Wish Against Destiny
Summary: This very short story was inspired by a writing challenge from Anna.
Disclaimer: Early Edition characters belong to whoever created them. No copyright infringement intended. No profit is being made. Some of the dialogue that appears in this story is not my own, but belongs to the writer of the Early Edition episode "Fate."
Author: Tracy Diane Miller E-mail address: tdmiller82@hotmail.com
Wish Against Destiny
If I could have just one wish, it would be to wake up one morning and not know what was going to happen. I would wish to be a normal guy leading a normal life without the burden of getting tomorrow's newspaper today.
* * * * * *
It was a wish that had found comfort in the recesses of his soul and had swirled around possessively in his brain, unspoken, yet strong and vigilant, for a very long time.
It was a wish against destiny, his destiny. It was a destiny that had been forged by some unknown source that saw fit for him to inherit the persona of a hero.
How often had he prayed that he could escape The Paper's prophecy, run away and never look back? But he couldn't.
It was just a wish, but not really. He was only waxing philosophical at the time and not asking for a wish to be granted. But somehow that shooting star had misunderstood him.
Last night, a bountiful sorority of stars had illuminated the ebony skies. The stars weren't shy in their behavior. They seemed flirtatious twinkling in merriment as if in a desperate quest to be noticed. Then this one dominant star emerged and appeared determined to hoard all of the attention. The star was an astrological trendsetter as it shot across the sky with phenomenal brilliance.
A shooting star.
Some people believe that shooting stars are supposed to be magical and possess the ability to grant wishes. At least, that was what Mom and Dad told him when he was a kid. He remembered when he was six years old during one of those quiet nights in Hickory when the lazy crickets clicked their heels out of boredom producing a distinctive sound that resonated effectively in the night air. Those were the nights when an army of stars held a celestial conference in the sky. There were so many of them, more than he could ever count. And the stars resembled that glitter from art class that had been applied to black construction paper awakening its bland color with a joyous sparkle. He remembered lying in bed and Mom telling him about the stars with the funny names like the Little Dipper. Then Mom gestured for him to get out of bed and come over to the window. Little mud green eyes looked out of the window and widened when Mom indicated a shooting star. Mom told him to make a wish. He remembered wishing for a bicycle and as added insurance, he threw in a request for a puppy. Well, he didn't get the puppy until his birthday next year, but the next morning, he found a shiny red bicycle with a big gold ribbon tied to its handles waiting for him in the living room. And it wasn't even his birthday. He was convinced that it was a shooting star that had heard a little boy's fervent plea and had granted his request. But he wasn't a little boy anymore nor did he believe in wishing upon a star as a means of fulfilling his dreams.
Still, last night when a shooting star soared across the Chicago skies, he silently wished for a normal life devoid of the responsibility of knowing and changing the future. He wished that he would never have to wake up to the grating chorus of a meow and a thump. And he wished that he would never again feel the guilt and pain of failure and of loss and that the shadows of Jeremiah and Earl would no longer haunt his dreams.
"I don't want to know and I don't want to care. I just want to wake up one morning and not know. Please."
The choice was his and he was supposed to count the living not the dead. The advice offered him some solace when his body and spirit were lying battered on the floor of that abandoned carpet store. But a superhuman responsibility of saving lives required a superhuman heart, it seemed, a heart that neglected its own well being in favor of the welfare of others. Wasn't that what every police officer and every fire fighter possessed? It was the kind of selflessness that made a person consider himself as an afterthought as he went about the job of saving lives. These real life heroes, however, aren't equipped with steel hearts. While every life saved probably provided them with the satisfaction of giving a person a tomorrow, every life that is lost is indelibly etched on the brain and pierced against a heart that is raw from remorse and regret. As powerful as the plea to count the living not the dead might be, the lives that weren't saved are always factored into the equation and are never forgotten.
He knew that he would never forget Jeremiah and Earl.
The next morning he awoke at 6:30 a.m. to the sound of his alarm clock. He paused for a moment his ears trained for the sound of a meow and a thump. Nothing. Instinctively, he proceeded to the front door and opened it, but found that only a barren hallway floor greeted him. He scratched his head in confusion wondering about the absence of Cat and his early edition. Then he remembered his wish.
Once the realization set it, he initially felt happy to be free from his burden. He felt like a paroled man released from prison. For the first time in five years, he was able to enjoy his life as his own. Maybe he would go see a movie today, but whatever he decided to do, he realized that the possibilities were endless.
He enjoyed his first few hours of freedom. He was walking on Lake Shore Drive when he came across a crowd of people and heard an ambulance blaring in the distance. The ambulance pulled up to the scene and two paramedics exited the vehicle. He hurried to the front of the crowd. What he saw stabbed at his heart. A little girl, probably no more then seven or eight years old, was lying on the ground. She was unconscious. The paramedics gently lifted the child onto the stretcher. He learned from one of the onlookers that the child had been struck by a car.
Even after the ambulance pulled away and the crowd evaporated, he stood there dazed for a long time. If he had received The Paper, he could have prevented that accident. And how many more accidents were happening in Chicago right now that he could prevent except he didn't know when or where those accidents would occur?
These thoughts tormented him for the entire day. It was a torment that was fed by the sound of every siren he heard echoing in the distance. That night, he stayed awake for a long time. And he found himself praying for The Paper. And as strange as it sounded, he found himself missing Cat.
He discovered that as much as the ingratitude of the people he saved bothered him, as much as the curious stares and unkind words questioning his sanity hurt him, he needed to be out there, helping people. He couldn't just be a face in a crowd while people were suffering. He needed The Paper as much as The Paper needed him. The Paper was his destiny and no wish could ever erase that destiny.
The End.
Summary: This very short story was inspired by a writing challenge from Anna.
Disclaimer: Early Edition characters belong to whoever created them. No copyright infringement intended. No profit is being made. Some of the dialogue that appears in this story is not my own, but belongs to the writer of the Early Edition episode "Fate."
Author: Tracy Diane Miller E-mail address: tdmiller82@hotmail.com
Wish Against Destiny
If I could have just one wish, it would be to wake up one morning and not know what was going to happen. I would wish to be a normal guy leading a normal life without the burden of getting tomorrow's newspaper today.
* * * * * *
It was a wish that had found comfort in the recesses of his soul and had swirled around possessively in his brain, unspoken, yet strong and vigilant, for a very long time.
It was a wish against destiny, his destiny. It was a destiny that had been forged by some unknown source that saw fit for him to inherit the persona of a hero.
How often had he prayed that he could escape The Paper's prophecy, run away and never look back? But he couldn't.
It was just a wish, but not really. He was only waxing philosophical at the time and not asking for a wish to be granted. But somehow that shooting star had misunderstood him.
Last night, a bountiful sorority of stars had illuminated the ebony skies. The stars weren't shy in their behavior. They seemed flirtatious twinkling in merriment as if in a desperate quest to be noticed. Then this one dominant star emerged and appeared determined to hoard all of the attention. The star was an astrological trendsetter as it shot across the sky with phenomenal brilliance.
A shooting star.
Some people believe that shooting stars are supposed to be magical and possess the ability to grant wishes. At least, that was what Mom and Dad told him when he was a kid. He remembered when he was six years old during one of those quiet nights in Hickory when the lazy crickets clicked their heels out of boredom producing a distinctive sound that resonated effectively in the night air. Those were the nights when an army of stars held a celestial conference in the sky. There were so many of them, more than he could ever count. And the stars resembled that glitter from art class that had been applied to black construction paper awakening its bland color with a joyous sparkle. He remembered lying in bed and Mom telling him about the stars with the funny names like the Little Dipper. Then Mom gestured for him to get out of bed and come over to the window. Little mud green eyes looked out of the window and widened when Mom indicated a shooting star. Mom told him to make a wish. He remembered wishing for a bicycle and as added insurance, he threw in a request for a puppy. Well, he didn't get the puppy until his birthday next year, but the next morning, he found a shiny red bicycle with a big gold ribbon tied to its handles waiting for him in the living room. And it wasn't even his birthday. He was convinced that it was a shooting star that had heard a little boy's fervent plea and had granted his request. But he wasn't a little boy anymore nor did he believe in wishing upon a star as a means of fulfilling his dreams.
Still, last night when a shooting star soared across the Chicago skies, he silently wished for a normal life devoid of the responsibility of knowing and changing the future. He wished that he would never have to wake up to the grating chorus of a meow and a thump. And he wished that he would never again feel the guilt and pain of failure and of loss and that the shadows of Jeremiah and Earl would no longer haunt his dreams.
"I don't want to know and I don't want to care. I just want to wake up one morning and not know. Please."
The choice was his and he was supposed to count the living not the dead. The advice offered him some solace when his body and spirit were lying battered on the floor of that abandoned carpet store. But a superhuman responsibility of saving lives required a superhuman heart, it seemed, a heart that neglected its own well being in favor of the welfare of others. Wasn't that what every police officer and every fire fighter possessed? It was the kind of selflessness that made a person consider himself as an afterthought as he went about the job of saving lives. These real life heroes, however, aren't equipped with steel hearts. While every life saved probably provided them with the satisfaction of giving a person a tomorrow, every life that is lost is indelibly etched on the brain and pierced against a heart that is raw from remorse and regret. As powerful as the plea to count the living not the dead might be, the lives that weren't saved are always factored into the equation and are never forgotten.
He knew that he would never forget Jeremiah and Earl.
The next morning he awoke at 6:30 a.m. to the sound of his alarm clock. He paused for a moment his ears trained for the sound of a meow and a thump. Nothing. Instinctively, he proceeded to the front door and opened it, but found that only a barren hallway floor greeted him. He scratched his head in confusion wondering about the absence of Cat and his early edition. Then he remembered his wish.
Once the realization set it, he initially felt happy to be free from his burden. He felt like a paroled man released from prison. For the first time in five years, he was able to enjoy his life as his own. Maybe he would go see a movie today, but whatever he decided to do, he realized that the possibilities were endless.
He enjoyed his first few hours of freedom. He was walking on Lake Shore Drive when he came across a crowd of people and heard an ambulance blaring in the distance. The ambulance pulled up to the scene and two paramedics exited the vehicle. He hurried to the front of the crowd. What he saw stabbed at his heart. A little girl, probably no more then seven or eight years old, was lying on the ground. She was unconscious. The paramedics gently lifted the child onto the stretcher. He learned from one of the onlookers that the child had been struck by a car.
Even after the ambulance pulled away and the crowd evaporated, he stood there dazed for a long time. If he had received The Paper, he could have prevented that accident. And how many more accidents were happening in Chicago right now that he could prevent except he didn't know when or where those accidents would occur?
These thoughts tormented him for the entire day. It was a torment that was fed by the sound of every siren he heard echoing in the distance. That night, he stayed awake for a long time. And he found himself praying for The Paper. And as strange as it sounded, he found himself missing Cat.
He discovered that as much as the ingratitude of the people he saved bothered him, as much as the curious stares and unkind words questioning his sanity hurt him, he needed to be out there, helping people. He couldn't just be a face in a crowd while people were suffering. He needed The Paper as much as The Paper needed him. The Paper was his destiny and no wish could ever erase that destiny.
The End.