Journal Entry 342: Conversation with a Future Character.
Amos, my dear boy, it has been a long time. I’m almost upon your story- or at least the role that you play. When I get to writing you- that will be in about another week or so- then I’ll begin to change you from a non-action wus who always follows the rules, to one who takes risks and defies the odds. Yes. You’ll be a proper strong man in the end; but no, you don’t get the girl. Men like us- when you do become like us- never get the girl. They prefer the good looking, dangerous types who have means of providing for them. Even if you did have the means of providing for them; it still won’t work since it’s not written in the cards.
A pause… weeping in the background….
Now, now don’t cry. The future is not always written in stone. Perhaps there is someone out there for you and they simply haven’t been revealed yet. Perhaps it’ll be a person who you can’t control…a person that no one can control. She’ll care for you as much as she can; but to get there you must play the part you’re assigned. Be a good boy… play by the rules… better yet….don’t…. and I’ll make sure you live long enough to be delivered into her hands.
Weeping ceased….slowly a smile appears on a face in the background…..
One final thing, Amos; be wary of what you wish for. What the heart feels it wants- what it feels it can’t live without… may be the very thing that kills it in the end.
The voice stops… the speaker crackles and goes silent…. A blackened figure with glasses, looks down at his weathered hands…a lone tear escapes the confines of the glass and splatters the palm of his left hand.
Standing up from the swivel chair he was sitting in, he glances one last time through the panes of glass that made the barrier between him and them.
Time to go… it was always time to go… he must stop… he couldn’t stop… many more to see… many more to talk to….many more to save?
Breaking his thoughts, he turns toward the metallic, silver door, with a red exit sign that hovered above it. He walks, one step at a time, as pain etches across his face. A noticeable limp in his right leg slows his progress; but not his determination to survive and thrive on what life has thrown at him. He had at least learned that much from his only personal journey through hell.
Grabbing the silver handle, he throws the door open and exits into the scorching white sun that shines overhead in the barren wasteland that he temporarily calls home.
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His search goes on….it will always goes on… until death comes for him… but he knows that will not be for a very long time….
His journey continues and we’ll see him again…sometime, somewhere down the road life has set for us.
Until then, may the wind ever be at your feet.
Sincerely,
The Author.
