Augury
by Jessica Mendoza
The hare sat outside Jordan’s house again that day. Its eyes were amber and topaz and death, and when it met her gaze, it spoke:
“Not much longer now.”
She stared down at it, the little thing, its twitching nose and swiveling ears. She sighed deeply. Wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck. “You said that last week. You’re losing your edge.” Jordan finished turning the house key in her lock. She stepped carefully off her porch, avoiding the glossy patches where the dew froze over, fiddling with the keys in her coat pocket.
The hare said nothing else. Today was a quiet day, then. Jordan tried to appreciate the few times when it kept its ominous prophecies to itself. Its voice was tobacco smooth, deep and oaky and curling around Jordan’s head. Every day that the hare arrived with its portentous warnings, Jordan found it impossible to focus on her work.
It watched her every movement with a keen, emotionless eye as she threw open her car door and fidgeted with her key. She turned the ignition on and leaned over to push open the passenger’s side. The hare stared at her from the porch.
“Come on. It’s easier if you just get inside,” Jordan shouted out at it. She’d learned long ago - long, long ago - that giving the hare a lift was much easier than letting it hop all the way to her job, or her school, or wherever. It was relentless in its pursuit, and besides, she liked having something in the car with her during her commute. Even if the something in question insisted on foretelling her death.
The hare made its way down the porch, past her frozen flower beds, sure-footed in the sleet.
“Hurry up,” Jordan shouted at it. Its yellow gaze caught hers, if only for a moment. If she was generous, she might even call the blank look it gave her irritation.
Finally, the hare leapt into the passenger’s side, long back legs flicking against the upholstery.
“Comfy?” Jordan asked.
“You will bear no children,” The hare replied. Jordan took that as a yes, Jordan, I only wish it were a touch warmer in here, thank you for asking. She turned on the heated seats and pulled the car out of the driveway.
They mostly traveled in a strangely comfortable silence. The podcast she’d been listening to in the shower floated lazily out of the car speakers. It was about the history of Los Angeles’ dams, educational enough to make Jordan feel smart and pretentious without having any practical use in her day-to-day life. She glanced down at the hare in her passenger’s seat. It stared straight ahead, ears swiveling to capture every corner of her morning commute.
She wondered if the hare knew what a dam even was. She wondered if it even knew where it was. The hare had appeared by her bed one lazy Saturday morning. Jordan was only twelve, and already her death awaited her. The hare was single-minded in its goal - whatever that might be - and hardly ever strayed far from her sight. Even from the first day she knew it, it told her that she was doomed to die young, to die tragically, to die suddenly. It told her that she was awaited by no one, and that nothing lay beyond the deep valley of eternal rest. She spent her days dreading waking up to its luminescent eyes, unblinking, inhuman. Filling her childhood bedroom with its divinations. The weight of her mortality always sat cold and heavy in her mind.
Nobody else could see it or hear it. With time and practice, and despite the grim nature of its arrival, Jordan began to take its strange company in stride. Sure, it told her that she was doomed, but hey - nobody else would watch Space Jam with her on a school night. And besides. Everyone was made to die eventually. With maturity came the ability to somewhat appreciate the untimely warnings.
She turned to the hare. “Do you know what a dam is?”
“Your life will end in meaningless tragedy.”
“Yeah, didn’t think so.” She turned into the left lane, stopping at the intersection. “I feel like my seat warmers might be wasted on you.”
The hare said nothing.
“I don’t even know why I got that upgrade.” Jordan began her turn. “It would’ve been cheaper -”
The truck was barreling in the opposite direction when it slammed into the side of her Nissan. The whole structure buckled; light and sound shattered. The world stirred, and everything seemed to chime and ring all at once. Jordan clutched at nothing - her seat belt, the deployed airbag, and yet nothing - and cried out, her whole head stinging and burning and ice cold. The windows were shattered. Winter was moving in rapidly.
It was a busy intersection. There were voices, shouted commands, hands fluttering over her face, her body. She was being moved. She opened an eye, just one, and stared uncomprehendingly at the splotches of color.
She was alive. Help was coming. The hare lay beside her in the wreckage, its split-open stomach steaming in January air. Jordan knew better; it wasn’t dead, it never died, even when smashed and burned and cut up. Its topaz eye turned to Jordan.
“Not much longer now,” It said.
Jessica Mendoza is a young up-and-coming writer and tutor in Los Angeles, CA. She holds a B.A. in Screenwriting and is looking towards getting her M.F.A. in Creative Writing. She has been previously published in The Good Life Review. Jessica spends most of her time feverishly editing essays and raving about the semicolon's usefulness to her students, who kindly humor her fits of punctuation passion. She can be found on Twitter @JessMProse.