• Believer


    Ever since the time of old, people have always believed in seeing into the future. They have always been enticed by what exactly the future held for them. Humans, nothing more than mere mortals, whose only wish in the world was to dabble in the unknown, to perhaps brew spells with bat wings and snake fangs, throwing them all into the cauldron and believing that some mysterious shape would provide them with insight for what was in store for them. Shamans, witches, wizards. Many names for these practitioners have been developed over the years, and probably still exist till today.

    And along with that, names for the art in which they meddled in came along. They called them magic, clairvoyance, fortune telling. The names for these magical arts came in a never ending line, and survived, even till the age of modern humanity. True, while the beliefs of what this can do has dulled over the centuries in which it had traveled by, there is no wrong in saying that it still exists. Even if it were nothing more than a shadow, it still exists. Voodoo dolls are still sold. Tarot cards have been bought and used. Media exploration of the unknown have been broad casted and believed. Religions speaking of such have been widespread. Who are we to say that these things never existed?

    We can't.

    And so we don't. And using the thing that had survived millenniums, using the thing that has never been doubted through the time that it has existed, these things traveled throughout the world. Using the medium that we know as stories, confidence that magic is here has been circulated and established.

    'It was a long long time ago, in a far far away land..'

    As stories went, most fairy tales seemed to begin as such. And then, as the story goes on, you would find yourself immersed. Enchanted by the pleasantries that seems to be the main purpose. An innocent start, a happy ending. Those were things common to stories that pleased children.

    And what about the other? Horror stories, they were, and are still called. Stories to scare, to learn a lesson from. Nothing from which the prince rescues the princess and lives a life happily ever after. No, they're more sinister in nature, though the people who write them try their very hardest to disguise that. They are, for children, after all.

    'It was a dark and stormy night.'

    Most of them would begin as such. To bring in the atmosphere and moment of the story, one must understand. And then, something along the lines of 'evil' would appear. A demon, for instance. A demon that would ravage the earth with its presence, if children did not listen to their parents. Threats. Threats which would grow dull as the little ones grew up. But the stories go on.

    There was this particular kid that listened to all the stories. There was this one kid that never doubted whatever she was told. She believed implicitly, and never questioned. Perhaps it was due to the fact that she herself was mesmerized by such a notion. That she could simply throw things into a pot and a monster would appear. She could simply wave a stick, and flowers would be conjured. She could simply have a cat, and the cat would speak to her, being her companion forever and ever. She believed in everything, and lived her life that way. She lived believing that one day, her fondest dreams would come true, and that she would truly delve into a realm so unbelievable, so real, that she could not extricate herself from it.

    But for decades, time passed, and nothing of the sort happened. Years flitted by and nothing ever happened. And yet she still believed. Perhaps it was because of that, that inclination to believe that something magical would happen to her, that she met her.

    The woman.

    The woman who would change forever her life.

    She wasn't doing anything special that day. From a kid to a flourished woman, she had grown. Clear eyes, an intelligent head. A head of lavish chestnut curls, a body that had curves so well defined she might as well have been a sculpture. Her walk was confident and had a respected arrogance. She was a lady that was lusted after by most, envied by all.

    She had a respectable job, with respectable earnings, and she had just returned from work, and darkness grew tight over her head. The street lamps flickered and cast stripes of shadow on her back, and the gray gravel ground seemed to stretch on forever and ever as she struggled to reach home. It was nothing more than a usual day, and the thought that the usual night would precede that usual day was lodged within her mind. But then now, as parents usually say to their children, 'don't think, be sure,' this woman was suddenly reminded of that fact. And so, she lifted her head. And just in time.

    For looming before her, ominous in the night light, was a sign, its neon lightings fading away and threatening to disappear totally. 'Have your fortune told here', the sign said. Stepping closer, this woman peered into the windows of the establishment. Peering through the intricately designed windows, all she could see was darkness. Perplexed, she stepped back and looked at her watch. It read twelve. Well then, there was no doubt that this place was closed. But then again, wasn't making sure the pure motto of her own individual self?

    Stepping from the window and towards the old wooden door speckled with peeling paint, she pressed her chilled hand against the door and pushed lightly.

    And the door swung open.

    The hinges squeaked noisily, and for a moment, the woman looked around anxiously. Would there be someone out there who thought that she was breaking in? It certainly looked as if she was attempting to do so. The lights inside, if there were, were off, and there seemed not a soul around. Of course, even if souls were around, she probably wouldn't see it. Heart thumping furiously, the woman stepped inside quickly.

    Noxious fumes pummeled her senses as she closed the door behind her, the hinge squeaking again. It seemed as if there was a purple gas swirling before her, and she hurriedly waved her hand at it, hoping to clear it off her path. And to her absolute surprise, the acrid scent and sight of the smoke began to retreat from her path. Heart threatening to simply leap out of her chest to lie squelching on the ground, she looked eagerly around the place.

    And an old, elderly woman stepped from the shadows.

    She stepped back out of reflex, her eyes never leaving the old woman who still stood motionless in the shadows, a red shawl wrapped around her shoulders, her eyes piercing into the gloom of the place.

    'I'm sorry,' she called, 'I was just..'

    'You are here, because you are supposed to be.'

    Her voice was rough and hoarse, as if it hadn't been used in a long time. Our intruder swallowed, and began to speak once more.

    'My name is Naomi. I was just looking at your sign, and..'

    'You want to have your fortune read.'

    Once more, Naomi was interrupted. Frowning, she berated herself. Of course the old woman knew what she wanted. Why else would she step into a place that said 'have your fortune read here'? Was stupidity contagious? Because she has this really silly man next to her in her office... But no matter. Approaching the old woman, who looked her over calmly, Naomi felt a sense of urgency. She was eager, and she wanted to believe.

    'Are you accurate? Can you really see into the future?'

    'Do you really think I can see into the future? Believe, and it will happen, my child. Come.'

    The woman chuckled and turned her back on Naomi, disappearing once more into the shadows. A curtained doorway greeted Naomi as she advanced, and Naomi glanced at it, interested in the deep patterns that the material had. Reaching out a hand to lightly touch it, she gasped. It was so light! And it looked so thick, and so heavy. Surely this must be magical? All the stories that were told to her returned to her mind, vivid and clear in her eyes. This had to be it. This had to be what she was waiting for. This had to be what all her patience was to yield. She could finally see into the future. She could finally do something magical.

    Brushing aside the cloth, she entered the room, darkened as it were outside. Naomi squinted, and could barely make out the old woman. When her eyes adjusted to the dimness of her surroundings, however, Naomi saw the woman beckon to her. Hurrying to her, she saw the woman point at a seat opposite from where she was situated. There was no table, there was no crystal ball. There were no tarot cards. There was nothing mystical, there was only the woman, herself, and the couple of chairs in the room. Plus, the chairs were nothing of the plush kind, just wooden ones with hard straight backs. None to say, Naomi was quite disappointed.

    Taking the seat opposite the woman, she fidgeted with her bag, before placing it on the ground.

    'Who are you?'

    The woman affixed her eyes on Naomi, and her senses tingled in all sense of negativity. The old woman's gaze never wavered, and Naomi sat there for what seemed to be a century, a millennium to her, before the woman blinked and sat back in her chair once more, taking deep breaths.

    'You believe in magic.'

    It was not a question, it was a statement. Of course, that statement alone was enough to revive the spirit of belief within Naomi. Yes! She did! How did the woman know? But before she could open her mouth to ask her question, the woman silenced her with a wave of her finger.

    'You've been told stories. Stories that you've believed. Stories that you want to happen. Stories that have fascinated you. And you've been told those stories by those who are around no more. They've perished in the hands of Prometheus' gift. And now, you have no one. You're lonely. But that is not all. In the near future, your line of life will wavered, changed by one of neither past nor present, but of future. That line will sink into the depths of oblivion, never again to be recovered to the light. For the near future, darkness will follow in your footsteps. That is what is in store for you, and that it what you may choose to believe.'

    Naomi remained silent, and stared at the woman, fear worming into her heart. Bad luck? Oblivion? Those were heavy words, words Naomi would have never thought would apply to her. Her fingers moved nervously over fingers, her brows creased in a manner that would undoubtedly give her wrinkles in her old age. Her piercing green eyes were freckled with worry, and her heart seemed to do its work far more vigorously than before. She believed. She wanted to believe, and so she did.

    'Am I to have bad luck?'

    'Very much so, my dear, if you choose to believe.'

    The old woman's voice was kind, as if she knew what Naomi's fate was and wanted to try and shower her with compassion to compensate for all the bad things that was to happen in the future. Naomi swallowed, and without another word, dashed out of the building. Behind her, the old woman remained motionless on her seat. Naomi could not see it, but a sinister smile formed on her chapped lips, and a smile touched her aged face, eyes following Naomi's back as she hurriedly exited from the building.

    It had been a whole week since then, and Naomi had nothing happen to her. She would smile nervously to herself sometimes, and assure herself that nothing would happen, that it was all a hoax. But so deep was her roots in the belief of the old woman, that she could not send the cursed words into exile. She could not pay attention, or rather, she paid far too much attention to everything she did, making sure that she would do nothing wrong. She did everything carefully, to the extent that she was the main cause of annoyance to almost everyone around her.

    And yet, that was not enough.

    Following a couple of weeks after that, she was fired. Thrown from the company that she had given more than a couple of years to, thrown from the company like rubbish that had served its purpose and was wanted no more. And they gave her reasons that she found, frankly, ridiculous. Too careful? Too slow? Holding things up? Her previous efficiency, which was the only thing keeping her around, was no longer present? Visions of plummeting life began to cloud her mind, and her heart sank into despair. It was happening. It was finally happening. She knew it had to come true. She knew she could do nothing to escape it. What did she try so hard for? The future was never wrong. It was only going to get worse.

    And so it did.

    Without a job to supplement her expenditure, gradually, she sank into desolation. Refusing meals, refusing care. Her life grew dark, and nothing seemed right anymore.

    And that was when she decided.

    She would pay the old woman another visit.

    And yet, when she once more, walked along the lonely streets that she had walked in that night, she could find it no longer. Pacing the dirt-ridden floor over and over again, her eyes searched frantically for the fading neon signs that had once captured her attention and held her spellbound for the moment. And yet, she could not see it. She could see no hint that the shop had once existed. Doubts of the fact that that day never existed and that magic was surreal expelled from her mind, for she clearly remembered the harsh tones that were used to speak to her on that night, she returned, her footsteps laden with the burden that loaded her shoulders.

    And yet, when she opened her door, the old lady stood in her apartment to welcome her, yellow teeth beaming through her lips, stretched taut with the smile.

    'You were looking for me?'

    Naomi rushed forward, her thin hands reaching for the woman. She looked terrible, and she knew it. Her shining eyes were now dulled and almost rendered useless, for she saw nothing of the physical world. Her limbs and structure clearly told that she was reduced to the point of near emaciation. Her nails, once manicured carefully and polished with every imaginable color was chipped and unhealthy, and her hair lay greasy, limp on her shoulders, trailing down on her back. The old woman looked her over, and sighed an elaborate sigh.

    'Tell me, tell me. Tell me what else you see. You're real. Why can't I find you? Why can you find me? Am I going to be like this forever? Am I always going to do everything wrong? Am I going to have bad luck? Will I die?'

    Naomi's voice was frantic, and while she moved close to the old woman and made to touch her, her hands never really reached her. The woman was something Naomi did not understand, and something deep within her consciousness told her not to touch the woman. But she wanted to know. She had to know.

    'I still see nothing different from what I saw, dear. I still see what I saw, and I repeat from then – it is your choice to believe it or not. It is for you to decide if my words are to be true.'

    'Of course it's true! Of course your words are true! Look at me now! You predicted it! You said that darkness would follow me, my life would disappear into oblivion, and all that! Look at me! I'm better off dead!'

    The old woman looked at Naomi, walked close to her, till Naomi could see every line that wrinkled her face. Lifting her crumpled hands, the woman took Naomi by the chin and gently caressed her cheeks, her hair.

    'You won't die. You can't die. You want to, but you can't.'

    And then, she just disappeared, with a last lingering sentence hanging in the air.

    'You will lose everything..'

    Naomi screamed into the air, but no one was there to listen anymore. Panic rode her body and fueled her entire being. It was all she could do to prevent herself from running about her apartment, screaming the voice out of herself. Instead, she settled for sinking to her knees, staring into the space before her, all light going out of her eyes.

    Three days. Three days since anyone last saw her. Three days since anyone saw her step out of her house. Three days since anyone even heard a word from her. And yet, no one came. No one saw her. No one concerned for her. She had no one. She had made them all disdainful of her. She had made everyone feel nothing but distaste for her current state. She would allow no one to help her. The woman had said it, and it would come to pass. She believed it.

    But then, a knock sounded on the door. A knock. Naomi's bloodshot eyes darted in that direction, and stared at the wooden door. Then slowly, as she riveted her eyes away, the entire place came into view. It looked normal to her, but to anyone outside, horror was an understatement. Garments of every sort, tops, bottoms, lingerie, they all lay scattered all over the room, some soiled, some simply flung around in a state of desperation. What little food stained the ground; she had been sitting in that same one place for three days. A thin layer of dust covered all the furniture from the lack of cleaning, and there was the smell of decay drifting around the room.

    But if the room was bad, Naomi was even worse.

    Several tufts of chestnut hair greeted her sight as she gazed at the ground, and her head was matted with blood. Her fingernails were bitten, and contained little flesh color bits underneath them. Her arms were scratched bloody, and crimson trailed down her limbs, though she felt no pain, all the while still absentmindedly raking her nails down her arms. Around her crumpled legs, a small pile of waste. She stank even worse than the house itself.

    Several gunshots rang in what seemed like a long distance away, and the sound of metal clanging on the ground sounded. The door burst open, and people clad in police uniform rushed in, their guns held up professionally before them, readying themselves for any sign of trouble.

    But of course none greeted them.

    Slowly, they inched towards Naomi, and she never even noticed them. She never even noticed them as they took her hands away from her arms, their noses wrinkled in disgust and apprehension. Lifting her up was barely an effort, she was so light. Carefully, they placed her on a chair, and spoke quietly to her, but her mind only registered them as noises, and gave no response whatsoever. She could hear people trudging about in the room, but she paid no heed. She could feel people touching her and making soothing voices, but her mind was elsewhere.

    All that was on her mind was the hoarse voice of the woman, viciously declaring her future.

    After an age, the lifted her and lead her to a car, her feet shuffling on the floor in which she would not have stepped onto by herself. Gently handling her, the people placed her in a car, and there she sat limply, nothing more than a doll enveloped in rubbish of herself. She never even noticed it when the car moved off, and stopped again, and she was guided out, then met by people in white who took her. Clearly the blood that tangled her hair together, a normal person would have winced or flinched as the alcohol touched the skin. But not Naomi. Naomi didn't even know what they were doing. Stripping her, they did their best to clear her, and Naomi gave no protest as they did what they were supposed to do. They lay her in a bed of white, in a solitary room, and Naomi only stared at the ceiling. Days passed as they attempted to get her to open her mouth and shove food down her gullet, but then she protested vehemently. In which case, she got her arms pierced and tubes attached. And still she lay motionless. People came and whispered in her ear that her apartment was no longer hers; it had been confiscated by the bank for not paying, but that made no sense to her. People came and whispered in her ear that they were her uncle, her aunt, her mother, her father, but she never acknowledged them. Everyone was puzzled, but only she knew what happened.

    'Depression,' they claimed. 'She needs a psychologist.' Advise from all over shot in her direction, and for credit to those who cared still, they did everything that they could to help her, to aid her in her relief from the deep abyss that she was sinking into. She lived day after day enduring people touching her, speaking to her in pitiful tones. But she didn't really care. Then, they finally gave up and left her alone.

    And then, again, the old woman appeared, and only did Naomi's eyes open wide in recognition.

    From vocal chords long unused, Naomi attempted to speak. She reached for the woman, and made nasal sounds. Her arms flopped uselessly on the bed as she tried to reach for the woman, but to no avail. For once, she attempted to reach out. She attempted to do something more than just lying on a bed. She attempted to communicate with the one whom she believed could change her fate.

    'It has been quite some time, hasn't it? And look at you. You look like a mess. '

    Naomi's eyes blazed accusingly at the old woman.

    'Now, it isn't my fault. I only told you what I saw, my dear. I repeated, many times, might I add, that it was for you to believe. The future can be changed, darling, but only if you believe so. Belief is very important. Why do you think that I've existed over such a long period? Why do you think I appeared before you?'

    The old woman smiled, and Naomi looked accusingly still, albeit a look with confusion as well.

    'I am called Magic. Some call me Mystery. Some call me Unknown. But ultimately, I still serve the same purpose. I see the people who believe. I live through their belief. I am sustained by the never-ending belief that permeates this world. I survive because people believe. See, belief can be a very strong thing, indeed. Very strong. You believed what I told you, and here you are. You believed in the wrong thing, my darling. Believe in yourself, instead. I have lived for so long, and I am so tired. And yet, people never learn. They believe in me, rather than themselves, and that is why I exist. As for you, I saw down the path of what would happen should you have believed in me. There is always more than one path, my dear. And I only looked down on one of them. I am not Fate. I do not decide what happens or not. Perhaps I am simply nothing more than a messenger, an extension of the games the omnipotent ones above are playing.

    You human beings are nothing more than poor, poor beings. But should you be pitied? I do not know. '

    And with that, she vanished once more, and a tear trailed down Naomi's cheek, and her head bowed down.

    And she never believed anymore. But it was too late. It all came too late. From a white room to another she was transferred, and her hands were bound behind her back, due to her immense records of having tried to kill herself but being stopped in time. Only this was true. Only this was true.

    She would be living a life worse than death itself. She wanted to die, but she could not.

    And even then, she could imagine the old woman's benign face, smiling before her, with an all-knowing look.

    'Believe, and it will happen.. '