Oops. After a little blip with the flash fiction, we're back. I wrote a long version of this that wasn't working at all, so instead I've distilled it down to 100 words. This is inspired in part by a New Scientist article.
Nocebo (100 words)
She sashayed by, perfectly groomed and eight moves ahead. “You see why I’m choosing her?” he asked. “It’s for the best.”
“Yes,” I said. I always said yes to him.
“You do that Voodoo,” he says. I don’t. A little Tarot reading, that’s all. But he won’t listen. We all told him what she was.
“Lift the curse”, he says now. As if I have any power.
“If you still love me...” he says. He has lost his home, money, identity. It’s not my doing. But he believes it, and that is voodoo. All I have to say is no.
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