Fate  
by Daniel Vidri

         I hold the power in my hand, the power to end it all, and yet I'm powerless. The jagged, cruel blade pressed against my neck shall liberate me. It, in all of its intricately simple malice, was designed to kill. It cannot kill me for I am already dead. My life no longer holds meaning.

        I had dreamt of her again. She, with her elegant, withdrawn grace, her timid displays of boundless intellect, her unmistakably sharp but ever sieved rapier wit. She who shines out in such a way that her quickest smile could elate a man's soul to the level of the gods themselves. Or the most tacit of glares of disappointment could stop a legion dead in their tracks, have them throw down their weapons and, with tears in their eyes beg for her forgiveness.

      She was standing in a field, surrounded by all of those who were foolish enough to love her. She was preaching a topic so utterly controversial, so completely unnatural, that no sane person could ever consider it much less shout it to the world. But, yet they cheered on, with me at the head of them. We praised every word she spoke, basking in her illicit glory. Our opinions did not matter, even though they did not differ from hers. Everything she said we praised as gospel, in hope that we may get close enough to touch or even to kiss that which stood perched upon yonder holy hill.

    I no longer know whether she is real or a figment of a twisted and savagely bruised psyche. The two worlds, real and unreal, have run together in a bloodied frenzy. A river of the tears and blood of all those who have ravaged in her wake and still come back for more.

     Although now there is no point in speculating. She has chosen, not out of the we who would gladly walk barefoot through the pits of hell for her, no, not one of us, for she has chosen an outsider, an intruder, and a heathonus charlatan at that! But 'tis her choice and her decree and so nothing can be done for the aid of my comrades in misery or myself. We are the damned, destined to prowl the lonely depths of our souls in infinite hope...Just waiting.

      Ho! Save your sympathy! We would gladly do this all for all of eternity, as long as there is hope, for we do it in her name.

      Now, sadly, there is no hope and what is there in life to drive a man, but hope, hope for love? I no longer care any more. All I wish is to return to the dark . The dark would cradle me in her arms, press me tightly against her warm bosom and whisk me of to an eternally peaceful sleep. The dark hath never hurt me...

     But, Alas; she deprives me of, even this, the most sacred of rites. For she, in her intangible carelessness has in fact grown fond of me. I am her plaything, her pet, so to say and my death would upset her...and so... I must live. For that is fate, ever with a sense of humor… Why do you not laugh?

 ©2001 Daniel Vidri