bed, Anna has no idea what she’s to freshen up to. She told Sam to go ahead without her, she just needed a couple of minutes to get herself ready. He looked at her, not sure if he could believe her, and she doesn’t really know if he can.

She feels like a walking dumpster. Too long has she been walking half asleep, not noticing the ghost staring back at her in the mirror. Not until a shining diamond like Sam came along. How his hair glittered. But why is it even so important for her to look good now? It’s not like it has done her any good in the past.

But as she gives her tired attire an angry look, she can’t help herself, the vanity gripping every human down on earth now and then takes over. She ransacks her bag and pulls out her one and only dress. It’s in a deep blue color, like midnight, the fabric feels soft as she holds it in her hands. Letting the thin fabric glide through her fingers, memories from another life come creeping up. Too often she thinks about how bad the past is and how good the future will be. Too often the rays of sunshine of the past become forgotten, like it was never there. Anna sniffs it and smells the hint of perfume she wore the last time she put on the dress. That must have been ages ago, maybe even lifetimes.

She holds it up to her body, sees herself wearing it, tight fitting and giving the illusion of ladylike forms. But as she meets her eyes in the mirror, she throws it in the bag again. Dark shadows cloud her mind. The sunshine takes cover behind it, only the darkness remains of the dress. The wallpaper is acting up again. Won’t stay in its place. She will never ever feel the call to wear the dress again.

Instead, she puts on a white t-shirt she suspects is mostly clean with the words: Born to be wild with a font looking handwritten. If anything she’s good with irony. Born to be wild, my ass, she thinks and tries to comb her hair. It doesn’t work, and instead she tries to make the wild and messy hair look intended that way. She puts on some more eyeliner to cover up the redness around her eyes. When looking in the mirror, she laughs, that’s how pathetic she feels. Who is she to even attempt to look desirable? He will figure out she’s not eventually. Most do straight away.

She picks up her lipstick, thinking about the woman that had interrupted them earlier, how she had smiled and winked with her heavy eyelids, a spark in her that made men turn their heads. There is a difference between painting your eyes black, and painting your lips red. Black eyes are hiding stuff, a dark abyss of secrets. Red lips are trying to tell a story, crying out to everyone. Anne knows she could have him, she knows her ways, how to trick, seduce, capture, manipulate. The lipstick is almost all used up, a proof of her work. She could do it, if she wanted. Anna holds the lipstick to her lips, but it doesn’t touch her skin. She can’t do it, she’s not that kind of girl anymore. She has lost her spark.

The mirror sticks the tongue out to her, but when she realizes, she doesn’t remember having done it. For a moment she stares into her reflection, placing a finger on her tongue. But it doesn’t do anything. Shaking away her confusion she goes outside. Away away away. Too bad—if she had stayed, she would have seen her reflection staying in the picture, picking up the lipstick and painting her lips red.

Coming down the stairs she notices the latina woman from earlier standing by her car. She’s smoking a cigarette by herself, and her eyes are closed as she massages her forehead with three fingers. She’s beautiful, Anna notices. A sort of worn out beauty. Her face, even though young, worn with lines. As though the lines tell a story, like a mark of wisdom and evidence of having lived. Her hands bare signs of hard work, furrowed by weather. Her hair is dark, black falling down her shoulders in waves. She’s wearing simple clothes, jeans, sandals and an oversized knitted sweater, stopping halfway down her thigh. Too hot for this red desert night. It’s a cover, Anna realizes. The clothes look just as worn as the woman herself. The only things she wears of more than mere necessity is a pair of big golden earrings, and a dozen of thin, golden bracelets, rattling whenever she moves her hands.

"Hi," Anna says, stopping by the car and trying to read the woman. But for tonight, her reading of people has been inhibited. Like the case with Sam.

The woman opens her eyes and sees Anna standing there. She smiles the same small smile she did before, welcoming Anna to come closer. She does.

"About before," Anna says, her hands buried in the pockets of her leather jacket. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble. I just—"

"No worries, child," the woman says in the tone of voice that puts people at ease. Friendly but firm. Wise but not patronizing.

"You should never apologize for trying to care about people."

Anna doesn’t answer at first. Caring about people had never been how she characterized herself. She continues to apologize:

"And I’m even more sorry for not speaking up before—"

"You couldn’t have done much to be honest," the woman says, staring directly into Anna’s eyes. And she believes her, even if it is just to make her feel better about herself.

"Yeah, well. Are you sure there is nothing to do now? I'm sure the police don't have much to do around here."

"No dear, but thanks. I'm afraid the police will only make it worse."

"So does every victim say before they actually get help."

The woman continues to smile, and in that instant, Anna can’t believe she just called her a victim. Somehow, the woman seems nothing like it in the way she holds herself, her whole composure with head held high and relaxed shoulders.

"True... but for us illegal aliens, it actually would be a worse fate," the woman says, confusing Anna further.

"Undocumented immigrants," the woman corrects herself, elaborating for Anna when she sees the confusion. "They change what they call us constantly. It's difficult to keep up with at times."

Anna lets out an "aaah" to signal she understands.

"Aliens, really?"

The woman laughs with her, showing a line of straight, white teeth.

"It's a strange language in a strange country," she agrees and offers Anna a cigarette. She shakes her head at the unknown brand and pulls out her own pack.

"But I would love to borrow your lighter," Anna says. The woman reaches her hand out. As she puts the lighter in Anna’s hands, like they’re shaking hands she says:

"I'm Amara,"

"Anna," she responds. Amara looks at her, surprised.

"Pretty," she says, but Anna has a feeling that’s not why she looks so bewildered by her name. Doesn’t she look like Anna? She should have gone with another name. Maybe she should call herself Miriam next time?

"So, you're on your way inland? Can I ask where?"

"Wyoming, I think. To green mountains and wild horses," she says.

"Wha—really? You have family there?"

Amara shakes her head. So many questions she had, this night. At one point, maybe she would have to start answering some questions herself.

"No... I just think my son would love to live with horses. We are tired of the desert.”

"Sounds beautiful," Anna says and means it.

"You are also going somewhere green?" Amara asks

"I… I don't know yet,"

Although that isn’t totally true. Anywhere but here is what she should have answered.

"Why are you on the road all alone?"

Anna doesn’t answer the question at once.

"I didn’t really have any to ask to come along."

"No friends, family?"

"No, I don’t know. They are somewhere else, not where I just came from. I guess I’ve been uprooted for a while," Anna says, surprised by her flow of words. She doesn’t really talk with people. She told the secrets, only to the moon. It didn’t judge, just listened. And when she forgot about why or where she was going, it would always blink to her, making sure she was on path.

"Ah, so you’re looking for a place to plant, that’s nice. A place to water your roots, flourish and reach new heights," Amara says, nodding, as if Anna's aura is slowly falling into place, the puzzle making sense.

"I suppose… So who knows, maybe somewhere green would be practical," she says, laughing, thinking about trees, water in the air, and the sound of birds chirping. She can almost feel the moss between her fingers.

"Oh, you know, you're just not sure how to get there, yet. I'm sure you will walk through the forest you dream of," Amara says and hits the nail of Anna's deepest thoughts. Anna coughs the smoke stuck in her throat.

"How do you know?"

Amara blows out the last of her smoke and drops the cigarette to the ground and stamps on it. She puts her hands flat in front of Anna.

"I'm a fortune teller, I think it's called in English," she says, looking like she knows very well what things are called. Anna smirks.

"What, like with cards and crystal balls?"

"No, with these," Amara says, not taking notice of Anna's offencive remark, twinkling her fingers in the air.

"Really?" Anna says skeptically. Somehow she had envisioned this woman as someone much wiser than a mere trickster.

"Here, let me show you."

She looks at Anna’s available hand and Anna gives it to her reluctantly. Amara encloses it with her own and closes her eyes. A strand of hair falls in front of her face.

"You are like us, yes? You've travelled far already," she says. Anna rolls her eyes slightly, thinking that everyone that reaches the Deserted inn already has travelled far. Amara shuts her eyes even harder, like trying to shield herself from something being thrown at her.

"You are like us in several ways. You have also felt pain," making Anna’s eye roll come to a halt, holding her breath. She’s a human being, of course she has felt pain. She’s alive in this world, that’s enough to feel the whole weight of the world burying you slowly. But somehow to hear Amara call her out in that way, makes her blood flowing through her veins come to a halt.

"So young as you are... you should never have to go through that."

Amara opens her eyes, taking one hand and pulls gently in Anna’s t-shirt so that her collar bones are exposed. The bruises are not nearly as bad as they had been, but they are still purple and sore. Anna winces, but doesn’t push Amara away. She knows she means no harm. Her sight becomes blurry all of a sudden, and she realizes it’s her eyes tearing up, a sensation Anna almost forgot. For so long she has been like an ice tap, frozen in her own darkness. Amaras touch works like a burning flame, melting her wall of ice all at once, and Anna fears she might evaporate from it.

Amara, like a caring mother, tucks the leather jacket around Anna’s bruises. Like protecting armour. She strokes it caringly, like an old friend before gripping Anna’s hand again. She meets the eye of the gentle fortune teller, and it’s like looking into the soft moon.

"It was your father's jacket, yes? I can feel he was a very caring man. And I'm so sorry for your loss," she says, nodding her head slowly.

Anna clears her throat that has suddenly swollen up.

"Yeah, he was great," she agrees, suddenly seeing his face clearly for the first time in a long time. She was sure she had forgotten how it looked.

"So much in the past that you want to forget," Amara says.

"There isn’t every one that fortune wants to play with," Anna says, joking and remembering her father who used to say that when something went wrong. But Amara accepts it as a life lesson worth living by.

"Happiness won’t let itself be captured. It must be given."

"By who?" Anna asks, completely forgetting that this is the words of a fortune teller, not a sage. But she still desperately needs an answer from her.

"I don’t think anyone knows yet. Maybe no one really has been given the gift of happiness. Not completely," Amara says.

It’s a strange comfort. Knowing that no matter how bad you have it yourself, everyone feels bad. Together in the rut of unhappiness.

"But I see that it will turn. Sooner than you expected," Amara says, taking Anna's hand again, trailing along the lines of her palm.

"My future? How is it? Do I even... do I even have one?"

Amara looks at her with her mouth open. Like she’s about to say something, but changes her mind.

"What I can tell you is this is the night where it all will change. You will not be the same."

"Tonight?"

"Yes."

Anna doesn’t question it further, she feels the same way. Tonight really has a change in the wind that isn’t even there.

"What will happen?"

"You will cross some boundaries that go beyond space and time. It is not a usual fate at all. But it's yours nonetheless," Amara says, leaving Anna more confused and disappointed than enlightened. Space and time, really? Amara is after all nothing but a phony. But even though the rational side of Anna's mind has figured it out, she continues to absorb every word like a child listening to its mother telling a bedtime story.

"But I see that after these trials, you will find it."

"Find what?"

"Your forest."

Anna smiles, a tear falling down on her cheek. It doesn’t matter if Amara is just making stuff up, or if it’s real. She needed to hear it.

"Thank you. I will be happy. At least a bit."

Amara angles her head.

"You will smile, yes. Just remember... with every light that must come your way, you can always count that a shadow will follow. That is not a fortune teller's reading. That is just life," she says.

She lets go of Anna’s hand and she realizes her cigarettes are just ashes, and she lets it fall to the ground.

"And you?" she asks Amara, lighting another one. "Will you find your dream?"

Amara smiles, exhaling the smoke through her teeth.

"Don't worry. Your life is not the only one tonight will shape. My son and I will definitely find the horses."

"And your husband?"

"As I said. Everything will work out," she says cryptic. Friendly, but Anna understands that’s the end of that conversation. She thinks of Sam and how late she’s by now, but she can’t leave without asking:

"How do you do it? How do you actually see the future?"

"I don't see it dear, I've learned to read it."

"But how is it possible? To read something that hasn't even happened, yet?"

"You are looking at the time like a river, flowing only one way. But it's not like that. Both the past, present and the future are intertwined. I can read the future because it’s already decided, like it has already happened. And the present is just an echo of your past, hoping for a future. And therefore, your life is laid out even before you are born."

"That doesn't make any sense!" Anna says, not having given this any thought, and therefore has nothing to argue with. But Amara has.

"But how come I know about your past then? I only see you as you are, here and now."

Anna doesn’t say anything. She only looks at the palm of her hand, a small realization comes crashing in, making everything happening up until now show itself in a different light.

"So what… you can’t do anything? You’re stuck in the same path, no matter what? And everything that has happened to you, happened, because it was supposed to?"

Anna wishes she never stopped to talk with this woman. Once again she went ahead and made life more complicated. Amara sighs and steps on her cigarette.

"Maybe I'm wrong," she says, churning the cigarette under her sandals. "Maybe time really is like a river, flowing only one way. Maybe that is why so many fortune tellers are telling the future all wrong. Because it changes like the tide accordingly."

She pushes herself from the car and halfway turns from Anna. Reaching for the lighter she still holds in her hand, Anna tries to give it back. Amara only raises her hands.

"No, keep it. I can see you will need it more than I will," she says with a wink, leaving Anna wondering if it’s meant as a joke, or as a warning of stress and darker times she will need some extra light and nicotine to get through. She watches as Amara reaches the door, pushing down the door handle.

"Do you ever get it wrong?" Anna asks in a loud voice so she will hear. Amara turns for a couple of seconds.

"Not even once," she says and goes into her numbered room.