[OUTDATED] A Day at the Arcade, A Week of War

(Tara) Chapter 7: The Plan

Never before had a meeting been so intense as someone struggles to grasp the concept of maple syrup: a simple sauce made from boiling tree sap, and mix it with a soft grain product called "pancakes". But I digress.

The night before morning, I was enwrapped in my own thoughts, mainly around Max's simple but devastating words.

"You're such a freaking coward!"

"You only care about the profits!"

"They believed in you!"

"Your job is to tamper with fate!"

I have lived near three thousand years, yet I still have no reaction to these four sentences.

Let me attempt, to put this in words. So perhaps I'm not the bravest. Nobody is. So am I cowardly? Perhaps. Do I look for value over emotions sometimes? I can't deny it. Did anyone believe in me? Yes... yes they all did, those looking for someone to give them their fate. I knew Bibi's death would not be taken lightly to me, even if it had to be done. But it wasn't my job to tamper with destiny. I was simply a messenger.

Blame was also complicated. I could play my old card; say that I had nothing to do with it and their own fate was the result of their own decisions. The main problem with telling this however, more often then not it wasn't, it truly wasn't. The cruel and sinful often live long lives without consequences of any kind, while the kind and virtuous get struck down by a destiny that was set in stone before they were even born. How cruel, they ask, can you be to condemn someone to a fate that they have no control over? The answer: because it was the fate that condemned me.

The true trade about being a fortune teller, real or fake, the people that come to you no longer saw you as another person, they saw you as their gateway to heaven or hell, an un-worldly being, a physical devil or god, after all that is what you're selling them. But being a physical gateway, this also means you are also often the scapegoat for the casualties, regardless if it was their own fault for their demise. Few fortune tellers reach the depths I have when it comes to this trade of humanity, my trade being an additional eye for the power.

Was I happy with these answers? After that whole blasphemy of thoughts, am I happy? I don't know. I can never know.

...

So back to the maple syrup.

After the inspirational but short lived confrontation, Pam sent us to sleep in the basement. It was dark and a simple two rooms, connected to their garage on one side, and the staircase leading upstairs on the other. The actual basement was a storage area with countless boxes containing supplies, and equally numerous amount of tools all lining three wall, and what I assumed were failed prototypes judging from the burn and scratch marks.  They were obviously hasty; several parts were thrown over to the side of the room and a mattress and a ripped sleeping bag were spread out in the middle. After a short conversation between me and Max discussing the rules of Rock, Paper, Scissors, I was uncomfortably sprawled on the sleeping bag, while Max quick snores soon filled the room.

I shifted uncomfortably as I was wondering what the plan exactly was. Yes, yes, it was certainly dramatic when Jessie and Max "rebelled" against Pam and they decided they would figure out a plan of action. Truth be told, we had no plan, they simply knew that we couldn't stay here.

I sat up with a sigh and looked over to Max who was sleeping on her side. I wondered how she could rest so easily, considering how she acted earlier. I've heard of mood swings, but whatever moods she had definitely didn't "swing" with me.