Letter's of Fate

Some say fate rules us. Others say that we rule our own fate. 

My city, a place where fate is at the very center of all that we do, is a mixing bowl of the two opinions. Great wars had erupted in the past, from disputes on the matter of fate.

Fate was all we talked about. And all we did, was done because fate had decided things would be that way. 

My father believed that we had control over our fate, so naturally I adopted his opinion. 

However, I never quite grasped the idea of fate as a youngster, it seemed so unrealistic to my cynical self. 

But to voice such a thought was almost death warranting, meaning I shrugged away all my opinions, and forced myself to believe in something that I did not. Which seemed like an unbearable sacrifice, but most of us were used to swallowing our opinions, thoughts and emotions. Keeping everything inside, not daring to disagree with our ruler:

Chancellor Benedict. 

The man striked pure fear into every heart that roamed this city. In a way, our fear of him kept us all under control. For no-one dared break any of the hundreds of laws, incase of coming across the Chancellors wrath. 

Most citizens never met the Chancellor. After all, he mostly stayed locked up in his large, stony mansion, writing and decreeing new laws for us all to abide. 

The only contact that happened between each citizen and our leader was a single letter; A letter that changed one's entire life, and I only began to believe in fate, when my letter arrived. 

                                                                       * * *

A metallic clicking noise fills the humid air. 

Sitting up, I dig at the sleep that has engraved itself into the corners of my eyes, trying to ignore the noise. The sleep seems to be buried beyond reach, and I realise with a pang of vexation that it's 3 am in the morning. 

Springing from my bed, I peer around me, saughting out the noise. It continues to ring in my ears, as I overturn my bedroom, in a desperate attempt to find the source of sound. 

I jolt upright.

It’s coming from outside. 

Throwing myself at the tiny window that lines my starch yellow wall, I open the shutters. The noise grows much louder, and a black shape of whirling colour streaks into my bedroom. 

My heart eases a little, it's only a Raven. 

I open my palm out, extending my hand to the Raven -a sort of carrier drone- and I notice that the small machine has the brightly painted royal crest engraved onto its wings. Curiosity fills me, before it's replaced by pure dread. 

How could I forget? 

Today is my fifteenth birthday. 

Suddenly, I am filled with terrible anxiety, that's obnoxiously abnormal. Tears instantly begin to swell in my eyes, and I allow myself to choke on them, being that I am truly alone. 

I know what's coming, I want to push the raven away, shred the letter that it is placing in my palm; But I can not. 

I know I have to open it….

I fold my fingers around the cream coloured envelope, forcing a smile at the Raven, signaling to it that its work is complete. 

It shoots out the open window, so energetic, that for a moment I am shocked. But I regain myself hurriedly, turning all my attention to the letter. 

It feels strange, the weight of the letter in my trembling hands. The envelope is so light, it's as if I am holding nothing at all. But I know that in my hands, I am holding my future, my fate, and a mission that I must complete. 

It should be heavier, I decide. 

With shaky fingers, I tear open the envelope, and it flutters to land at my feet whilst I unfold the letter. 

The writing is scrawled and messy; that of Chancellor Benedict’s. 

To my shock, the letter is extremely short, ten words in all. I had always believed there would be more: A personal introduction from the Chancellor? A note on how to carry out the following instructions? Maybe even an apology? But no. It's short to the point of insanity, and maybe that's Benedict's secret motive: To drive us insane. 

I push all thoughts from my mind, correcting myself that this was merely duty, all my other thoughts were fictional. 

I begun reading the list of names:

Marge Letty 

Alfredo 

Caleb White

Jarry Filman 

The list continued, but I couldn't focus on the babble of names. My entire self was focused on the last name, sitting snug at the bottom of the list. 

Kayla Hearty 

They wanted me to murder my own mother?

I was dumbstruck. 

Certainly, I had heard of the horror stories...people receiving their personal list of people to kill, and their lover or best friend’s name being stitched upon the paper. 

But my own mother? 

It was so cruel, I couldn't quite fathom it. I had been prepared for this day, I had accepted the way things were, and accepted that I would have to kill the people that were written on my list. 

But I hadn't been prepared for this. 

That's when I spot the small, scrawny p.s written on the envelope. I scoop the scraps that lay on the floor, and read the following:

And the decree was made, that to reduce the population, each folk at the age of fifteen would kill a list of ten people. If they fail to do so, they would give themselves up to me, and prepare for things far worse than death. 

I, Chancellor Benedict, decree this law from this day forth. 

I instantly recognised this strange p.s as ‘The Decree Of Disposal’. Hatred pulses through me, as I toss the situation over in my head. 

I realise that I am desperate. 

I can not kill my own mother, no matter the population crisis. But, nor do I want to meet my end. 

I throw a glance at my wristwatch. 

3:00 am.

Swallowing bile that threatens to splash from my mouth, I silently decide what I am to do.

What I must do. 

I must escape my own fate. 

                                                                     

                                                                          *

The sun now dazzles around me, all lingering darkness from the night gone. 

The air feels freeing, from up here, unlike the cloud of suffocation that I am so used to. 

I drop my small satchel onto the mossy bed of grass, taking a minute to catch my breath, and drink in the view. 

I had never been outside of the fate filled city. I had always been a captive of the place. 

Not anymore. 

Standing from my high vantage, I gaze down at where I had spent my whole life, dreading the day that was today. A sudden thought strangles my mind, from here, the city looks...almost peaceful. It looks serene, with its glass structures and brick houses. From where I stand, my home looks...normal. 

I guess you can have a world that seems wildly normal on the surface, but is actually tied together by a high level of absurdity.