The fortune teller handed James Hunter a folded piece of paper; on it were her predictions about his future. She gave him strict instructions not to read it until he got home. James stood up, promised he would do as she asked, then left.
Outside, James smiled and inhaled the warm early afternoon air. He felt a glow of optimism about his future. He and his wife Kirstie had been trying for a baby for the past year, but so far, nothing. Maybe the family they so longed to was on the cards? He couldn't wait to get home to his wife and read the fortune-teller's predictions! He felt an itching in the palm of his hand, a longing to know what was written on the piece of paper he held so tightly in his hand as though his very life depended on it. He resisted, he didn't want to jinx anything.
In his excitement to get home, James didn't see the lorry driving at speed towards him. He died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.
Kirstie Hunter sobbed uncontrollably as she was told the devastating news of her husband.
"Mrs Hunter " the sympathetic policeman said gently. "James was holding this when we found him."
Kirstie took the piece of paper and unfolded it with trembling fingers. Inside were two very precise, neatly-written words in block capitals:
NO FUTURE.