(This short story is inspired by Janet Fish’s “Painted Water Glasses.”)
Ellen has a disturbing gift, unheard of and defying belief. She can glimpse something about a person’s future just by touching her finger to the rim of their drinking glass.
What she sees may be only one of multiple possible futures. But it’s hard to tell, because her visions are like fractured glass. They’re sharp, bright, and sometimes painful, and her mind quickly sweeps them away. She doesn’t see the chain of events, the cause-and-effect leading up to them. She can’t control what she sees or how far into the future. The knowledge she gains is piecemeal and ambiguous. There is, she thinks, no use to this strange gift. But she still feels compelled to use it, just in case something comes to light that she can prevent or at least prepare for.
Yesterday, she held a party at her poolside. Herself, her husband, Andy, their three adult children, and seven guests. The day was cloudless, and the patio table with its tempered glass surface seemed liquid, bathed in heat and light. The guests slid in and out of the pool, lounged with legs spread on the lawn chairs, and churned out conversation and laughter.
Continue reading “12 Glasses (a work of ekphrastic short fiction)”
Kilter Street Chronicles 