When you have a problem, sometimes it helps to put your thoughts onto paper. When you don't wish to keep a journal, or perhaps would prefer to do something more artistic, then you can write a story. Here, I provide food for thought, a debatable subject presented in an artistic form. In this, I hope to learn a little more about the topic involved.
As one would expect, I do not own the material involved. Let it…Begin.
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The peasant, a nondescript, working-class citizen, opened the door to Fanadi's business. Slipping into the fortune-teller's workplace and out of the misting rain, he allowed a soft sigh to escape his chapped lips.
Fanadi, an aging woman with brown beehive hair, glared through the incense smoke with piercing red eyes. In her mind, she was already determining the man's attitude. On the outside, though, she delivered her standard greeting with calm grace. "Welcome to the fooortune-telling house. The fates swiiiiiirl around you, and only I can tell you what they have in store…The door to the future will ooopen…for ten Rupees."
The worker closed the door, sealing himself and Fanadi in a foggy world of their own. He drew ten green gems from a worn leather pouch on his belt and dropped them glumly on the table in front of the psychic. When he spoke, his voice was gruff and filled with regret. "I'm lookin' fer answers. All me life, I worked and worked to just scrape ahead. Me hands 'r' sore frem using hammers an' knives all day fer thirty years, and never wens was I happy 'bout it. Ahv prayed to th' Goddesses ev'ry night since I were a lad, and they've never answered. So tell me, what's th' secret to th' world? How does I become happy? What's me drive to continue?"
Fanadi leaned forward, consulting the crystal ball. She muttered nonsense, trying to buy time as she contemplated the desperate peasant's situation. As a fortune-teller, she was asked this kind of question on occasion. However, few people had ever seemed so desperate. Finally, she decided that this would not be an easy case, and that there was no avoiding the debate. "I have seen your plight, and shall now reveal your answer.
"The Goddesses do not hate you. They smile upon you as they smile upon all of their creations. They have granted you a life worth living, one that must be lived to its fullest. However, the happiness you seek must come from within—the Goddesses cannot provide that. You must look inward for motivation. When you find it, then you will learn to love life."
The man leaned forward, presenting a calm mask that reined in obvious frustration. "Tha's what th' minister told me. I waited three yeers to speek to him, and he waved me off jus' like that. Any ol' shlup can tell me that. I tol' me that for me whole life. I paid you today's dinner fer this reading. Now give me som'thin' real."
"Yes, I knew you'd say that," Fanadi responded carefully. "Now that you are certain, it is time to look deeper than the tales you have been told for your whole life."
Fanadi paused for a breath before continuing. "What I have told you is true. The Goddesses do not hate you, and happiness and motivation must come from your own heart. However, these are merely platitudes, truisms that lull the common person into complacent security. The happiness you seek cannot be found in such basic words. Now, we must look deeper within your own consciousness." The fortune-reader moved the crystal ball aside. "This is a matter with which the Goddesses cannot help you. I, however, can be of service. Let us start with a simple question. How satisfied are you?"
"Very unsatisfied," the peasant replied instantly. "I hate me job, I has no family, and I hold no fancy posseshuns. I'm mis'rable."
"I see. You feel empty, then; unimportant."
The man's response was less quick this time. "Y…yeah…Yeah. Ev'ryone has shoes, and I ain't the only co'bler in town."
Through the smoke, Fanadi's stare grew a little more understanding. "I see. Then we have the basic problem." The fortune-teller leaned back, distancing her customer physically to remove him from her emotional influence. "So then, what's next?
"Next? Next? You tell me! Yer th' futre-seer! I gots a middlin' business and no wife to call me own. Tomorra is th' same as th' last, with no change at all. I makes shoes all day an' sleep all night. I wanna know how to change!"
Fanadi opened her mouth to pose another question, but the peasant was now building his fury. "Ev'ry day I give ingrates new foot-covers fer a paltry sum, and then I spend me nights alone. Ev'ry single hour of th' day I'm thinkin' 'bout shoes. They're th' most useless lumps of leather in all o' Hyrule, and I spends me day keepin' them frem wearin' out. What kinda life is that!"
He then slumped in his seat, rage melting into despair. "Maybe ther's no point aftrall. Maybe it ain't worth staying here. Maybe…"
"Maybe you need a change," Fanadi offered.
"Change? What's t' change? My life is what it's s'posed to be. I'm a low-classman earning my fare while the lords above me just take me Rupees. When I die, I go to th' 'hands o' the Goddesses' and leave my meager fortune b'hind. What's th' point! Why exist?"
Fanadi pretended to ponder the questions, putting her hand up to hide a smile. Many times, she had asked these very questions; several times, she had been asked similar queries. There was no point in rushing the answer, she had learned, as such thoughts never came easily.
The room stayed silent. As the incense burned to its base and the smoke began to clear, Fanadi could see the wheels begin to turn in her client's head. The meager light filtering through the clouds and into te windows faded, leaving darkness to cover the town. Finally, the candles melted down to their holders and went out.
Fanadi pulled new candles out from below the table and lit them with a flourish. She then went about purposefully replacing each stick of incense with fresh shoots. By the time she had finished, she noticed that her client had turned intent, watching her movements carefully.
No, he was watching the candles and incense. His eyes darted from each burning item to the next, drawing a new piece of inspiration from each object. Finally, when the fortune-teller sat down again, he began to speak. Slowly he spoke, pondering each word carefully before letting them slip out of his mouth.
"Life…It's like th' burning sticks there. Each one burns slowly, reachin' its peak and then growin' weaker. Then it's replaced by a new one, which does the same thing jus' as well. But the dead stick did its job right. It's not remember'd, but it was no dif'rent from the one that comes b'for it or after it. And there's nothin' for it but to keep goin', 'cuz it's part of the chain o' gen'rashns. It just has t' try, 'cuz if it didn't, it wouldn't leave its smell in th' nose of the one who smelt it. It's part of yer world, and if it ain't there, yer place," the man gestured around him, "it just ain't complete!"
Fanadi didn't hide her smile this time. "And there's a fortune customized for you. If you don't fulfill your place, who will?"
"It's…not as reassurin' as I thought…" the man said. Nonetheless, he stood up. "I s'pose there's nothin' I can do but keep tryin'. But things are so pointless like that…
"Bah, I'm tired. I'll leave ya to yer fortunes, ma'am. Thanks." The peasant turned towards the door and placed a hand on the knob, but Fanadi stopped him.
"The Goddesses reveal their secrets to nobody but the most serious. However, if you would like, I can give you one last reading." When the man didn't leave, the fortune-teller brought her crystal ball back in front of her and began muttering nonsensical words. In moments, she had the kismet.
"If you sit at the cafe every day at noontime without fail, you will meet the woman of your dreams." Sitting back once more, Fanadi graced her client with one more smile. "That is all."
The man did not respond, but merely groaned indecisively and left. As the door closed behind the former client, Fanadi knew she wouldn't see him in her office again.
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Food for thought, and simply a personal idea on life. You are free to disagree or agree or even disregard the debate entirely.
"Kismet" is just a fancy way of saying "fortune."
Ciao chow, and mind your own kismets.