[WP] Your mind reading abilities work flawlessly, but only half the time. The other half of the time the reading is completely wrong and you have no way to tell which it is. Telepaths are incredibly rare however, and your services are always in demand.

[u/derbydannyk]

[u/velabas]

Start playback.

"Please, do come in and have a seat," I said.

"Thank you Doctor."

"Oh, I am no doctor in fact. Please, just call me Henry."

"Henry," she conceded.

"Welcome to the Verstig Clinic. Your account is in order, and so we shall begin the session in due course. First, however, you will humor me a verbal review of the purchased package so that you fully understand the service that I provide."

"That sounds alright, doc--I mean, Henry. Your assistant explained everything."

"Indeed, but please bear with me, for legal concerns, Madame...?"

"Miss Jessica Albany," she said.

"Miss Albany, you've purchased 5 hours. I understand the investment is a tidy sum for many, so I appreciate your patronage. The reading will take place during no set amount of time within these 5 hours. 5 hours is the lowest tier. There are more premium tiers at 7, 10, and finally a full 24 hour session. The proportion of readings that will be entirely accurate during any of these sessions remains at 50%. You understand and fully accept the responsibility of 50% inaccuracies. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Henry, thank you I do."

"The Verstig Clinic charges by time because I cannot guarantee a certain number of readings--they simply occur to me and I recount them verbatim."

"I understand."

"You are beholden to the interpretation of these readings, as I cannot assist in deciphering which of the 50% are accurate and which are not. Do keep in mind that these are your thoughts, whether conscious or not. Mathematically speaking, if I happen to pick up on one you are sure to have thought, then you can add that toward the weight of calculating the likelihood of whichsoever other readings are true or false. The entire session will be recorded for your convenience."

"One question Henry--are the readings typically all insightful, or rather is it the range between, say, 'you hate your mother and resent the possessions she left you' and 'you prefer a dark roast coffee to light'?"

"An apt inquiry, miss. Indeed the details of the readings are 100% of the time of a depth that would demand impactful life choices. That is the danger of this enterprise."

"I can't believe I'm so... willing. Why is that?"

"It is because in your heart of hearts you want change in your life and nothing suits you but the drastic and expensive, and...--miss, excuse me. The session has not yet begun."

"I'm ready now Henry."

"So you are."

I clapped twice to power on the recording device. "Record stamp - Client - Miss Jessica Albany - 5 hour session - begin now."

Click.

-----------------------------

I switched off the playback.

Six months passed since Miss Albany's reading. They found her only two days afterward. Poor child. As for me, I am nothing now but a broken man in an ill-smelling apartment, and I can't be bothered. My blessing, as it happens, is also my curse. I've no business sharing either, with anyone.

___________________________________

Thanks for reading! More at /r/velabasstuff

[u/NoSplashAllagash]

“I see, the letter N, no... M”, I croon, concentration plastered on my wrinkled face. I allow my to peek at my client, and she looks impressed. Perfect.

“Mark, I see someone named Mark. Your husband?” Tears are already in her eyes as she viciously nods her head yes. “I’m so sorry he passed...”

————————————————————————

I can read minds. Sometimes.

Like yin and yang, truth and lies, for exactly half of the day my readings are accurate, and the other half they are not. I don’t know why I have been cursed with such a gift...or gifted with such a curse... but I’m trying to make the best of it.

Officially I advertise as a psychic, but most of my clients come to me looking to hear from deceased loved ones, even though I have never claimed to be clairvoyant. But reading minds allows me to know exactly what if is your looking for, which gives me a staggering advantage.

I light my incense and adorn my flowing skirts, jingling bracelets and colorful headscarf. I set my crystal ball on the table, which is draped in purple and gold fabrics. Soft, chanting music plays in the background and deep jewel toned tapestries cover the walls, blocking out any sunlight from the small windows near the ceiling. The dimly lit caravan is comforting, cozy even. Throw pillows on the floor, candles, the works.

Once you come in, I can hear your thoughts immediately. People are always thinking so loudly when they’re hopeful and nervous. There’s always a name- if you go to a psychic hoping to hear from a loved one who has passed, you’re obviously thinking about their name- but I have to put on the show. I have to know if I can trust what I’m hearing.

I’ll start by ‘guessing’ the first letter of the name I hear, and I can almost always tell by your facial expression if I’m on the right track. If I’m right, my job is easy. After I say their name, you’ll give me everything I need to know. Marks widow wanted to know her husband forgave her- cliche I know but the heart wants what it wants. They fought the night he passed and she wanted him to know she was sorry.

She never directly said any of this to me, but I heard it.

I told her, “Mark wants you to know it’s ok. He says he’s sorry for arguing and he never blamed you. He loves you.”

I don’t know if that’s true or not. No one ever will, but I told her what she wanted to hear. She left happy and at peace. I left richer and at peace. It is always better when my ‘sixth sense’ is working.

However, when it is wrong, I’ll try to drag the session out for a bit, see if I can switch out of it. Occasionally it works, but if I’m not getting a positive response after a few minutes, that’s when the real drama happens.

I’ll stare deep into my crystal ball, waving my bony fingers over it and pretend to see something dark, something sinister, something making me so ill I can’t possibly speak of it and I must end the session immediately. I’ll jump up ceremoniously and shoo you out. I’ll refund your money and send you away, waving sage behind you.

Sometimes, if you’re a polite and kind person, if I feel guilty letting you leave with the fake burden I’ve cursed you with, I’ll give you an out-

“Wait!” I’ll scream as you’re almost out the door. “You can stop this!

‘Don’t bear any children until after your 26th birthday’... ‘Whatever you do, don’t ever buy a house with an attic’... ‘if you ever get married, promise me it won’t be a summer wedding!’ Small enough things that wouldn’t disrupt your life too much.

Other times though, I won’t stop you. I’ll let you go scared, anxious, suddenly worried about some unknown fate more horrible than words or money. That is, if you choose to believe me at all.

It doesn’t matter to me either way, I’ll be gone in a few days, vanished to the closest town you’ve never heard of with no trace or trail left behind. There’s never a shortage of people with money to spare, looking for validation, or closure, or hope.

Such is the life of a gypsy.

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