At a yard sale in a wooded neighborhood across town, a man browsed through the cornucopia of junk, toys and other value-priced flotsam. He walked over to a table that reminded him of Rudolph’s Island of Forgotten toys. A doll. A water pistol. And a Magic 8-Ball.
Manufactured by Mattel, the Magic 8-Ball is a popular toy used by some to predict the future. The man felt its warm plastic in his hand, shook it and said,. “Will I buy this Magic 8-Ball?”
The blue die inside rolled up to the top of the plastic screen. “It is certain.”
He had had one as a child and loved it. He shook it again, “Will I be rich?” The die answered, “Without a doubt.”
He walked up to the scowling lady with the cigar box and plunked down a dollar. “Thank you,” she said as he nodded and collected his purchase. “Is she really a man?” The 8-Ball answered, “Without a doubt.”
He carefully placed his prize in the front seat of his Saturn wagon. He shook it again, “Will I be late for dinner?”
The Magic 8-Ball answered, “You will arrive at 5:07 and your girlfriend will be mad.”
The man looked around to his left. He looked around to his right. The grouchy lady was the only person he could see. He held the 8-Ball and asked another question, “What kind of car will drive by next?”
The 8-ball answered, “A green Chevrolet Malibu.”
A green Chevrolet Malibu went past.
A slight evil smile came to his face. The man held the 8-ball greedily, covering it in case the lady with the cigar box wanted it back. He had the look of the man who found the singing frog in the old Warner Brothers’ cartoon One Froggy Evening.
The next day, the man sat in his cubicle while holding his new toy. “What will the stock market do today?” The Magic 8-Ball spun around and answered, “It will lose 232 points.” The man got on his computer and made the appropriate trades. He then asked it, “Who will win the baseball game tonight?”
“St. Louis 4-1.”
The man called his bookie and made a $100 bet. He took a sip of his coffee, went back to playing Farmville on his computer and continued collating yesterday’s work reports. He looked at the picture of his girlfriend. “I’m going to be something. You just watch me.”
The next morning, he checked his cellphone. St. Louis had won 4-1 and the market had acted just as the 8-ball had predicted. He asked another series of sports questions and called his bookie again. “No need to get greedy,” he thought. These would be the last sports bets this week. Just for fun he asked, “Where is Osama Bin Laden?”
The Magic 8-Ball answered, “Abbottabad, Pakistan.”
The man smiled and picked up the phone.
Two years later, CNBC’s reporter sat in the opulent office. She was there to interview Wall Street’s newest power broker. He was a man who had risen out of nowhere to become one of the richest men on the street.
“You have amassed a fortune of over $1 billion dollars. So what would say is the secret to your success?” she asked.
The man pointed over his shoulder to a glass case. Inside of it was a Magic 8-Ball.
“You have to be kidding,” the reporter scoffed. The man smiled at her, handed her to ball and said, “Try it yourself.”
She held the ball, “Will I get a straight answer to my question?”
The Magic 8-Ball said, “It is certain.”
The next morning while overlooking lower Manhattan, the man held the 8-ball in his hand. He was busy writing down all the sports scores and stock prices for the next day. He picked up the 8-ball and looked at the window. It read, “You will die at 5:04 p.m..”
A chill ran down his spine.
He looked at it again, “You can’t hide from your fate.”
The man panicked. He ran out of his office and down the hall. He had to hide. He had to run. People noticed the sweat forming on his forehead. The clock read, “8:59 a.m.”
“I’ve got to hide.” The man shoved himself into the supply closet. “I’ve got to stay safe.” Hour after hour passed. “I’ve got to stay safe,” he whimpered.
An alarm rang out and his heart stopped. In the dark of the closet, the man smelled smoke. “OMIGOD,” he thought. “The building is on fire.” His heart pounded into his throat.
He ran out into the office and toward the stairwell. If he had bothered, he would have noticed that it was now 4:57 p.m. As he ran down the stairs, he clutched his Magic 8-ball for dear life.
The office employees gathered on Wall Street as the smoke billowed out of the top floors. The panicked man ran out onto the curb and stopped. Looking up at his burning building and confused by the chaos around him, he stepped unsteadily. A New York Cop came over and told the crowd to get back. The man stopped and then walked two steps back off the curb.
He never saw the cab that hit him. It was 5:04 p.m.
As his dead body hit the ground, the Magic 8-ball rolled across the street. When it came to a stop, a young man bent over and picked it up.
A slight evil smile came to his face. He held the 8-ball greedily, covering it just in case someone decided to take it back. He had the look of the man who found the singing frog in the old Warner Brothers’ cartoon One Froggy Evening.
