I didn’t think anything of it at first. It was just a design graffitied on a deli’s window. That deli burned down the next morning. Electrical fire, they said.

A month later, I noticed a familiar shape formed by the grooves on a tree in the park. I didn’t remember seeing it there before, and it reminded me of the deli’s graffiti. Less than twenty-four hours later, lightning struck that tree, killing it.

It was a strange coincidence, but I didn’t take it seriously until the day my neighbor publicly shamed his son for ruining their family car. The scratch on the bumper resembled that same design. That evening, that car was totaled when the son forgot to put it in park when he got out, and it rolled into the path of a truck.

That’s when I realized that symbol was the mark of destruction. Of death. My curiosity piqued. Would I know who’d die within a day? What about food? I could test that theory at work.

I’d only had this delivery job a week, and I hoped I wouldn’t get fired for rummaging through a customer’s groceries as I studied the fruit. I found it. The symbol. This banana was going to be eaten today.

A cold touch on the back of my neck made me recoil and I turned in alarm, only to see my girlfriend.

“Chantal, your hands are like ice!” I said, rubbing the back of my neck.

She giggled. “I know, I was just checking out your new work. I love it! When’d you get it?”

“A week ago,” I replied, slamming the trunk. “When’d you get back?”

“Yesterday.”

“I missed you,” I said as we hugged. “There’s so much I want to tell you.”

“Same! You free tonight?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll drop by at seven.”

“Perfect.”

We kissed before she walked into the store, and I whistled as I did my deliveries, smiling at the thought of tonight.

That evening, Chantal pounced on me as soon as I opened the door. We fell on the couch and my hands began to roam, but she stopped me and stood up.

“Wait! I want to show you something!” she said, removing her shirt.

“Ooh, a striptease?”

“That’s part of it!”

With a smile, she turned her back to me, swaying her hips as she lifted her hair up. And my heart dropped.

The symbol.

Freshly tattooed on the nape of her neck.

I ran over and yanked her hair up, my mouth dry as I stared at the symbol.

“How’d you get this!” I yelled, my voice shaking with fear and despair.

“Ow, babe, you’re hurting me!”

“How’d you get this!”

“I had it done after work!”

“Why!”

“Why are you upset?” she asked, on the verge of tears. “I just wanted to surprise you!”

“Why’d you get this symbol!”

“I liked yours this morning and thought it’d be cool to have matching tattoos!”