Eight of Swords

Some Tarot-Inspired Flash Fiction

There were whispers on the breeze that night, loud enough to hear but too faint to understand. One could infer their meaning, though: bad times were ahead.

We'd sat among them but we're not of them because we believed we were better. But those who whispered were older than us, wiser, more rooted, though impossible to pin down.

The whispers cut through our…