Fate - The End

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The end is here.

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Five lives. One stormy night. Their stories are strung together by the threads of Fate.

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Fate - The End

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The boy is feeling the beginnings of a migraine coming on.

Technically, the boy is not a boy, considering that someone who manages the order of things and is older than the stars and the planets and the Universe itself (although he is admittedly a bit younger than Time) cannot really be called a boy, much less even a human

But for all intents and purposes, at the present time and place, he is a boy, and this boy is feeling the beginnings of a migraine coming on.

Fate (the boy) has done a lot of work today. He supposes he can’t help that his profession is a full-time concern. As to what his occupation is, let’s just say that he fixes things. The mechanic of the Universe. He smiles at his made-up job description, or at least his mouth curves up at the edges in a semblance of a smile. Fate cannot feel emotions – or at the very least, he shouldn’t act upon them. He has broken that rule many times over in the past, but none as severe as the stunt he pulled off today; he had never before preserved a life that was meant to be ended. 

Rebecca Sanders was supposed to die today. It would be practically impossible for anyone not to after being hit by a bus going 120 on the thoroughfare. Be that as it may, with large thanks to yours truly, her suicide attempt is now perceived as a terrible accident that happened to a poor but rather attractive woman who is now a medical miracle. Maybe she’d get into a few local talk shows, or at least get featured in the news. All in a day’s work.

The matter of her daughter is different. He really hadn’t needed to run interference and point Finny out; she is a resourceful girl and she would have found a way to get back to her mother once word gets around that Rebecca is alive. Somehow though, he had wanted to spare her the trouble; he felt that trouble was one thing the eleven year-old had experienced far too much in her life. It was a shame how she had gone from such a vibrant child to someone who had seen far too much of the world to remain innocent. When he compelled her to sleep, he hadn’t expected her to submit so quickly. Usually it would be the younger ones who could fight Fate and change what was written in the Book all by themselves; the adults were the ones who followed docilely, worn out by the realities of life.

Fate folds up his umbrella and gets in the waiting car, taking off his sunglasses and resting his head against the cool leather. “Home, Fremont, if you please. This world irritates me,” he says tiredly to his chauffeur. Fremont nods and drives off. Fate detects a slight glimmer around Fremont, a telltale sign that this was just a shade and Fremont’s real form was somewhere else. Fate and his accomplices have the ability to be in many places at once, because how else can they get anything done with these people’s twisted lives? Indeed, Fate himself had numerous shades working around the world at this very moment. Nevertheless, Fate wonders where else Fremont is right now; he certainly hadn’t informed Fate of his unplanned jaunt. Suddenly, Fremont’s form solidifies.

“Back, are we? Wherever from?” Fate asks.

“Around, sir.” Fremont looks to the rearview mirror to match Fate’s stare. Underneath the dark sunglasses Fate wears while the boy is out, his irises are mismatched. One is a clear transparent color, almost blending with the whites of his eyes so that he appears blind in one eye, though that would be the furthest thing from the truth. The other is a sharp black, its depths seeming to be able to penetrate into even the realms of the future. Fate’s eyes stare back, unblinking, until Fremont looks away; you could never win Fate in a staring contest, not when he is given the eyes of clear vision and foresight. Besides, there is something frightening in his eyes; it is not only their colors, but those eyes that have seen eons go by look almost haunted and possess a sense of sadness about them that Fremont cannot place.

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