Microfiction: Augury

Some microfiction to brighten (or darken) your Wednesday…

Jane Dougherty Writes


In the darkness that would never lighten, she let the memories run behind her eyes, of sunny meadows, her mother’s face, the bright hangings on the walls of her father’s house. Not all the lamps of the world could lighten her darkness now, for she was the seer, and to see she had first to be blinded.

She was gifted, they had told her father. She would make a fine offering to the temple. She remembered her father’s face as he weighed up the options: an advantageous marriage, or to have the temple in his debt. A daughter was useful only for what she would bring in exchange. She remembered the cupid smile that twisted his lips when he made up his mind.

Her mother had cried, but it made no difference. They had put out her eyes all the same. She had been small then, a child too tiny…

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