While it’s not uncommon for factory errors to result in fortune cookies with blank messages, when Martin split his open, he found that it contained an atypical form of blankness. Along the left-hand side of his fortune, a blinking cursor could be seen, still awaiting user input.

When it became clear to Martin that he was not hallucinating, the thought occurred to him that he might be able to take advantage of this anomaly, and personally write his own future. If he could just find the right kind of keyboard, he could then interface with the slip before him, and type anything he wanted. Of course, he knew better than to write himself as winning the lottery, or finding the woman of his dreams, or anything so naive; he’d simply type “you’re about to find even more fortunes like this,” as just about anyone who’d ever thought about such a problem would.

Then, after several minutes of uninterrupted fantasy, a moment of realization overcame Martin as he remembered the sobering truth: fortune cookies don’t actually tell the future. Even if he were to somehow find a keyboard that worked, any attempt to seize control of his destiny through such a medium would ultimately prove futile.

He sighed, and left his fortune on the table as he exited the restaurant. Its cursor continued to blink.

No fortune is a substitute for having good luck.

Somewhere out there is a fortune cookie which contains the secret name of death.