Bad Omen

By Malena Mckaba

I sit, criss-cross-apple-sauce on my carpet that has not been vacuumed in over a month, sobbing and smoking my third cigarette of the hour. The only source of light is from the dozens of candles I’ve surrounded myself with, and the embers in the overflowing ashtray. The stench of tobacco mixes with the lavender and jasmine. I shuffle the tarot deck with shaky hands. “Am I still a bad bitch?” I ask desperately. I flip over the first card. The Fool, in reverse.