Ｓｔｒａｎｇｅｒｓ ａｎｄ Ｎｏｔｈｉｎｇ Ｍｏｒｅ
✫
"I remember," I begin, popping a chip into my mouth, laying an arm over my knee, and pressing my back onto the cookie-cutter shards of tree-bark. "My mom used to religiously prepare for holidays."
Birdie sits against the tree opposite of me, humming for me to go on. We're sitting on the patches of grass, free of snow.
"We would put on our happy faces and I swear I can remember the smell of air freshener in the air. The old, blue pebble carpet was free of dust bunnies and the old, laminate plastic couches reflected the light," I describe, the faint memory an illusion in my eyes.
"What's your favorite holiday?" he inquires.
"It used to be Easter. I liked the way my mom and I prepared dinner and she'd make her famous cake that was to die for. I would always help her." I sigh longingly. "I miss it." I wave my hand towards the sky as if a hologram of the memory replays itself like a projector in front of me. I toss a salty chip into my mouth and shrug. "I miss the way that the decorations looked in the window and when I was younger, I'd stand in front of our glass door in my little suit with my sister and we'd greet every relative."
"Now?"
"Now... the last holiday we had was when I was twelve. It was Christmas." I lick my lips, collecting salt on the tip of my tongue. It tingles as I speak of the lemon-stinging memories. "It was before my parents were embarrassed of me."
"I'm not embarrassed by you," he assured me, adding, "I promise."
"Thanks, but in your defense, you don't even know me." I hang onto the words, struggling to comprehend that before today, Birdie and I were strangers. Two strangers in the woods and nothing more than that.
"I know you like the color blue, you're obsessed with coffee, you have a thing for salty foods, you love having a big family, and you are beyond guilty for October twenty-fourth," he summarizes. "You're kind, caring, and you saved me... plus, you don't believe in fate," he teases and wears a cocky smirk. I roll my eyes and avoid the playful gaze, pretending to not find the situation surreal.
"You know," I begin, "if fate does exist, I'm glad it brought me to you."
"Aw, are you starting to become a believer?" he asks playfully, but I shake my head.
"Not yet. I'll still need a little more convincing." I hold his stare before tossing a chip into my mouth, licking the remains of salt. "What's your favorite childhood memory?"
"Hardly be considered a childhood," he expresses, irritated. He scowls then looks away. "I have decided to live more in the present."
"You seem like the type of person who has a lot of regrets," I note, beckoning my chin towards him. "Do you?"
"I think you're talking about yourself. If I believe in fate, wouldn't I think anything I did or didn't would be meant to be?" he asks. I take it into consideration, chewing in a quiet attempt to contain the undisturbed woods.
"Free will? Or perhaps," I begin, leaning towards him with interest. "Your desire to believe in fate is stronger than actually believing it."
"Touché," he teases. "I regret one thing," he releases. "Though regret is a strong word. Regret means I would change the outcome, but the outcome led me here, and I like it here. I will promote the creation of a new word, a word that means neither regret or content, but simply, grief of the other outcome."
YOU ARE READING
𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑭𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑭𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔
Cerita Pendek|𝐀 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲| In pursuit of running from a tragic past, Lyric Goscicki, saves the life of Birdie Ardolf, a stranger who seems to have a strong hold on their life. While Lyric is certain that he's losing all control and there's no coming...
