"Infatuation; a foolish, unreasoning or extravagant passion or attraction."
-Tumblr
SUMMARY: He was like a black hole; she knew she had no escape, but oddly enough, she didn't want to break free either.
INTO THE BLACK HOLE
PROLOGUE: PREPARING FOR THE PLUNGE
When I was a kid, marriage in this desolate village was one of the few, rare things I actually admired.
I remember the first time I witnessed the tradition; I was seven that time, and it was my parents' wedding to be exact.
It was held at the vast, open area at the peak of Mt. Kanemasa, where the couple would exchange their eternal vows while overlooking the plains beyond them. Music would softly play in the background, and people would be dressed up in bright clothes, cheering, laughing and conversing with one another. No gossips, no whisperings, no sadness, and no awkwardness.
There was, also, this one thing that really caught my attention back then. It was the beautiful crimson ball of yarn they would present in a golden platter. The priest would cut off a piece of string; and it would be tied firstly around the woman's right pinky finger, followed by the man's. the village elders said it symbolized love; that fate deigned them to be together before and after their time, no matter how many times they would be reincarnated, no matter what lives they, what period they live in, ,and no matter where in the universe they would be born.
The red string of fate, however invisible, would continue to endlessly stretch, tangle, but never break. The couple's paths would always cross, as they were made for each other forever and always.
But that was just pitiful and wishful thinking conjured by the hypocrite-like and corrupt minds of men.
It was a myth, a story, a lie. I learned that lesson five years after the wedding. My parents began to constantly disagree and grew wary of one another. Trust was lost, distance increased in both physical and emotional aspects, the love they once shared slowly faded away, and oftentimes, they would argue about who was going to take custody of me.
The villagers said that it was just a simple test given by the fates. A rough patch, if you must; once they would get through this, everything would turn back to the way it was and their love would further flourish.
It never did.
And the next thing I knew, I was left without a mother.
Two predictable years later my father remarried. And I watched in disinterest as the red string was tied around my father's pinky for the second time. That was the moment my childish belief died. I was fourteen, and I mocked the red string of fate and treated it as a joke.
Until a year later, when he had come into our dull, gray village.
The first time I saw him was during the school orientation. He was welcomed by the student council and principal; purple hair and all. A complete stranger standing miles away from me, yet my heart erratically beat the moment he stepped on the platform.
I knew, at that very moment, that the red string of fate was tied between us. Though invisible, I knew for some irrational reason that we were meant to be together.
He was my brightly shining star in the midst of my colorless, boring rural life. I began to long for the city and civilization because of him. I began to fantasize about life with him, and I began imagining the red string of fate binding us together.
Yes, he was my star; but little did I know what happens when a star dies.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I apologize for any mistakes on the spelling and grammar. :)