:: Don't Eat The Yellow Snow - Fate ::

:: Sunday, November 21, 2004 ::

June –August 2003.

I am consistently not happy with this. Every time I read it I go back and change things, add things and take things out. There are two endings, only one of which I will give you. The other I tacked on the end and I think that it made it somewhat sappy, (or sappier if you are into that kind of thing). I think I just liked the idea of a build up to a climax that everyone knew was coming, but no one knew what form it was going to take. For interest's sake, I can tell you that this was written backwards, starting at the end and working forwards. Initially, it was like the movie "Memento" with the ending first, and then the story, but this way I think it flows better.

:: Nick 3:41 PM [+] ::
...

Fate

Nineteen years before it happened.
His mother took a sharp breath. Her water broke. His father bundled her into the car and rushed towards the hospital along the route he had meticulously prepared in his mind. He watched as they rolled her away, and paced expectantly as his son was thrust into the world. The child was smacked, took its first shuddering breaths of air and bawled; only to eventually be quieted by its mother's soft embrace. The tired family eventually returned home and settled into their new life. He grew quickly. Slowly building up to sleep through the night. Slowly learning faces and sounds. To coordinate movement, to talk, to use the toilet, slowly learning to live. Becoming a person before their very eyes. Powdery-faced aunts and grandmothers made cooing noises and kissy faces. Gently holding him, stroking his soft hair, breathing in the unmistakable scent of youth before returning him to his mother's arms when he started to sniffle. The older women exchanged home remedies, the best home cures for colic and nappy rash.
The younger women, the nieces, the cousins gently took the baby in their arms, and melted in the miracle of new life.
Advice was exchanged over coffee.
The leathery skinned men, looked gruff. Uncles and Grandfathers, the nephews, stood back, and let the women fuss over the baby. They feigned detachment, made jokes, talked about the footy, while each was secretly overjoyed and as much in awe of the child as the women. Each had plans for the boy, a football player, a cricketer, a musician, a doctor, an actor, a craftsman. Some had even secretly stashed small presents away. Pint sized footballs, small plastic guitars, a medical playset, hidden away to be brought out when the boy was of age. Life was already being planned. The sparkling blue eyes of the child merely glanced up at the blur of faces, oblivious to his circumstances, before succumbing to an innocent and restful sleep in his mother's arms.

Fourteen years before it happened.
Mothers gently wiped the tears from their children's eyes and sent them toddling off to school, making sure they were out of sight before pausing and dabbing at their own. An army of tiny men and women began their quest for education wearing pint sized shorts and dresses, carrying tiny book bags. The day flew. That night he came home demanding that he never be sent back, but by the next day was excited to return. Friendships were made. Little boys and little girls were unleashed into the playground daily, innocently playing kiss chasey, or playing house. Pretending they were married and had children of their own. Life went on. The days flew, the children grew. They learnt how to read, how to write and how to do maths in the classroom, and were educated in the perils of girl germs or boy germs in the playground. Soon, the children who had innocently played kiss chasey, refused to associate. Girls made up mean skippy rhymes to deal with the boys, boys retaliated with equally mean rhymes and taunts, both were invariably met with wails of "I'm dobbing!". Teachers smiled quietly to themselves.
Mothers wiped a tear from their eye when they were presented with the home made Birthday card, with crooked writing and pictures in crayon, and graciously accepted the finger paintings, the sketches, and the macaroni creations which took pride of place on the fridge under the magnet shaped like a banana.
Mothers were always there to care when a knee was skinned or a tear was shed, Fathers were there to tell their boy to "buck up" and make them forget with a game of backyard cricket. Every day the child grew stronger, smarter, and more independent. Parents began to treasure the time they had.

Ten years before it happened
He went to his first football game with his Dad. He was allowed to sit up front on the trip there, and watched excitedly the game before him. Pies and fruit boxes at half time, and a football of his very own at the end. The interest sparked. Dad eventually watched proudly as their son took the field at his first junior game. The years whipped by. Money was spent as clothes were outgrown, shoes were bought. New footy gear, new books, new instruments.

6 years before it happened
Within the space of a few years everything changed. He talked back now, He argued. He grew up. He had a mind of his own. Soon he was wandering off to high school. Suddenly he was noticing girls. He was infuriating the whole household by tying up the phones, he spend weekends out. At times he was the smiling and laughing boy he used to be, and other times he was overcome by a strange moroseness, an almost depression where he barricaded himself in his room and wouldn't come out. He slept till midday, ate everything in sight, and barely communicated. He enjoyed life. Lived it to the fullest, but as all teens he trod carefully through the minefield of highschool. The girls, the drugs, the alcohol, the bullies. The choices. He made the right ones. Never smoked. Never did drugs.
He got his first job. He was exploited. But he was being paid. Glancing in awe at his first pay check, then putting the money for a rainy day.

Three years before it happened.
He sat his first exam. Got his licence and learnt to drive. His mother sat up frantically until he got home the night he first took the car. Scared of what might happen. To her, this was just her baby boy. The boy who had held her hand crossing the road, who had come to her in tears wanting band-aids for the graze on his knee. He had a ball. The money he saved bought him his first car. He loved it like a child, but respected it for the effort it had taken to get. He drank sometimes, but never got behind the wheel under the influence. He knuckled down, he studied hard, and he partied hard. He toiled away to finish high school, dreaming of the jobs he could have, dreaming of the sights he could see, the places he could visit. Dreaming of the day where he could just drive without a care in the world. Drive away. Drive anywhere but here.

One year before it happened.
He panicked, he stressed, he sweated and he studied. He argued with his parents about alcohol, about his workload. Sometimes fear got the better of him, and he lay in bed at night wide awake and worried for what was going to become of him. What was his part in the plan? And why was he here?
He met a girl. A nice girl. And the love between them blossomed purely. They spent nights out with friends, and nights in curled up on the couch. He found himself falling crazily in love with Her. Life was up and down, like a demented roller coaster ride with no sign of ever stopping.
And then time closed in on him.
He studied.
He was overcome with panic
With fear.
With anticipation.
And then it was over
He stood amongst his class on stage proudly as he was presented with his diploma. He laughed with relief as he walked out of the double doors for the last time, took off the uniform for the last time. But still sometimes succumbed to the lingering fear of leaving the only world he had ever known behind.
He celebrated with the rest, but doubt remained.

One month before it happened
He started Uni, and settled quickly into the new life, the new world. He made new friends, stuck with some of his old ones, and said goodbye to many more. His girlfriend became the light of his life. And their bond only grew stronger. He still studied hard. He still partied hard.
Trouble in paradise. Him and Her argued. They broke up. He mourned. Sat for hours in his room, guitar on his lap playing away the pain. Playing to fill the emptiness in his soul that he felt, as if his whole world had fallen out from under him. He works. He drives to her house after work. Rings Her doorbell. Stands outside in the pouring rain. His best work suit, in the rain. Soaked. He presents her with a soggy bouquet and an apology. She cries a little. They embrace. The embrace is familiar. Warm. They kiss passionately, hungrily in the rain. Before laughing at how drenched they are. As their clothes spin slowly in the drier, they spoon, feeling safe again in each other's arms. He gently kisses her exposed shoulder. Remembering Her smell. And how lucky he is

Fourteen hours before it happened.
He rolled slowly out of bed. Showered, got dressed. Cooked breakfast. Worked a bit, veged out a bit. He talks to Her on the phone and made plans for the evening. He went shopping and bought a new suit for his new job that starts Monday. Two days from now. Have to look professional. He returned home. Shared coffee and a meal with his mother. A little greyer, a little slower, but still as intuitive and loving as ever. He talked to her, about life, about little things, about study, about Her. They spend the afternoon talking like adults. She is amazed, as sometimes she feels alienated. As if her son is a tenant who stays, but comes and goes as he pleases. She smiles

Five hours before it happened.
He showered, he shaved, and he combed his hair just so. He made sure he smelt nice, his teeth were clean, his clothes were neat. He picked up his wallet, checked to make sure there was money for an emergency, and collected his keys. He kissed his mother softly goodbye on his way out the door, and allayed her fears calmly. She had suddenly realised how tall he was, how proudly he stood, how broad his shoulders and how square his jaw and was full of a maternal pride. He yelled a goodbye to his father, and then was gone. The car he squandered and saved for spluttered to a start, and disappeared away along the road in a cloud of smog. He sang to the radio as he drove or hummed quietly along, rapping his fingers on the steering wheel to the drums, or turning the volume up as far as it could go for the solos. He picked up his girlfriend. Kissed her hello, murmured a greeting into her soft, sweet smelling hair. They strolled arm in arm back to the car and drove off slowly, chatting and laughing.
Exactly five hours before it happened, he parked in front of an average suburban house, locked the car, and walked slowly in to the party.

Three Hours before it happened
He caught up with old friends he hadn't seen in ages. He spoke with new people. Met new people. Caught up on all the new news. Laughed like he used to. He listened to the music on the stereo, he danced. He waited until the party had died down and sat on the couch. He felt good. He watched people couple off to the bedrooms. He watched the singles still have a good time. He sat with Her, hugged her, and amazed himself by gazing at her longingly as if for the first time so many years ago. He kisses her gently, before she bounds away to another group of friends.

An hour before it happened
People began to leave. Either bored or locked away in the bedrooms somewhere. He runs into Her in the deserted kitchen. She kisses him, and makes the suggestion they should leave. He begins to round up people, help tidy up, and farewell people.

Thirty minutes before it happened.
They said their last goodbyes. Hugs and kisses were exchanged, handshakes between the men. The night stillness was broken by cries of "See you soon" and "Catch you Monday". The house owner looked fleetingly out the door at the retreating couple and couldn't help but smile at how perfect they were. His strong rigid shoulders contrasted against her soft feminine curves. His sometimes-broody stillness against her open and effervescent outward nature. Like they were made completely opposite, but fit just the same. She smiled in spite of herself when she heard a faint squeal, followed by girlish giggles before she closed the door against the chill night air. The sleek car slid off into the night. Wheels hummed quietly on the blacktop as the headlights of the waning nighttime traffic crawled home. With a satisfied sigh, she turned her head, and gazed sleepily at him. A slow, comfortable smile spread across her face. He caught the look, and returned it, turning his eyes away from the road just long enough to smile back at her, and share a moment, without saying a word. Smiling softly to himself, he set his eyes back to the road, and guided the car homeward.

Ten minutes before it happened
The car purred softly up to the curb and stopped. She drowsily blinked her eyes, and stepped out into the brisk night. He put his arm around her, and walked her to the door. They embraced on the porch. Having a muffled conversation. Declining her invitation to come inside, he gently kissed her goodbye, before breaking the embrace and gazing lovingly into her eyes. He whispered a quiet goodbye, and kissed her once more on the forehead. He backed away slowly. Holding onto her hands until they couldn't stretch anymore. Their hands drifted apart, and he walked back down the driveway with a crisp sigh of cloth. She watched his retreating figure as he walked away, watched until his form was shapeless in the darkness. When she was sure the night had swallowed him completely, she turned and walked into her warm and waiting house.

Five minutes before it happened
He sat in his car. Started it. Waited for the engine to warm. He turned the radio to the oldies station, and cranked the volume up loud. He sat for a moment, remembering her smell, catching lingering traces of her perfume on his clothes. Remembering the feel of her skin, the taste of her mouth, and the look of her eyes.
He looked once more at the house. He grinned. He felt invincible. Gunning the engine, he put the car in gear.
The sleek car growled softly away from the curb.

A minute before it happened
He looked at the clock. 11:59. He distorted his voice, and sang falsetto to the chorus of the song on the radio.
"It was the summer of 69..."

Twenty seconds before it happened.
He reached the end of his girlfriend's street. Paused a moment and turned lazily left.

Two seconds before it happened.
He saw the truck. And his 19 years of life flashed before his eyes, culminating with the final fleeting glimpse of Her enthroned on the porch, surrounded by a soft halo of light. She was smiling.

Brakes shrieked

Metal was twisted wildly out of shape. Crumbled in on itself at impossible angles. Cars stopped. Doors banged. People yelled. One had his phone out. A woman retched in the gutter. The truck driver, pale faced muttered "Oh my God".
Blood dripped gently from the wreckage, mixing with the spreading pool of gasoline.

A light rain began to fall.

Somewhere in the night a baby cried.


:: Nick 2:47 PM [+] ::
...

a