A Drinking Story
With nothing left to pour his energy into, Martin faltered by the sea. Doubt crept in, without an outlet for Experience. Five years passed, then another two. And then one day, a platoon of ghosts arrived, some fairly recently deceased, some definitely far more rotting and decaying, and they stayed just long enough to stir small violent storms in Martin's mind. And then one day, later that day, they departed just like that without so much as have a nice day or see ya later not if I see you first and Martin shouted a helpless stream of vulgar profanities at their vapors as they trailed down the sidewalk to ensure they would never return so incredibly vulgar were they that when the ghosts turned to face his screams they crumbled to the ground as one with the weight of his words and then Martin got out his trusty broom and dustpan and swept them up and threw them into the huckleberry bushes and that was that day.
Martin came back into the house. One ghost remained, standing in the corner of the living room. Martin continued on into the kitchen, ignoring the ghost, poured himself a glass of water, then came back out and sat down on the couch to read the newspaper, something he had wanted to do all day.
"Don't you want to know who I am?" the apparition finally asked.
"Not particularly," Martin replied, not looking up from his book.
"You're not curious in the least?" came another question from the corner.
Martin looked up, studied the ghost for a brief friendly second, then returned to his magazine.
"Listen, you seem like a nice enough guy. But I really would like to relax right now. I'm trying to have..."
"Yes, I know—two days in a row where nothing happens," said the ghost, finishing Martin's sentence. "I know!"
"Good! So, then, you must then know that, by the very virtue of your presence, you are, of course, impeding my goal. In fact, this day is now shot as being the possible first of the two days, all because of you. And your friends. I'm not saying it's your fault entirely, but you did come in with your buddies out there. So, if you don't mind..."
Martin motioned to the door.
"Oh goodness! I'm not with that group! Ha ha!" the apparition laughed. "Ha ha! Say. Do me a favor. One little favor. Just, take a look at me. Take a good long hard look at me and tell me what you see."
"And then you'll leave?"
"You have my word."
Martin studied the apparition.
"You're right, you're not like the others. You seem more sophisticated. More in control of... why you're here." Martin was intrigued now, was starting to like this shady little character, the exact same way how you start to get invested in a character in a story you're reading. "There's something about you... I can't put my finger on it. What is it exactly?"
The ghost could barely contain itself. "I'm you! In the future!"
With these words Martin suddenly realized that the ghost was upsidedown.
"Why are you here?"
"So you can see."
"To see that it's all possible. All the ways you seek to embrace. All the paths you wish to travel. They're all possible. It's nothing but pure possibilities."
"Then why are you upsidedown?"
"Who's upsidedown?" the ghost asked, with a hard chuckle and an even harder implication. Martin paused, then smiled. The Christmas Tree laughed. (It was my birthday.)
The ghost was beginning to grow on Martin. He was enjoying its company. He rose from his chair and turned toward the kitchen.
"Listen, why don't you sit and stay awhile. Can I get you something—a glass of wine, maybe?"
"Oh, no thanks. I don't drink, " Future Martin replied.
Martin sighed. "I was afraid you were going to say that," he mumbled to himself.
Upon The Eating of 7 Fortune Cookies
The social scene will be a lot more fun today and you will be the center of a special group's attention. Your friends will be generous with invitations, and a messenger will soon bring good tidings. Someone from your past will soon happily re-enter your life, a distant romance will begin to look more promising, and a thing of beauty shall bring you great joy.