A single black feather falls into a muddy puddle as I walk down the sidewalk. I tell my babushka-clad grandmother when I get to her place. She’s trained me to see omens in everything. Homeschool for the superstitious.
“You’ll die in a flood,” she squawks from the couch.
I laugh and pat her head. She flicks me off with a gnarled finger. To get her back, when I go, I leave the TV on the good news, and I leave the remote on the other side of the room.
On the way home, dark pimples of clouds fester on the horizon. I roll sunglass-covered eyes at a crow perched on a swinging traffic light. Death omens be damned, it’s nice out.
Still, my heartbeat drums as rain begins to pound the windshield. Hands shaking, wipers flapping, I pull into a parking lot to be safe. I’m still laughing at my silliness when the deluge comes roaring around the strip mall. The engine stalls when the water hits. Panic rips through me as I scrabble for the door.
I picture my grandmother sitting on her couch. She’s going to tell me I told you so.
Julia Rajagopalan is a writer of speculative and literary fiction who lives just outside of Detroit. She's a member of the SFWA and the HWA. To read more of her stories, check out her website: http://JuliaRajagopalan.com.
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