Broken Silence [an excerpt]

I'm a strong believe of fate, not because I was pressured and not because of religion, but just by pure random choice.

When I was six years old, like any other wannabe rebellious child, I went to the playground without my parents' permission. There's a broken wooden swing hanging on a long tree branch that they had always forbidden me from touching. But something about its cracked seat and moss covered ropes attaching it to the branch drew me in. I ran up to the tree, panting while the guilt of disobeying my parents started to settle in.

I quickly made a promise to myself that if I could swing on the swing, just once, without it breaking, I wouldn't have to tell my parents about this little trip and they wouldn't be mad. If they were right after all and I did break it, I would confess everything. Looking back, it was a deadly risky decision, but seemed completely fair at the time, and it was a way to counteract and almost erase my guilt. So I swung my legs over the wooden board, feeling the aged, ratty rope in my hands and swung back and forth.

Back and forth, back and forth. It creaked and rattled, staining my clothes and hands but even after about 10 swings it remained strong and sturdy. I ran all the way back home, delighted with myself, and climbed back in through the doggy door, never to tell my parents.

From then on, I believed fate not only existed, but was the core of every action: everything positive and negative. Every once in a while, I tested fate on the most random things. I'd be eating expired yogurt, thinking, 'if this yogurt makes me sick, I will study for my test tomorrow. Otherwise, I'll probably be fine.' There was no correlation between them, nothing that made sense, but it was a way to keep some stability in my life, and probably a way for me to take as little responsibility for my actions as possible. I followed these little rules that I set for myself and it gave me the feeling that I had some control of my life, but that if things didn't turn out exactly as I wanted it wasn't all my fault either.

So right now, I'm sitting on the floor, my English assignments and Physics worksheets still scattered around, making a silent promise to myself.

In the next hour, if I get a notification from my phone from someone I know, even if it's just asking about homework, a simple 'hey', or someone coming into this room, specifically looking for me, this life is worth living a little while longer. Otherwise, I'm simply a waste and should act upon that.

I have to admit, I sort of created this promise in favor of myself. My best friend Clara is not only on her phone practically 24/7 but she accidentally saw the jagged red scars up my forearm less than an hour ago. Granted, she looked at me, pained, and ran away, I know she would never leave something like this unresolved for more than a few minutes. After all, this isn't the first time it's happened and I'm surprised she isn't knocking on my door already. I guess this should mean that I truly do want to live, that dying isn't exactly favorable, but I can't seem to come to that point, not really.

Not wanting to leave any loose ends untied, I send a simple heart to my mom and dad and I do this fairly frequently so they wouldn't find it strange. Then, almost as an afterthought I shoot a quick email to Star, trying to sound as normal as possible. Through our few pen pal emails we've exchanged, and the questions he'd left in his last email, there's that strange undeniable connection between us that makes it just feel a little bit wrong to leave him in the dark. 

To: starstheoryprevails

From: aworkinprogress

Subject: A Work In Progress

Alright, so maybe this pen pal assignment is not "the devil" but I wouldn't call it an angel either. And I was thinking, since I had you explain your username, I might as well tell you mine. 

There's not much behind it, to be honest, just that everyone you talk to, every living, breathing person is a work in progress. Their life is still ahead of them which leaves much room for change. Even if they're on their deathbed, they still have the chance to talk to someone, maybe it's you, and say something that will change the way you think, what you do, so their work is not done yet. We're all just in progress, aren't we? And life will take up on a journey and lead us to our destination, whatever it is meant to be.

- A

ps. Movies and popcorn is a much better date idea than mini golf ;)

pps. No, that is not (too) cliché

I'm pretty proud of the email. If it was published in one of those books recording the last words (or texts, I guess) of a famous person, I'd be pretty pleased with that. And so, I sit back and wait, starting a timer on my phone for one hour. The countdown ticks to 59 minutes, then to 58 and 57. I watch it as it possibly ticks down the minutes of my life, and I wait. I should probably be concerned at how calm I am, because I realize I would be perfectly content with either outcome. 

When it's down to 10 minutes, I've grown restless, but remain in the same position. Clara, where are you? If she doesn't appear, then what? Am I really going to do it? Off myself? End my work even though it should be in progress? Is my story really supposed to be over? I wonder these questions repeatedly until the timer reaches three minutes.

Ding.

I jump up, willing myself not to be too excited because it's very possibly just my professor assigning a new item of homework, which doesn't count. But then, I turn on my phone and read the notification, my heart jumping to my throat in surprise and excitement.