chantal: (Default)
She could see the future, he could turn into a horse--they weren't exactly normal and neither one seemed to care.
chantal: (Default)
Chantal didn't know how or why or even what it was exactly that set her apart from the rest of the world, some days she didn't wish to find out.
chantal: (Default)
Her sight didn't work that way; try as she might, there was nothing for her to find in her own future.
chantal: (Default) don' god, why are you doing this...NO!

9.1. Weak

Aug. 17th, 2009 02:10 am
chantal: (Default)
He didn't mean to touch her, she knew, but that made little difference as Chantal fell to the floor and struggled to find her breath again.
chantal: (Default)
He was touching her indiscriminately, a hand on her shoulder then a brush of his fingers against her cheek--anything to try and set off one of her premonitions.
chantal: (Default)
A gift, a talent, a blessing. A nice little parlor trick that makes you fun at parties. It makes you interesting, that’s what my mother tells me. I guess it does, maybe for about fifteen minutes and if you don’t think about it too much or look at it too deeply.

Be a fortune teller, a clairvoyant, predict the future…sounds good, right? Cool, awesome, impressive. It’s not. It’s tiring. Depressing. Painful, even. It’s a burden and a terror. Sure, it’s a lot of fun to playfully run fingers over someone’s palm and be able to smile, tell them they are going to have a good week or fall in love with ‘the one’. Nice to look at a pair of hands and know they belong to someone who will live a long, productive life.

That doesn’t happen as often as you might think. No, there always seems to be more bad news or negative…stuff swirling around the human race than good. How do I tell someone the unpleasant? Should I, even? They are never receptive or appreciative of that. Believe me, learned that lesson fast.

So how do you go about knowing these things about people and not tell them? Is it wrong to protect them? Is it protecting them, this ignorance I let them keep? Maybe it’s protecting myself.

So don’t read palms if it bothers me, seems like the viable and brilliant solution to my problem doesn’t it? If only. I’m a people person. I’m a tactile person. You don’t realize how often you place your hands on other people, take their hands in yours, until you consciously force yourself not to.

That’s right; it’s more than looking at someone’s ‘love line’ that I’m talking about. It’s feeling the temperature of their flesh, the texture of their skin, pressing our hands palm to palm to make that connection. Sometimes, all it takes is a brief touch, a bumping of shoulders even, to pick up on someone’s energy or vibes, aura if you want to call it that. I’m not big on mystical terminology or magical phenomena—I just do what I do.

I don’t want to cut myself off from human contact; I don’t want to deprive myself of comfort and joy. I also don’t want to inadvertently pry where I shouldn’t and there are things I really do not want to know about people.

Some days, I wish it had an off switch, that’s all.

Chantal Weller


chantal: (Default)

September 2009

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