Copper Cards on the Ironing Board

Copper Cards on the Ironing Board

I was back in my childhood bedroom, but it was laid out like the breakroom at my current job. My coworker Dan was sitting on the edge of my old twin bed, dealing out tarot cards onto an ironing board, except the cards were completely blank polished copper. He told me I had to pick the one that belonged to my grandmother. I reached out to flip one over, but my hand felt heavy, like I was dragging it through wet sand. Every time I touched a card, a quiet chime resonated from somewhere behind the drywall, like a grandfather clock striking in another room. I had this overwhelming, heavy sense of dread that if I picked the wrong card, I’d lose the keys to my apartment forever. When I finally flipped one, there was just an etched spiral on the back, and Dan whispered that my shift had already ended hours ago. I woke up feeling unsettled, trying to remember where I left my actual keys.