Tarot

 

Tarot Obsequies

by Jake Bannerman

Tarot

By Jake Bannerman

Fog fucked the moist mossy ground with weeping willows dancing mournfully above cemeteries that have that horror movie vibe. Honestly, candy thought it was childish to frolic around and burn candles and overall get into the recent coolness of being witchy that had overtaken teen girls of late. Still, it was what the cool kids did. Since she has just moved from Baton Rouge, here she was, trying to be in the click, ya know? Earlier, she had been going through the unpacked boxes still strewn through the house they had just moved into, frustrated they had moved in the first place from her swampy heaven to the glitzy hills of California. She flipped through a yearbook and noticed the contrast between the lipstick and mascara now surrounding her in school and the ubiquitous downtrodden look of the friends she had left. Who did not care about fashion, and certainly none of the girls were named Porsche, nor did daddy buy her or her friend’s lip augmentation? A practice she considered filthy in the first place, moving cellulite from your ass and having it impregnated into your lips just made her guts roll drunk in nausea. This was the hand she had been dealt. She found it interesting these Hollywood hills fugazi Wiccans had latched onto her the most unlikely with a grey hoodie over a flannel and a pair of jeans with converse chucks. She looked like the criminal these bitches would be scared of any other time. Still, they knew she was into spooky shit, so she figured she was their street cred witch.

And hey, they fed her. Nobody turns down a free in-and-out burger, so the lipstick witches looked up moon phases. The group would gather at the cemetery on nights they thought were magical, drink red wine, sit on gravestones, and talk like they knew the first thing about magic; the only magic they knew was finger fucking themselves to magic mike movies. Still, Laina usually sat quiet and joined in burgers and booze fuck yeah, she would play along, and the girls did have a knack for picking nights when the fog rolled into the valley.

So at least, it was in her comfort zone. However, she mostly thought about roux-covered chicken and crawfish on dirty rice and hot and sticky memories in the French Quarter. However, this was about as close as she could get to hang out with the mascara coven, she jokingly dubbed them.

With their Gucci handbags so reminiscent of their ancestors, those who would not burn would have slow-cooked these bratty bitches like a skewered sown on Samhain, a word the girls only knew from the horror punk shirts from school, and Danzig to them was just a town in Germany.

Intoxicated on red wine, one of the mascara coven’s perks is they buy good wine. Hardly talking, just seeing the decadent girl’s desire to be wrong, she stumbled off the headstone and landed face down, the others too busy to notice.

The ground was like a sponge covered in moss, soft, not quite mud, but gross enough. As the breath was forced out of her body, she gasped. Then she sprang up quickly, hoping none of the others saw her though it would be hard to explain the dirt on her face and grass stains on her shirt. She said, “I get clumsy drunk,” They all laughed as the night wound down.

She walked off after saying goodbyes and headed home. fuck! I forgot how horrible wine hangovers are, she said, her head pounding, each noise a jackhammer to her ears, and she hurt as she had been in a UFC fight. She was not only hungover but confused. She flipped her red hair out of her face, slowly got her feet to the ground, and limped into the kitchen.

Where her mom and little brother sat eating lunch, it was after all afternoon. She felt like she was dying, and her vision was way out of whack for some reason; she had an irresistible urge for coffee but hated coffee. In just a tank top and boxers, pale as they come, besides the universe of tiny freckles that have plagued her self-esteem since childhood, she looked rough, not just hungover, her back hunched over, and joints cracking as she walked barely audible.

Moans came from her mouth, and she chatted. It’s cold. I’m so insensitive in what seemed like a lifetime. She finally came into view of the table. Her brother said, “I didn’t do that, I swear” she perched her head up and squinted to see his face with a severe tone like he knew he was getting an ass whipping her mom’s mouth wide open. Stunned, food half chewed fell out of her face, and her eyes were as wide as saucers. Oh my god, honey, what happened?!?!?!?!

Her brother was now laughing hysterically! That’s just nasty, he said. Laina was so sore lightheaded, and bewildered, not to mention she hadn’t had her coffee yet. She had no idea what was happening. Her mother dropped to her knees before her, bent over fame, and stared directly into something implausible her 17 yr. old daughter had a dizzying map from the ankles up past the knees, a web of varicose veins.

This has to be a cardiac issue; her nurse’s mom told her son to call 911!!! He picked up his iPhone and dialed, but before they even answered the phone, Laina micturated a heavy stream of warm discolored urine on the linoleum floor, piss splashing onto her mother. The mother was disgusted but also overwhelmed with worry.

Laying in the hospital bed, still dying for a cup of coffee, she finally got to her point and yelled nebbish!!!!! Hours later, the doctors told her mother to go home and get rest; they had a test to do, and there was no need for her to stay, so her mother went home where her little brother taking the incident seriously but was also young and stupid enough to tease his mom about it.

I had no idea you were a golden shower kind of gal; mom was furious she was not even going to confirm him with a reply by calling her father, who was on vacation with his whore girlfriend. She told him what was happening, having just a sliver of hope he might act concerned. Instead, he just said oh, teenage girls, what can you do? She screamed look, we all get it that you constantly try and fuck adolescent girls! But this one is yours! As she hung up and called angrily when she returned to the hospital, the Maybelline coven stood around Liana’s bed, smacking bubble gum and giggling.

Trying in their rich girl a disparaging way to cheer her up, Laina just said you girls are too loud; you should be ashamed of those clothes; you know young men won’t respect you; what the fuck? Grandma? one of the covens, said, “Are you going to tell us our music is noise? Laina raised her hand, signaled to shoosh away, and said, “Take your blasphemy elsewhere.

The girls just rolled their eyes and left as they were walking out laughing; a doctor came in the room and said does your daughter speak any other languages? of course not; why in the world would you ask that, and how can that help her get better?! Frustrated with the question, the mother felt like she was losing grip; my daughter has the legs of an 80 yr. Old; she can’t see; her back is curved like her spine is curved, and you want to know if she speaks any other languages?

The doctor, with empathy, said let me show you something he handed her a notepad the nurses had left next to liana’s side so she could draw or write anything to help keep her entertained; she complained about the tv she couldn’t see it and she just kept saying the news was propaganda only a fool listens to that garbage she murmured on the paper written over and over was

צוויי און זיבעציק שעה אין בערליןa

About 30 times, the mom looked up, completely baffled. The doctor said it was not just that he said we had to sedate her because she kept screaming about bugs and thrashing around to get them off me. Misses jaques wrote all of this under heavy sedation; she was utterly out .one of our nurses filmed her doing her handwriting while the rest of her body lay still.

We looked on google because we were unaware of a medical condition such as this. We even thought of bringing the hospital, Chaplin, in and asking if he could say the writing looked like Hebrew, but he said he was only guessing. We did all the research and figured it roughly translates to 72 hours in Berlin. Does that mean anything to you? Two weeks later………