Consultation 115.

“God, people often tell me I’m cursed for some reason. I can’t seem to figure out why they say that though. Do you know why people say I’m cursed?”

“You’re cursed?”

“Yeah, that’s what they say.”

“You look fine to me though.”

“Right? I just don’t get it. It makes no sense to me.”

“Is there any pattern that stands out?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like do you get called cursed when performing a specific action?”

“Hmmm… I don’t think so… but, I think it’s whenever we take a picture together.”

“A picture?”

“Yeah. That’s typically when they say I’m cursed.”

“I see. Do you mind if I take a picture of you?”

“Sure.”

I took out my phone, snapped a picture, and immediately dropped the phone startled by the unexpected image that came out.

“Holy mother” of fuckers. What in my name- the fuck are you? Dis bitch be far beyond just cursed. How did we even fuck up this badly?

“What’s wrong, God?”

“Huh? Uh… well, I think I’ve solved the mystery.” That was an understatement. I’d hadn’t solved the mystery, the mystery just ran the fuck away before I even had a chance to solve it.

“Do your friends ever show you the pictures they take with you?”

“No.”

“Have you never seen a picture of yourself before?”

“No, my parents told me from a young age that seeing a picture of yourself was bad luck. I’ve always followed their advice.”

“Do your friends also say the same thing?”

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“Have you never questioned why they’re fine looking at the picture despite the bad luck?”

“They told me they were immune to bad luck.”

“I see…”

Do I break the bad news to her?

“By any chance do your friends often bring you to old run-down houses to take pictures with you?”

“Yeah, they do? Amazing, God really knows everything.”

This poor thing. Her friends just wanted spooky pictures to post online. How can gods be this cruel?

“Are you really sure you want to know the answer?”

“Yes. I want to know why they say I’m cursed.”

I took in a deep breath then turned my phone toward her.

“What’s this? Is this one of those ugly artworks I see in art galleries all the time? I really don’t understand the appeal to them. Why are you showing me this? What does this have to do with me being cursed?” This poor oblivious girl.

“It’s not an ugly artwork. It’s the picture… of you I just took.”

“What? God, are you trying to pull a prank on me? Did you just edit it?”

“I didn’t edit it. This is what happens when someone takes a picture of you.”

“God, your joke isn’t funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

“Liar. I look nothing like this.”

“You don’t, but your pictures do.”

“No way… this can’t be… is there... any cure, God?”

“Cure?” For a god's mistake? Fuck if I know. Don’t ask me, go find the god that found the miraculous way to fuck up this badly.

“Yes, there has to be a way to fix this. Please tell me, God. What do I do?”

“Uh… maybe a filter?”

“Oh! Genius! I’ve heard filters can even turn the ugliest of bitches into Charlie Deugliho.” I really don’t think there's any saving this.

“Alight… I’ll give it a shot.” I tested out a few filters but even the hands of God could not save this poor soul.

After filters didn’t work I rotated the image and started stretching the picture around a bit until I got something that at least somewhat resembled something human-like.

“Well, God? How is it? Did it work?”

“Uh… yeah… I’d say it’s pretty… successful. I’d say you look really good,” for a mortal who was sucked into a black hole.

“Great! Let me take a look!”

“Are you doubting me?”

“I’m not doubting you, I just want to see how good I look in a normal picture of me.”

“Are you crazy? This is work done by God. If you so much as lay your eyes upon it, you may turn into a soulless husk.” From how bad a job I did. What work of God? God can’t save you. Not with a picture like this. Just what sort of miracles are you expecting from me? I can do some party tricks like turning water into wine and walking on water, but this? This is beyond me. There is no fixing this. The bar is too damn high. Please nerf this pitiful girl’s picture. It’s just too strong. No amount of freaky voodoo magic is going to make this look any better.

“Please God. Even if I turn into a soulless husk, it will be worth it.”

“You’re really sure…”

“Yes.”

“Alright, I understand.”

I turned the phone toward her for the second time and her lips twitched.

“God… is my existence a joke to you?”

I dropped my phone on the table and buried my face with both hands as I sincerely apologized for my ineptitude, “I’m sorry.”

“Is there anything else we can try if filters don’t work?”

“Hmm… how about a sketch? Pictures don’t always need to be taken digitally, right? They can also be hand-drawn.”

“Oh! God’s really a genius after all! Geez, God, stop playing pranks on me. It’s not good for my heart.”

“Right…”

I picked up my pen and started to sketch her. It was looking good, exactly like her. She was looking down at the desk in front of her as I drew her in real-time. I got to the very end and the instant I finished drawing, some incomprehensible cursed freaky voodoo shit went down. The spitting image of hers suddenly warped into some ungodly pen sketch version identical to the picture taken of her with my phone’s camera.

“God! Stop messing around! It looked so good, why’d you go and do that? You really are just messing with me after all.”

“I swear! It’s not me! Please believe me, I’m not doing this!” I wanted to cry. For once I wasn’t the one dicking around.

“Liar! God’s a big liar!”

“Look, I’m really sorry, but I think you might just need to live with this… condition?” Yeah, rather than, ‘curse,’ let’s go with ‘condition’ instead. It sounds nicer.

“No way! You’re holding out on me! There has to be a way to lift this curse... Curse? Wait, that’s it! To lift a curse in fairytales, the prince or princess just needs a kiss. Just like when the Frog Prince breaks the witch’s curse and turns back into his human form. That’s got to be it. God, kiss me and my curse will surely be broken!”

“Woah there. Hold up. I think you’re getting a bit too carried away. That’s just a stupid children’s story. There’s no way a little kiss is going to cure whatever the fuck is supposed to be wrong with you.”

“Shut up, God. Stop being a little bitch and just do it. I paid good money for this consultation. You’re going to kiss me whether you like it or not. Until all possibilities have been exhausted, I refuse to give up.”

“No seriously, my wife will end me.”

“Screw your wife, this is about me. What your wife doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

She climbed onto the desk, our lips momentarily touched while she simultaneously snapped a picture on my phone. She immediately pulled away and scrutinized the picture she’d taken.

“Oh my God, it worked! It really worked, God!”

She jumped off the desk and immediately snapped a second picture of herself to confirm the curse had truly been lifted.

When she saw the normal-looking picture of herself, she laughed out loud and like a lunatic.

“Hahahah! This is great, God! It’s too great, you’re the best! I’ll let you keep that picture as a tip.”

“I don’t want it.” My wife will murder me. There’s no chance in hell I’m not deleting that.

“Well, do what you want. I’m just glad my pictures aren’t cursed anymore. Thank you for your assistance, God. You’re truly as amazing as they say.”

Amazing my ass. I’m deadass is what I am. I’ll be murdered.

But these worries of mine were no concern to her. She departed in a good mood while I seriously mulled over the various excuses I could make to not be stabbed to death by my wife.