Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

For a man dressed in black riot gear, he was a handsome devil. Or at least that's what the old woman with the glass eye and the rune stones thought as she watched him approach with the security entourage. Coughing thick and wetly, the action dislodged something possibly important in her chest, and she spit it on ground.

The crowds scattered from the wedge of troops in the hazy amber light but the old woman didn't budge. They would arrive at her stoop and that was what she wanted. Every day it was the same, the nightly clearing before curfew in the city. Glancing up at the geodesic dome stretched high above her head, the old woman pondered the red dust swirling in a vortex, whipping by at over a hundred miles per hour.

"Zella, Zella, Zella." If anyone could sound disapproving and congenial at the same time, it was him. "Come on -- you know the time. You need to go inside now."

"Don't coddle me, Petrovich." Zella smiled a near toothless grin and began rolling a cigarette, dipping into a small pouch in her pocket for the tobacco. "I'm old, not dumb. I have something to tell you, yes?"

The man smiled and shook his head. "All right, make it quick. If the chief catches me -"

"Oh, to hell with the chief." Her smile widened and Petrovich shot her a look of mock horror before his face blossomed into a wide smile. Zella sighed, transfixed for a moment.

"Don't let him catch you saying that. Might find yourself in the brig."

"Bah." She made a rude noise and dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. The other hand lifted the cigarette to her yellowed lips, tongue poking out to lick the glue line. Satisfied with the shape, she placed it between her lips and patted around for a match.

"You should quit." A flame hung in the air between them, fueled by the lighter in his hand. Zella grinned appreciatively around the cigarette before leaning forward to light the tip. Blue smoke curled from her nostrils as she exhaled.

"Like you're one to talk, eh?" She pointed a stained finger back to him. Petrovich raised his own cigarette -- soldiers' rations -- to his lips, gripping it between a black glove-covered thumb and forefinger as he cupped his hand to hide the burning tip.

He shrugged and adjusted the plasma rifle slung over his shoulder. "What were you going to tell me?"

"Not good." Zella sighed, ashes falling from the end of her cigarette, bobbing in her mouth as she spoke. "Not so good."

"Am I gonna die or something?" Teasing, he smirked. It faded quickly when she shot him a slow look.

"It is not wise to joke about these things, boy. You should know this as well as any. Your mother, at least she--"

"Zella, leave my mother out of this." Petrovich warned, pointing his cigarette at the old woman.

"All right, all right." She raised her hands in surrender. "I shall say no more of your mother. But know this. I have seen something quite bad." Leaning forward, she lowered her voice till it was a gravely whisper. A streak of dimming light glinted off of the glassy concave of her fake eye, adding to the chill running through Petrovich's spine. "Someone will die. A loved one or someone you trust. By your hand. Before the week is over."

"You sure?" He didn't look at her, but watched his thumb and forefinger rolling the cigarette back and forth between them. Petrovich tossed the butt, the thought of taking another drag souring his stomach. A shower of sparks and ashes flew from the tip when it hit the pavement, bouncing twice in the low gravity before it skidded slowly away.

"Maybe, but yes."

His brow knitted together in confusion, but he didn't ask what it meant, knowing she wouldn't give a straight answer. The old woman sank back into the lengthening shadows.