I’ve finally hit the end of this. All credit to people who can sit and write every day, for more than a month straight. You have my kudos.
And yes, I know that is my job as well. But I usually write non-fiction, which is less strenuous. This has been an adventure.
Moving on.
Prompt: You’re reading a book about your life. As you reach the time you’re currently at, you find there aren’t many pages left.
Fateful
Re-reading my life story has been enlightening. I’m remembering things I had forgotten, for good and for ill.
I’m also having a chance to better understand the repercussions of my actions.
It’s one thing to live out my life in real time and have things happen as they may. It’s another entirely to be able to read about those things and flip back and forth to see the long line of events that only happened thanks to a choice I made in Grade 12.
It’s also quite the trip to realize I have my entire life in my hands. All of my past, what is now the present, and forward into the future.
The future is the part I have carefully stayed away from reading. I have worried about whether what is written down is what will happen or only what is on track to happen. If I read the future pages, will those events happen or will they change now that I know what they are?
It’s quite paradoxical.
Yet, as I get to the end of the present, I see only a scant few pages left. Whereas up to now has filled more than 400 pages, it looks like there are only five remaining. And some of those might be chapter changes.
With so few pages left, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to learn what the future has in store for me. It’s clear how I will die will be upon me in no time.
Still, I fear what I will learn. Am I to be burgled tonight and killed when I catch the invader? Will I die on the toilet, rupturing a blood vessel in my brain by pushing too hard? Do I drop a knife cooking dinner, slicing open my wrist?
Only one way to find out.
« Chapter 35
He turned the page onto what would be the final chapter of his life. In trepidation he read on, having made the choice to continue out of more than curiosity. He had defeated the urge for instant gratification many times before, but now he simply had to know.
But finding the words less than enticing, he put the book down and decided he didn’t really need to know how it would end. There was nothing he could do to change the path his life had taken thus far, and there was nothing he could do to change the path still to come.
Getting out of the chair, he stood up. The sudden rush of blood to his head made him a tad lightheaded. He paused, waiting for the sensation to cease, as it had hundreds of times before.
It did not cease this time. Instead of his vision clearing and his balance kicking in, the sensation got worse. He was having a stroke. He collapsed to the floor. Everything around him went dark. He was scared, because he knew no one would find him for a week. The thought only lasted a moment before everything was still. »
Well then.
And there we have it. I completed a herculean task of writing one fiction piece from an r/writingprompts prompt each day in September.
Although, truth be told, I did still fail at this. There were a few days I wrote two or three pieces to catch up. But I published those on the dates they were supposed to have been written, so unless you read this far, or were checking my site daily, you won’t know the truth.
I’m sneaky like that.