Fortune Teller

An old gypsy woman arrives at Hector's door.

Fortune Teller

Hector was sanding the edge of his front door when the old lady arrived. Her appearance made him think immediately of gypsy fortune tellers, so appropriately for that role was she dressed. She carried a basket with flowers in one hand.

He placed his sanding paper on the small table next to the large splinter he’d removed from the door. Straightening up, he waited for her to reach the threshold.

She shuffled forward, apparently in no hurry, until she reached him. Hector stood silently, allowing her to begin.

“Buy a nice flower for yer missus,” she said, picking a rose from the bunch and holding it out.

He shrugged. “Not married.”

“A girlfriend then,” she insisted.

“Don’t have one,” replied Hector. “Not really interested in buying flowers today, thanks.”

The old lady looked at him, her eyes narrowed. “You’ll regret that later, you will.” She spat the words with what seemed like malice.

Hector raised an eyebrow. “I doubt that very much,” he replied. Then, as she made no move to depart, he added, “No flowers wanted. Now be off with you.”

Instead of turning away, the old lady held out a hand as though to receive something.

“What’s that for?” asked Hector.

She mumbled something and continued to hold out her hand.

Hector turned to the table beside him, snatched up the splinter and jabbed at the lady’s hand. She yelled in pain and backed away, holding her hand to her chest. “What did you do that for?” she asked.

“You asked for it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You did and I can quote you,” said Hector. “‘Predictions must be paid for,’ you said. ‘Cross my palm with sliver.’ That’s exactly what you said.

“Idiot,” yelled the old lady. “I said ‘silver,’ not ‘sliver’!


Word count: 294
For Daily Flash Fiction Challenge, 06.08.25
Prompt: Include the words flower, quote, silver.