The Tarot Card and the Fishing Rod

They were an odd couple. She wore purple dresses displaying loud and funky designs. She always carried a large tote with a stuffed puppy sticking its head out the bag and called him Poopsie. She also loved to carry her phone, a plastic toy phone with which she always held the most captivating and hilarious conversations. Most of her calls came just as she’d make her way up a busy line at the check-out counter on the busiest of days at the grocery store. She was a happy dreamer.

And him? The last soul on earth you would ever expect to take Deirdre seriously. Ever. A gruff man with a 5 o’clock shadow mere minutes after shaving. He’d been doing the accounts payable and receivables at Grimm, Pear and Sons – The Bare Bearing Company since he drove his first car away from his parents’ double-wide promising to never return.

On April 16 at 4:16am precisely, Deirdre woke up with a ghasp. “Robert, you cannot go fishing today!”

Now let me pull you aside from this story for a minute. Deirdre, other than Robert’s dear old great great aunt Deedee was the only person in the world who didn’t go with the obvious shortened name calling Robert – Bert. Now back to our story.

“Why can’t I go fishing?” Deirdre was already wrapping her house coat around her shivering body, “Because I saw the Dark Tower Robert. I saw the Dark Tower and it was… upside down!” Robert chuckled and pulled Deirdre down on his lap giving her a great big bear hug as he continued to laugh. “I’m serious Robert, something bad will happen if you go fishing today. Please say you’ll stay home Robert, please say you won’t go fishing!” She waved her finger in his face “It’s a bad omen. A very very bad omen Robert!” She wiped a lonely tear. “Ok Sugar Plum, I’ll stay home all day and by 1pm you’ll beg me to leave you alone.”

Deirdre stood up as Robert kept his large hairy arms around her, but she managed to wiggle her way out of his grasp.

Robert got out of bed, slipped into his slippers and continued his deep laughter. He picked up his fishing rod he’d left by the bed the previous night after re-spooling it with a new thicker line and waved it in Deirdre’s direction “You tell me what could possibly happen today and why a dream about the Black Tower could hurt me?”

“Dark Tower Robert. It’s Dark, not Black. Black Tower is a bad wine.”

Just as he started to laugh yet once again, he tripped over the pile of discarded old fishing line, tried to grab something, anything to regain his balance and stumbled forward. His foot slid out of his slipper. Robert fell forward and landed on his face, upon landing he heard a sharp crack just as he felt a sudden lightning bolt shearing through his neck.

Deirdre was too busy struggling with a fishing rod penetrating her stomach to help Robert in any way.

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Another fun writing prompt by Sarah Selecky: Write a scene about tarot cards and a fishing rod. Write for at least 10 minutes. Write by hand, in your notebook.