black cats & crossed paths

I am called the thieves daughter, in the dark of night throughout the mossy fog lit forest it is well known. Not that many take any mind of it, and of those who do, even fewer are affected. It’s just me and my magic small black journal where I make magic come to life. I live with my mom, she’s works hard but also is marked with this status. She tells me if the superstitions but not the ones you have heard in your world. In your world when a cat crosses your path, then you are fated to have a run in with some bad luck. I have brought many a black cats to life in my little journal. They are guides and protectors. Here we cross black cats and they stare into our souls from their glassy eyed cage. To cross a black cat is a sign of honor, you must make sure to humbly look them in the eye to have your soul scoured. They know better then anyone how to see the truth. Don’t take up too much of their time, don’t overstay your truth. But see it reflected back to you and acknowledge the greatness in their indifferent wisdom.

My mother tells me many things that I’d rather not face. She tugs on my realities. In my book I wrote of many realities and truths that I come across, many contradictions and much unexplainable.

How many realities should one have before they turn 26? How many versions of truth exist within my being alone? She humors me and criticizes to warn me of her sour fate. She tells stories of a street called wall that I have no recollection of in my current state. I’ve been through some trauma coming into it, the ride was bumpy, in fact driving on it gravity failed and I floated upward the way cars fall into lakes that go too fast but only backwards into the air- the air was thick like water tho. The glass shimmering in the forest turning into conduits of crystals. This I put in my book too, although I’d rather not relive the feeling over and over again.

My father didn’t steal anything so material as money or items, but it left a curse on nonetheless, most everything except my journal which is a conduit for only my most precious drawings and dwellings. No one near could find peace for many moons and turns of the planet. I’ve tried to draw them, but they never turn out quite right. Because he stole something far greater, he stole an idea. It wasn’t his but he took it nonetheless. This idea has been a plague on our kind since the beginning, writhing in its skin aching to be believed. To explain it at its simplest form wouldn’t do justify to the slow grip that my father took on this idea. It takes a story written in a small black book, one that transcends realities and looks you right in the eye. Prepare yourself to cross a black cat.

I was imparting these truths stoically into my small comfortably feeling journal and I was so focused in the atrium of the library that I didn’t notice a strange figure sit down near me. It took me a wayward glance into the distance while pondering the correct word to use to notice this rather plain women dressed smartly in black linen clothes, she looked otherworldly in her countenance, numb almost to all that going on around her. In front of her was a yellowed envelope carelessly open but not far enough that my quick assessment could ascertain what was inside. I went done to writing, distracted crossed off words as I had lost my train of thought. And I looked up towards the light glass ceiling wondering why she had chosen my table. I don’t look particularly friendly. I risked another slight glance in her direction, trying to make more sense of her seating decision as the library was mostly empty at this point so the tables were all open around us, as I looked up she made direct eye contact and said this is your Emily as she cathartically pushed the envelope towards me. I was stunned, I looked down at this thick old fashioned envelope, it felt nice, thick not like envelopes used today, I hadn’t opened it yet and I looked up but she was gone. Another stun for this strange interaction. I thought maybe some propaganda for her cause, I had received many reach outs for groups while sitting in my solitude, as I opened the envelope a blank check with no personal information fell onto the table. The check was odd, it was embossed in a golden and purple print that is usually reserved for fancy cards and signs. The dollar amount written out in gold font was three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. And the subject line said,

“you are the luck we’ve crossed make your mark on this world. We’ve been watching and know it will go to the right places.”

I dropped the check and noticed my small black notebook was no where to be seen. What a trade off.

Looking back on this, I have tried to logic through where the woman came from or where she went. I tried vigorously to ask the library staff for information but even the security cameras held their secrets tight. After months of searching, I cashed the check. And set up my own writing and drawing oasis called the black cat cafe, where I tell people of my tale.