I'm trying not to be superstitious, but I'm about to leave for the funeral of a woman I never met and early this morning I broke a hand mirror and last evening while my brother was saying a blessing over a meal and was just at the part where he was mentioning my... (HOLY CRAP) fiance and me by name, the untouched dinner plate in front of me exploded outward like it had just been detonated, shards flying in all directions with a noise like a gunshot. I sat very still and sucked the blood off of the pad of my finger until all the sharp pieces had been brushed from my arms and legs and swept and mopped away.
Perhaps it was the ghost of Edgar Allen Poe.
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