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Fun Fact : This story contains exactly 1134 words. (Hyphenated counting as 2.) The poem at the end is 34. How Fun Is That?
What I have done is gotten a custom deck. The readings didn’t feel right, they didn’t seem like mine. I didn’t order it in the usual way, though. My old deck, as unfitting as I thought it was, had given me the idea to let it go itself, and as I did my final reading, I had noticed that multiple of the figures on the cards gestured to the papers on my desk. Not a stack of papers, nothing necessarily “important”, but… the papers I folded intricately, the origami that I was unfortunately known for by my friends. There was only one unfolded paper, which I took in my paper-shredded hands, and folded into the first thing I could remember exactly how to make.
The message wasn’t as intricate as I would have normally made it, but it was perfect for the job. The difference in the weight of its wings would be imperceivable by most, my experience made it obvious how to make it balance without giving up on the already creased paper. The nose wasn’t weighted enough to let it fly fast, but speed was not the intention here. The message was in the folds, and the recipient is waiting.
I don’t know who the recipient is. I don’t know why I thought this would be anything other than another piece of paper for someone to notice on the ground, for a kid to pick up and throw around until it was unable to fly anymore, or for someone to see and decide to throw away, but I suspended my disbelief, as is the traditional practice when performing these childlike actions, and the only way the spirit of the cards will speak to you. If I were to see a paper that someone had folded with intent to be something more than just a paper on the ground, I’d probably keep it. That was not what would happen with this one though, I don’t know where it would go, but I don’t think it would ever touch the ground. The window beckoned for the item I had sculpted, and I leaned through, and tossed it into the unforgiving breath of the wind. I did not question even once the authority of the compulsion to do this.
And I went back to my table. The candles were still lit, though only the ones reaching high enough not to destroy the papers that were dangerously close. Not that I would have cared about anything more than the threat of having an uncontained flame quickly take over the table, then more. It is the process of making the item that was fulfilling, rather than the value of the item itself. I wait for something. Suspension of disbelief is hardest at this time, it feels truly pointless to give something unreal the ability to make me sit and wait, expecting something real to happen. Every noise, after I realize what it was instead of what I am waiting for– not that I know what I am waiting for–, makes it harder to hold on to the thread of unreality that I am desperately trying to pull into being. I have yet to actually read the cards I had drawn earlier, I had not put them away, and they were still pointing to the papers of realized potential. A real reading would be an adequate waste of time.
The three cards I had drawn, The World, The Magician, and the Page of Wands. Uncommon for me to have gotten two major arcana in one three card reading. The meaning was unclear, as it always is, but there was something there. I fail to recall how they had pointed me towards my papers. The World was reversed, upside down, and the feeling that life had become slow and stagnant was what it brought to mind. Perhaps that I was not seeing opportunities that were right at my feet. The Magician was better news, I had what I needed to change this, and even without reading the cards, I felt as if I already had just taken a step to do so. The Page of Wands was likely the most reassuring out of all of them, indicating that the results would be soon, the time for change was approaching quickly. The reading felt right, the first time I had done a reading that actually felt like it was right.
There was a knock at the door. This sound required more investigation to reason whether or not the unreality I was barely still keeping myself inside would be broken, and a twinge of hope appeared, just a bit. There was no one at the door. There was nothing but a small package, sealed in the same way any other delivery would be, but the logo was off. The typical lifeless smile of the delivering monopoly was replaced with something else, still a smile, but more genuine than the logo that the corporation uses. I picked the box up and walked inside. My previous deck was still there, neatly put away, though I hadn’t done that. I opened the box, it was easy to do, softer tape than I expected.
And there was a new deck, one that had a different style, more my own, I would say upon a first glance. I open it and examine it, it is the same familiar cards, more animate than the other deck. There was a strange difference, though, one I cannot explain. The Fool, typically labelled as “0”, was instead “1”, and each of the major arcana was given a value one higher than you would find in a typical deck, and an extra card was added, the seventy-ninth in the deck, the twenty-third major arcana, I assumed, not one I recognized, but I found that it fit. It was The Smile.
I would not do a reading with these cards yet. I would wait until I felt like doing a reading, as I had before, earlier today. Perhaps I make it a regular morning ritual. I set the cards down, placing them back into their case, and I look at my old deck. There was a single card outside of its case, The World, and as I inspected it to place it back inside, I found that the card was empty. The figure typically found on the card was gone, only the decorative outline remained, and the name of the card was changed to “Never The Same”. Some elaborate trick, this was, be it magical or not. It was strange to try to believe it.
The world was my paper,
The arcane filling air,
I claim I’m world shaper,
A world to repair.
We relight the taper,
In a ritual prayer,
We’re breathing the vapor,
Of paper we tear.