The Cup Stirs Itself

It was the year 1900.

The storyteller, (ahem)...I mean, the Fortune Teller stared into the teacup with great concern. She swirled it this way, then that, tipped it a bit first to the right, then to the left, and lifted her head to stare at her client with a raised eyebrow at Miss Butter Tart in front of her. The young woman was all of 22 years old. Bright red curls piled on her head with a hairpiece, long skirt, gloves and fashionable bag. Her chaperone waited outside. Spoiled, indifferent, but not carefree - the word was not invented yet in the context of womanhood.

The tea leaves swirled and sifted and gave a little sparkle then clumped together in individual tiny piles that lined the inside of the tea cup.

The anonymous client seated daintily looked back at her in the eye intently. An entire 15 minutes had passed without a word since she entered the shop to get her tea leaves read. "Is there any actual speaking that goes with this?" she said as she shook her head slightly, a red tendril falling over one eye. She had to get this right and was a gosh darnit genius doing it this way. She inquired as if with great concern.

"Ahh, such concern I can see you care so much about the matter."

"Yes, of course I do. How would you feel? Every time I come back there is something gone," she stated with what seemed like a great exaggeration. Jewelry, money, uhh, a hat, paperwork..."

"...Paperwork?" The Fortune Teller stared harder, more intent on discovery. Hmm, I see in the arrangement of leaves that yes, numerous items are missing. There IS a thief in your sphere. Why, it's someone known to you, well. well. This person is a fema..."

"Lemme see," Butter Tart shifted in her seat and leaned forward.

Clutching the cup close to her the Fortune Teller would not disclose the inner contents, "no, no, no."

"Fine, anything else?" and she smoothed her skirt over her pantaloons.

The room began to turn into itself. The paisley curtains swayed in one direction as the swag lamp made slight little circles, barely noticeable. The emerald green carpet buckled a bit near the chair legs. The ornate candle lamp breathed as if there was air inside it. A hologram from two centuries in the future stepped outside the shadow of the corner and stood still as if a little confused. What was he doing there? Who knows, just go with the flow.

Magic has a shift of its own when truth comes into play, and the truth was certainly being played with this day. Magic really has to nothing to do with tea leaves, that's the truth part. However, it will extend its essence when liar's work is a motion. But which one is the liar?

Power meets wind at times when a mystic is challenged and the unassuming, middle-aged Fortune Teller obscured the truth most magnificently due to the dame there being off one's chump! Trying not to glare or give off a haughty essence she carefully described what to do.

"To catch this thief you must set a trap. To fasten the work magically you must take careful steps. When you go to your house, walk around the house in a circular fashion three times and you will feel sufficiently dizzy, believe it or not this is a necessity. Then go up the steps to the house backwards. Yes, walk backwards into the house and do not turn to fit the key in, no no...you must feel your way."

"But why..." Miss Butter Tart's gloved hand began to rub her brow. The concentration being too much for her.

"I'm not finished! This way the neighbours will not know if you are coming or going. Surely the thief is hiding in the neighbour's house to watch. This will confuse the thief and she will think you are leaving, when in fact you will be hiding inside in wait." she nodded with a wink.

"Ah-ha," uttered the silver lining halfway out of the corner, still lost.

"How much?"

"Six pence for the reading, naught for your own cup of tea."

Lie met liar as she stared Miss Butter Tart in the eye and said good-bye. "Indeed," the Fortune Teller muttered to herself after the door closed. Who goes to a mystic of all people to liiiie? The Tart took the household items herself and sold them through the newspaper under an assumed name. Practicing her deceit was the intent of the reading and to plant a seed. Believing her own lie was necessary in order to tell it.

When testing wisdom be wary then of advice. One simply gets what one deserves and a fool's favour doesn't really exist. Backward steps are a type of karma that is sure to get one caught. Absurdity in motion and all leaves one bare to discern.

*

Photo illustration credit: Artwork by Harry Roseland, Titled: Reading Tea Leaves, New British Museum, circa 1800s

Lachapelle is an eight-time published Author with award-winning poem entries in the past and is also published in magazines and journals. Her books and writing bio can be found here:

Lachapelle Author Website

She is also a Rec Therapist and Life Coach.