Legend of Opal Fisher, chapter 1

This is a story about a woman who was raised by gypsies, who was on a quest to become a healer.

        I am Opal Fisher. Most people think I'm just a kooky old lady in a nursing home. I can cure any ailment known to man, and even cheat death. I've been around for many generations, but after losing everyone you've loved, and

everything you've cared about, you kind of change your perspective on things. I am actually over a thousand years old,

but I pretty much gave up my immortality. My tale is a strange, and exciting one!

        I was born in the old country. My mother died during childbirth, and my father took off a few years later. I was

raised in a gypsy camp, since the age of four. I spent much of my time playing with the crude jewelry making kit,

my mother left behind. When I was a couple years older, some of the older boys tried to teach me the art of

pickpocketing, but I was never very good at it. I would get nervous, and people would spot me a mile away. Our

camp would sometimes fill in as extras for carnies, and we would travel all across the country. I'll never forget the

first time I saw an elephant, bear, lion, and a python, up close, all in the same place. I thought I was going to pee

my pants! As a teenager, I became close with Effie, the elder fortune teller. I became fascinated by her stories of

the healing properties of gemstones, and how she accumulated her collection. I soon began to hunt for precious

stones in caves, and riverbeds. I never realized that I would become a shaman/medicine man.

        After my camp was attacked by a group of bandits, during one of my gem hunting excursions, I decided to go off

on my own to learn my trade. I was determined to wander the furthest corners of the land, to find every gemstone

that existed. I didn't even care if it took me centuries, I knew I was destined to become a healer.

        I never realized that my search for gems, would take me to some strange, and terrifying places. On my journey

to find Clear Quartz, I had to venture to a place called the Dark Hollow. I spent days wandering through a barren

wasteland. My mouth longed for the sweetness of the cotton candy I would make along with the jewelry, to pay for my room and board. My tongue felt like sandpaper, after roaming all those days through the scorching sun. I would

have killed for one of those snow-cones my gypsy brother would spike with cheap vodka. I'd sleep a few hour at a

time, behind the sparse bushes, which offered sun when the sun hung too low in the sky.