Writer's Wednesday 35: Superstition

On my blog, I do an 'event' called Writer Wednesdays. I post a prompt and others(including me) write something based on that prompt. For my superstition, I did the Curse of the Opal Stone.

     “Oh you don’t want that one, Miss,” the pawn shop owner said as Jessica looked down at the opal necklace in the jewelry display case, “it’s cursed.”

     Jessica laughed.  “Surely you don’t believe that.”  The shop owner just stared at her.  “But it’s such a lovely necklace… curse smurse, how much?”  She pulled out her wallet and checkbook, looking at the owner expectantly.

     “I, uh…”  The shop owner’s voice trailed off.  He was dealing with a dilemma - the necklace was valuable, he could easily squeeze a few hundred out of the gal for it.  On the other hand, he didn’t want any part in selling it to her.  The way he had even come to own it was… questionable, to say the least, and he did not want to have her misfortune tracked back to him.  “Just take it.”

     “Take it?  But I couldn’t do that, it must be worth a pretty penny.”

     “I don’t want no part in selling it.  I don’t want blood on my hands… dirty money, as they say.”

     Jessica slowly put her methods of payment back in her purse.  “Well… if you insist…”

     “Are you sure you want it?”

     “Yes.”

     “Here.”  The shop owner placed the necklace on top of the glass display case in disgust.  “Take it and go.  I’ll have nothing more to do with it.”  And with that, Jessica left the shop with her beautiful new ‘purchase.’  The opal was large and pale blue, set in copper that looked like aged brass on an equally color chain.  When the light hit it, fractals of green, pale orange, and lavender were visible within the blue.

     “Cursed my foot,” Jessica thought to herself as she fastened the necklace around her neck.  It was hefty and rested heavily on her chest.  She instantly loved the way it felt.

     As Jessica headed for the subway station, she suddenly decided that may not be the best idea.  Given how gaudy the necklace was and that it was getting late, she was afraid she might get mugged and robbed if the wrong thug took a liking to her brooch; the night crowd on the subway was a shady lot.  She instead turned and headed for Main Street, where she would hail a cab.

     As she passed a back alley not but a few blocks from the pawn shop, a man stepped out from the shadows.  He smelled strongly of cigarettes.  “Well, well, what do we have here?  A pretty young miss all alone on this brisk night.  Come here, darling, let me hold you close and keep you warm.”

     “Oh, no sir.  I am in a bit of a rush.”

     “Maybe dropping some weight would help you get where you’re going faster.”

     “I beg your pardon?”  Jessica kept walking, but so did the man.

     “That necklace you’re wearing looks mighty heavy.  Maybe it’s slowing you down from getting where you’re going to.”

     “Oh no, that’s silly, I just-”  But the man grabbed her and shoved her up against the brick wall of an apartment building, his fingers twisted in her blouse collar to form an unescapable gripping fist.  His face was so close to hers that the smell of cigarettes blocked out most of her other senses.

She took in air to scream for help, but felt a thin line of cold metal press up against her throat.  She proceeded to scream, but all that managed to escape was a startled gurgle as the man wedged the knife deep into her throat.  She felt hot thick blood run down her neck and chest, heard it dripping onto the sidewalk.  Saw the crimson spray across the man’s grimacing face.  Tasted copper in her mouth as it filled with her own blood, and she struggled to breathe, but simply choked on the hot liquid - not that her mouth and lungs were connected anymore, given her severed windpipe.

Only the smell of cigarettes filled her nostrils and the taste of copper filled her mouth.  Keeping the blade wedged in her throat, quite possibly pressed all the way back against her spine, Jessica felt him release her blouse and unclasp the necklace.  As the weight left her chest, she thought back to what the pawn shop owner had said: “Oh you don’t want that one, Miss, it’s cursed.  I don’t want blood on my hands… dirty money, as they say.”  She had thought it was silly then, but as she also felt her purse strap being removed from her shoulder, she wished she had never wanted the damnable thing.

The man looked into her dulling eyes one last time, then spoke.  “Good evening to you too, Miss.”  He kissed her on her blood soaked lips, his scruffy whiskers chafing her face, and then pulled the knife from her neck, allowing her body to slump down against the wall.  The last thing Jessica saw before everything went black was the man walking away, the blood-soaked opal necklace dangling from his hand.

Author's Note

For my superstition, I did the Curse of the Opal Stone.