*:) Derek struggles to come to terms with everything that happened :)**
"He knew, he knew, he knew" he repeated, unconsolable. "If he could have his destiny told, why can't I?" He shouted. Picking himself from the ground, he looked like a dead man walking.
He grabbed her by the collar of her white shirt, shaking her violently. Enraged he kept asking "why", spitting all over her face. She remained composed at first and gradually lost it, once again, laughing maniacally.
"Is that all you can do? LAUGH?" he shook her harder and harder with eyes full of hate, "are you MOCKING ME?" he roared. He wished right there and then that Destiny could die, by his hand.
Destiny pushed him off, shoving him to the ground. Standing over him once again, as always she seemed to be unreachable, untouchable, better in any and every way. She looked down at the man she thought of as pathetic and smirked. He had finally pissed her off.
"I'll tell you two things. One, you are as annoying and disgusting as he was, just in a completely different sense and," she straightened the collar of her shirt, "second, you were his destiny. He was not yours."
And just like that she disappeared, leaving the broken young man, weak and weeping on the ground of an unknown park, one he did not know how to get out of. He laid there for quite some time until the sun came up. On the floor, with his arms wide open, looking at the sky, he could see the morning birds flying and could hear them sing. He had not slept at all. "Not my destiny" he mumbled to himself, "not my destiny," he repeated over and over again.
**to be continued. It doesn't seem like a short story lol but it is actually v short**
YOU ARE READING
May I have a word with Death?
Historia CortaDifferent short stories which centre Death in different forms. Death is a compassionate being. They are lost and lonely an often ponder on what being human would be like. These short stories are not all about them but the lives they touch.
