Short Stories

Destiny

They say you can't change destiny, but I—

"You can't change your destiny, Jacob—"

"Gentlemen!" I bark, "please, I can't even hear my own thoughts."

The robed posse of wisemen bow silently, almost apologetically, and shuffle backward a few feet, gripping their scrolls and eyeing me and each other uncomfortably.

"Thank you," I grumble and hike up the straps of my backpack, picking up my pace as I cross the intersection. Westview isn't far from here, so luckily they won't follow me much further. The principal didn't take kindly to four strange old men lurking on the steps of his high school, so that was the end of that.

_They_— the group of Sages that's always tailing me— say I can't change my destiny. But I haven't even given them the pleasure of laying mine out for me. If there are two things in life I don't trust, it's Sages, and cafeteria meatloaf.

"Jake!" a familiar voice calls from behind.

Sydney Lawson comes bounding down the crosswalk, drawing the narrowed eyes of the wisemen, who are likely jealous that she is about to receive a much happier greeting than they did.

Her blonde hair is filtering the early morning light like a halo, and I've never been happier to see someone that isn't old and decrepit.

"Hey Syd," I smile, fidgeting with my backpack straps maybe a bit too much.

She walks beside me, clutching her purple geometry folder. I spot the crimson wax seal I had given her stuck to the front of it like a sticker, and I'm relieved that she liked it enough to keep it. The seal came to my house anonymously, fashioned on a thick, folded letter addressed to me in gold, from some fantasy kingdom with a made up name. Naturally, thinking of her, I peeled it off for safekeeping and chucked the letter in the trash.

"Fan club back at it again, huh?" she says, too energetically for this early in the morning.

I purse my lips, cracking a smile. "Yeah, as usual, they're a persistent bunch. Can't shake 'em."

I pretend to hate the Sages, but they're not all that bad. Everyone knows I'm the "Chosen" kid at Westview, and I've turned into somewhat of a local celebrity. I can live with that.

Normally those with a revealed destiny act on it immediately, and they follow its course to riches and power. But not me. I've seen the other side of so-called "destiny," where your accomplishments aren't yours at all, and your failures can kill you. My dad made that mistake, but I won't. I don't want to be injected, infected, imprisoned, imbued, or idolized.

I just want to be me.

Sydney and I walk the rest of the way to Westview together, where my entourage and I finally part ways at the gate.

"Same place, right after school?" I taunt them, sticking my tongue out and making Sydney giggle. They glare at me with lips pressed into thin, identical straight lines, but I turn around and keep walking. Their prophecy is not my problem.

The hallways are just as hard to navigate as the walk to Westview. People call my name across the wide hallway, and I catch new eyes burning holes in me from every direction. I wonder how many of them even know anything about me besides my name. I wonder how many them will come after me today with potentially life-changing news, or favors, or advice.

When I get to my locker, number 432, I immediately notice something is off. A small, golden glow emanates from the slits in the rusted door, near the top shelf. Not again. This has been my third locker change, from Locker 777, to 666, to now completely unsuspecting and totally ordinary 432— or at least I thought it was unsuspecting.

I twist my combination and hesitantly lift the latch. I pat the top shelf of my locker, and sure enough, my fingers meet the outline of a small golden ring. I turn it over in my hand, and a delicate silver engraving reveals itself on the inside; my name is written there. Jacob Mallory.

I suck in a deep breath and close my fist around it. I wind up, and throw it down the hallway with my pitching arm as far and fast as I can manage. The tiny golden glow sinks in the crowd of sweaty teenagers, hopefully lost to me forever.

Did I say there are two things I don't trust?

I meant three.

I definitely don't trust custom-engraved ethereal jewelry, either.