The blackened hands are upraised and are slowly opening as if they’re blooming. They have an air of brokenness in the contortion of the fingers, as the colour fades into the canvas, except for a single red line with a droplet of blood. Water stains colour the one arm and bleed into the background, fading into oblivion. The environment is lightly tinted with a light, cool grey that is barely visible.

If hands could talk, they’d tell each person’s life story in complete detail. We use our hands for almost everything, and only those who have lost the use of theirs will genuinely appreciate how much they’ve meant. Hands can be graceful in their movement if you look at a ballet dancer. Hands can be callous and hard-working if you look at mine-workers and labourers. Let a palm reader glance over your hands, and they’ll be able to tell so much about you and even predict your future through the four deepest lines visible to them: the heart line, headline, lifeline, and the fate line. All of these lines represent the body, mind and soul of a person:

Body: The lifeline arches around the base of your thumb, starting from your index finger. It doesn’t predict how long you will live, but rather how prosperous, or stable you are or will become.

Mind: The headline runs horizontally across the centre of the palm and signifies your state of mind and can also relate to your brain and cognitive functions.

Soul: The heart line runs horizontally across the top of the palm and signifies your state of emotions. It also relates to your physical heart.

The sometimes elusive fate line runs vertically from the base of your palm up towards the middle of your palm. This line signifies your potential success and profession.

Efflorescent Hands symbolize the effort it takes to live: continually trying to sync the body, mind and soul. Only once all these things work in unison life will flourish and blossom. The water stain is the curve-ball we’re thrown through ups and downs. On the opposite end, life persists in a single red drop. It is a silent request to Death to spare you just one more year.

”Oh death! 

Won’t you spare me over ’till another year?

Well what is this that I can’t see, with ice cold hands taking hold of me?

Well, I am death, none can excel,  I’ll open the door to heaven or hell.

I’ll fix your feet ’till you can’t walk, I’ll lock your jaw ’till you can’t talk.

I’ll close your eyes so you can’t see.

This very hour come and go with me.

In death I come to take the soul, leave the body and leave it cold

To drop the flesh off of the frame.

The earth and worms both have a claim.

Oh, death, oh death!

Won’t you spare me over ’till another year?”