Red String - A Short Story

The Red String

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There is an ancient Japanese legend that states that each and every person is connected to their future lover by a red string tied to their pinky. The string may stretch and fray, becoming entangled with other threads, but it will never break. Legend has it that if one were to follow the string, it would eventually lead them to their destiny.

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Elanor shot bolt upright in bed, panting heavily and drenched in cold sweat, chills dancing across her back. Another nightmare, she thought. She squinted at the warm rays of light that peeked through a crack in her curtains, mingling with tiny particles of dust that hovered in the still air. She reluctantly dragged herself out from beneath a heap of quilts and blankets, shivering as her bare feet hit the cold floor. Elanor groped for her glasses on the bedside table and slipped them onto her face before groggily walking to the bathroom. Flipping on a light, she grimaced as her eyes adjusted to the brightness. She shook her head, clearing her mind and focusing now on her own appearance. She sighed, gazing at her long chestnut-brown hair, lopsided and falling out of its bun where she had slept on it. Her own bluebell eyes stared back at her, pupils small from the increase in light. She frowned, reaching her right hand up to pull her hair out of its current nest-like state, but stopped when she saw an anomaly in her reflection.

There appeared to be a thin, faded red string hanging from her pinky finger, small but certainly distinct. She blinked, confused, and rubbed her eyes. When she glanced down at her hand again, there was nothing there. She frowned, shaking her head as if to clear it. It's finally happened, she thought. I'm actually going crazy. But as she went through her classes that day, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something pulling at her.

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"El, what's up with you?" asked Kira, smoothing out her pink skirt as she sat down across from her friend, setting her plate of salad on the cafeteria table. "You've been acting kind of weird all day."

"M'fine," said Elanor through a mouthful of mashed potatoes, pushing her food around on her plate with a fork. She swallowed. "Just tired, that's all."

"You sure?" her friend asked, dabbing some Italian Dressing from her glossy lips with a napkin. "I mean, you've never exactly been normal, per se, but today you're just... extra Elanor."

Elanor rolled her eyes. "I am actively choosing to ignore that last comment, and like I said, I'm fine."

"Is this about Conner again?" asked Kira, now eyeing her from behind a powder compact. "There's a reason you two broke up. Lots of them, actually." She tossed a lock of blonde hair over her shoulder.

Elanor groaned. "No, this is not about Conner," she protested, folding her arms in front of her. "I've told you a thousand times, I'm over it."

"Totally," her friend deadpanned, widening one eye and squinting the other ridiculously as she swiped mascara over her lashes. "Crap," she exclaimed, tears welling up in her eye from where she had just poked it with the brush. Elanor coughed, trying in vain to stifle her laugh. Kira didn't seem to notice.

"You know, El," she said, rubbing vigorously at the dark smudge underneath her eye, "I find it almost amusing that you still try to convince me you're over him when you still have his picture in your wallet." Elanor's phone buzzed, lighting up on the table, and Kira raised an eyebrow. "And apparently as your lock-screen."