I must be mad… am I really the only one who searches for the God between a folded Chinese fortune cookie?
When my fingertips tear through the noisy wrapper, my head mumbles wishes, prayers, and questions I’ve been needing the answers to. Mumbling the string until the wrapper pulls straight away revealing only the golden naked cookie and then I repeat my greatest desire lastly with complete focus.
I crack the little host halfways, sure to bite just the once. The one bite satisfies the covenant somehow, thereby making a legitimate ritual of it all. Other wise, the rest is discarded…because even wise Chinaman agree: fortune cookie taste like shit.
My fingers rifle through the smashed up bits to unbury the slip.
I believe every word it reads,
“Listen not to vain words of empty tounge.”