"The purpose of life is to be defeated by greater and greater things."
- Rainer Maria Rilke
"As flies to wanton boys are we to th' gods/
they kill us for their sport"
- King Lear Act 4 Scene 1, 32-37
I didn't believe in destiny until now.
The sky was open, a thousand black and beckoning clouds twisting in on one another. My hair ripped around with the wind, a million sounds raging around me and I heard nothing but the ringing in my ears. I closed my eyes as he hugged me closer to him. And all I could think about was the swing outside my childhood home back in Maine.
Was this what it was like to die? The world fell away and suddenly I was back on the wooden plank, twisting the adjacent ropes and then letting myself go, twirling around, throwing my head back and laughing wildly. I felt like this now. Wild as I twisted round and then round again, the world an indistinguishable blur.
Destiny. Humans are defined by moments. This was mine. It was strange to think that my stars had led me here. That someone eons ago had decided this for me. And what choice did I have?
"Keep close!" he yelled.
Fool. How could I not?
I buried my face deeper into his chest, breathing in his scent, reveling in the familiar before everything would be taken from me. My swing set in Maine. The summer ending as the cool breeze toyed with my jeans and the strings of my sweatshirt. How happy I was then, twisting round and round under the Old Sycamore.
Then, everything went black.
