Love Bites

Onion Tears

Onions. I hate them. With a passion. When you peel them, they make you cry, and they suck. Ophelia decided we are having beef stew for dinner, and so that meant peeling onions. So by the time we got done peeling onions, we were both a laughing, crying mess. Our faces were covered in tears, and it was really blurry. But finally, we got the stew on the stove, and we sit down for some tea, and I get to ask her about Marina. "About Marina? Earlier, what did she mean?" I blurt out. She looks startled for a second, then she sighs and sets her tea on the table. "I was wondering when you'd ask about her. Marina, is, we'll as I said earlier, special. Our bloodline has been gifted with certain, qualities, that most people don't have." I frown, quite a bit confused. She notices my face chews on her bottom lip. "I should begin at the beginning. Did your adopted parents tell you anything about your lineage?" I shake my head no and she nods. "Of course not." Taking a rubber band off of her wrist, she tugs her long red hair into a messy bun. I wonder how old she is, she doesn't seem like she should be my aunt, but I think it might be rude of me to ask her age. "Do you know what a prophet is?" She asks suddenly. I raise my eyebrow. Last year, in English class we learned briefly about prophets, but I only know a little. I didn't pay that much attention to it cause the teacher was kinda crazy. "I know a little bit. They see the future, or something like that, don't they?" I say to her. She winced and sighs again. "That's one of our more vague terms, yes. But the future isn't set in stone remember that." She looks deeply into my eyes and I look away, a little unnerved. I fold my legs underneath me and let myself get more comfortable. "So, uh, what's the, longer description?" I ask her. She smiles at my question. "Prophets are people who tell the future, as you said earlier. But the future is always changing, by the choices we make. Therefore there are many different futures for everyone, good and bad futures for good and bad people. All these paths are all tangled up together, jumbled up so that normal people can't see what's in store for them. But us prophets, we can untangle these futures, and people come to us, and we tell them theirs." She gets done talking and I realize that she has a tattoo on her wrist, it looks Latin. I'll have to ask her about it later. Right after I figure out if she's crazy. She must see the question on my face, because she sighs, again. What is with her and sighing, I mean, come on! "Not everyone in our bloodline is a prophet though, some of them are seers, others are um... Never mind, um, I should check the stew, I'll be right back." Before I can say anything, she jumps up and runs back inside to the kitchen. I soon back into my chair and close my eyes. I wonder what she meant. I hear footsteps behind me, and I turn around, ready to get back to our discussion, and figure out why she ran off like that. But it's not Ophelia, it's Marina. I smile at her and she waves, shyly. "Hey, Marina, can I talk to you?" I whisper to her. She scrunched up her little button nose. "Why are you whispering Ria?" She says loudly. I smile at the nickname she gave me. I beckon her closer. She shakes her head no really fast, in an adorable way that makes me giggle. She sticks her tongue out at me and plops down in her mom's seat. "Don't worry, they won't hurt you. I won't let them, I promise." She pipes out. Seeing a little doll on her lap, and staring at its face. A chill runs down my back at her words. I lean forward to the edge of my seat, I check to make sure Ophelia is still in the kitchen before responding. "What do you mean Marina?" She ignores me and continues playing with her doll. I lean forward a little more. "Marina?" She looks me in the eyes for the first time, and I nearly fall out of my chair. Her eyes are a blueish color, but it's kinda faded, like she started up at the sun for to long. I wave my hand in front of her face, and she doesn't flinch. I gasp and bring my hand to my throat as the realization hits me, she's blind. But, how did she see me earlier? That doesn't make sense! I jump back to the sound of the porch door slamming open, and a sad looking Ophelia standing in the doorway. I open and close my mouth a couple of times, trying to say something, but not knowing what to say. She hurries towards us, not looking me in the eyes, and picks up Marina, curling her into her side. "I'll be right back." Is all she says. I pick up my tea from the table and take a sip, but immediately spit it back out. Cold and gross.