Light

The little girl’s spindles of blonde curls flew and flounced as she danced underneath the stars. She flew with the bats, ran towards the croaking of toads, smiling a wild sort of way. There was a feeling in her chest; the sort that tries to swallow her up and force tears out of her eyes. She only knew to describe it as happiness. But perhaps it was the foreshadowing of what was to come.

    Her mother watched from under a willow tree, a forgotten book in her lap. Matching blonde curls had been raked through and had turned frizzy. Although she would deny it, there was a weird look upon her face. Her eyes were a touch too dark, her soft smile crooked. She needed no foreshadowing, for she alone knew what was to come.

    The carnival was one of the seven world wonders for Delia Strout. As a kid, she would sneak in every year and pretend that things were different than they really were. She would pretend that her family were the rich carnival folk. She would pretend that she was a part of the trapeze act, flying through the air without the burden of ever wondering when she was going to fall. She would sneak to the back of Madame Gravestier’s Oracle Services, where she would listen to each fortune told as if it was her own. Most especially the ones that foretold great successes would come in her future. 

    The carnival felt magical, and the Oracle tent most of all. So, after years of only listening from the back, she finally saved up enough money to actually have her fortune told. It felt like a fated day.

    Perhaps Madame Gravestier would foretell her meeting a prince and him falling madly in love with her. Or perhaps she would divine that Delia would soon come upon a great fortune. The possibilities felt endless, yet the one thing she knew for certain: it would come true. She had seen it before. The Madame had predicted that a man’s great love was near, and Delia watched as he bumped into a pretty girl that he swiftly caught.

    On that fated day, Delia snuck into the carnival once again, only this time with money tucked into her pocket. She kept her hands tucked with it, crumpling the thin paper. She almost walked around to the back once more, when she remembered what she was really here for.

    There was no line leading up to the small plum colored tent. As Delia stepped in for the first time, she stopped to smell the incense. To let the soft candlelight wash over her. To look around at the odd trinkets.

    “Don’t be shy, girl. I would say there’s nothing to be frightened of, but that’s just not true.” Madame Gravestier called out from deeper inside the tent, surprising Delia out of her daze.

    “Yes, Madame.” Her voice was shaky.

    As she stepped into the final alcove of the plum tent, Delia made sure she was aware of what was happening. She wanted to remember this. She made sure to take a snapshot in her mind of Madame Gravestier sitting behind her crystal ball, clothed in an old fashioned dress that spoke of wealth and wisdom. It was red, a color Delia had long ago associated with the niceties of life. The carnival was primarily red, and the fortune teller across from her clearly had taken inspiration from that.

    Beyond the dress that Delia could not help being envious of, the crystal ball sat glowing, a bright light in the dim tent. She peered into it, hoping to see a glimpse of what was to come. What fortune she would be given.

    “You are quite imaginative, love. I only hope you’ll maintain it after your Oracle service.” She waved her hands as she spoke, her bangles and rings clanking against one another. Although her words had a flair of dramatics, Delia leaned into it. She had always lingered on every word the woman said.

    “Your face is far too expressive to not say what you think.” the Madame said, once again grounding Delia back to the moment. She blinked owlishly.

    “I apologize, I was only trying to take in the moment. I was hoping to have my future told?”

     “Yes, of course you do. All who come into my tent do. Now, would you like the regular or advanced service? Keep in mind the price difference, please.” she said, sounding nearly agitated.

    If only she could afford advanced. She vowed that next year, she would have more than enough money. Madame Gravestier would foretell her striking it rich. She really would.
    “Just the regular, please.”

    “Come sit around my crystal ball, dear. Time does not wait for dreamers.” she said, beckoning with her hand.

    Delia quickly sat down on the cushion laying in front of the crystal ball. She smoothed out her brown skirt, brushed her hair behind her ears, and eagerly looked up at the woman. She watched as Madame Gravestier curled her lips tight, her eyes squinting.

    “Ah, I thought that my tent called out to you. You are that poor girl who would listen from the back.” she finally said.

    Delia felt panicked, her heart starting to beat ahead of itself. She wasn’t supposed to have know about Delia’s borderline thieving. She could only wonder what the woman was going to do to her.

    “Please Madame, I have money. I am good for it this time.” she said, pleading. She very nearly held her hands together. She was already on her knees.

     Her lips curled up once again, only this time more pensive. Delia could only hope that she was considering it.

    “I shall only allow it because the fates say it so. But girl, I suggest you leave. The fates rarely ever push so hard.” she said, caressing her crystal ball like it was her pet.

    “If the fates say it, I will be staying.” This destined day would not come to an end because of some silly warning. It was likely just to set the mood, anyhow. Despite Madame Gravestier’s legitimacy, Delia assumed there was still some performance that needed to be upheld.

    “So be it. I suggest you close your eyes.” Before Delia could do so, the tent exploded into millions of fractures of light. It looked as if the world itself was coming apart; Light escaping through the cracks. Delia still did not close her eyes. She just watched as the fortune teller smoothed her fingers over the ball. She watched as her eyes seemed to nearly glow, and whether a trick of the light or not, Delia gathered the seriousness of this situation.

    When the light finally began to die down, Madame Gravestier opened her mouth and began to speak.

    “At midnight on the tenth year of your firstborn daughter, her light shall die out.” she yelled, then promptly slumped over. Delia knew she should walk over and shake her awake, but she was reeling. That had been like nothing she had ever overheard. And this was not how this day was meant to go.

   She was supposed to be told that riches were coming her way, or whatever other mumbo jumbo she’d heard Gravestier say before. Not that her daughter was going to die. Her unborn daughter. She looked down at her stomach, fighting off the urge to touch it.

    Delia got up and left. She didn’t even leave the money. She was reeling. She stumbled her way out of the carnival, not stopping to talk with the clowns, not stopping to pet one of the great elephants. She left and she went home. And she never walked back into the Carnival again.

    The day Louise was born was the day that Delia felt her entire soul split into two. Delia had been hesitant to even name the baby, because why name a girl who was destined to die? She did not want to grow to love the girl. She would care for her, but not nurture, she had decided.

    But then she held the girl. Her girl. And the name came, and the love came, and Delia could not imagine a world in which this baby was not loved for all the years of her life. However few years it may be. Louise became her light. She was a glowing, giggling, rosy little baby. Delia would kiss her forehead each night, and wake her up with a song in the morning. That little girl grew up only knowing the love of her mother, and not the countdown that had been put in her life.

    Sometimes, Delia wondered if the fortune had been a punishment. Louise had not been created according to God's plan. The old ladies that had once fessed over Delia now looked at Louise as if she were marked by the devil herself. Perhaps there was truth to that belief. Oftentimes, she had to fight the urge not to go back to Madame Gravestier and demand to hear more. Demand her to say that it was all a lie.

    Delia wished and wished that she would not give this fortune so much power over her life. Over Louise’s life. But as a little girl herself, she had been so unshaken in the belief that Gravestier was the real deal. That belief was hard to break.

    When Louise turned five, the countdown grew louder. The ticking became all that Delia could hear as she lay in bed. She would claw at her ears, hands raking through her blonde curls, begging the noise to stop. Then, she would go check on Louise. She would rake her fingers through her daughter’s blonde hair, and pretend that she was a normal five year old girl.

    On Christmas that year, Delia had decided to make it extra special. It was what Louise deserved. She deserved to wake up each Christmas morning and feel its magic. She had expected Louise to run straight for the neatly wrapped presents, like she had done the years prior. But she just looked up at Delia with her big owl eyes, and clambered into her lap. She grabbed onto her mothers side and squeezed, almost to the point that it hurt. Delia basked in it. Her little light.

    “It’s Christmas, Mommy! No being sad on Christmas.” Louise said, a smile in her voice. Her normally melancholy voice now sounded so bright. In that moment, Delia felt the split of her souls most prominently.

     Holding her daughter closer, once again stroking her hair, she said, “You are very right, little Lou. If I’m sad no one will eat all of the extra cookies.” she said as she tickled the little girl’s stomach.

    “Not all the extra cookies, mommy!” she shrieked, running away giggling.

    Delia tried to push away the ever present thoughts of doom from her mind, because this was a special Christmas. She was happy. She was happy to be spending this day with her little girl. But more than anything, she was sad. Completely sad.

    The day before Louise’s tenth birthday, Delia tried to act as normal as she could. But the extent of that was dragging the girl into bed with her in the morning and holding her to her chest. When Lou tried to drag herself out of her arms, she only held tighter. She kissed her head, and tried to hide the fact that tears were falling from her eyes. The sun seemed to be so much dimmer that day. She wondered if it would manage to rise next morning.

    On the day of Louise’s tenth birthday, Delia decided to take her to the park. The one where fireflies would flit out of the grass with every step you took. It used to be Louise’s favorite place in the entire world. She would shriek and laugh and run and play. In those moments, watching her daughter run around with such life, she would forget. Her souls and her heart would piece themselves back together.

    Her soul and her heart stayed separated today. More separated than she had ever felt it be. Today, the prophecy would come true and her soul would completely shatter.

    Delia sat underneath a willow tree, watching as her daughter flew with the bats, ran towards the croaking of toad; she was smiling a wild sort of way. She looked painfully happy. She was such a beautiful little girl, with her blonde curls bouncing around and her cheeks red from running. As much as Delia wanted to call her over and hold onto her until morning came, she knew it was time to let her be a little girl. 

    As the countdown became smaller and smaller, Delia began to cry. She hid it behind her book, so that Louise would not spend her last few hours being worried for her mother, like she so often was.

    As the clock came closer and closer to midnight, Delia wished the sun would rise.

   When the sun did rise, Delia walked out of the park with her head hiding away from its shaky rays. Madame Gravestier would spend the rest of her life wondering if her awful prophecy had been fulfilled.

Hadley Barger is a sophomore student in Literary Arts. She enjoys reading and writing fiction.