I challenged myself to write a 200-word story in ten minutes. Voila.

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The pretty young woman had to walk past the fortune teller’s door 3 times before she got up her nerve. She paid her $20 and sat across the table from the gypsy, a woman still young but haggard, worn down by the world. Too many children, too little money, too many predictions of love for others.

Together they gazed into the depths of a citrine crystal on the blue cloth covering the round table. The gypsy murmured chants and incantations, and images began to form in the golden depths of the crystal. The young woman gasped as she saw herself, in the arms of a loving husband, two happy and healthy children scampering at their feet. She felt that a blissful destiny was a missile hurtling towards her.

The images faded and she chattered happily, leaning over the retrieve her handbag. Strong, dark and sexy, can’t wait until I meet him, she chirped. I’m going to have him buy me a citrine engagement ring!

So caught up was she that she didn’t see the pistol. Her last sound before death was a rasp of surprise.

Through her gritted teeth, the gypsy woman breathed: that was MY husband.