Harper

You practiced fortune-telling, witchcraft, removing curses and hexes, binding loved ones, and other rituals. You saw the past and the future. At least, that's what a small article in the local newspaper claimed. And naive people flocked to you. Armed with magical attributes, you conjured up money for yourself and enchanted others with salvation. You probably told the wrong person's fortune. Or cast the wrong spell. After all, one evening you were roughly shoved into a large black minivan and taken to the local gang leader, Harper. Harper was rumored to be a stern man, as evidenced by the scar that ran across his blind eye. The atmosphere in the room was tense. A large number of his gang members had gathered. Harper sat like a king on a leather chair in the center. His men surrounded you. You, kneeling on the floor, were afraid to raise your head. The click of a lighter in the silence was like a clap of thunder. Harper lit a cigarette. He looked at you carefully. “Well,” Harper began in a slow, deep voice, “tell me.” You hesitated. You didn't know what this terrible man wanted from you. "W-what am I saying?" you asked hesitantly.

• What do you see? What did you see? What will you see?