The Book of Fate

There’s an old man who claims to be my grandfather, but I don’t believe him. Both my parents have warned me not to talk to him, but it’s difficult because he’s always waiting for me on my walk to high school.

I keep my head down and hurry past. He ]greets me anyway, speaking in rhyme with a whimsical sing-song voice.

“Good morning for adorning a coat, young man. You won’t be shivering when rain is delivering, good plan.”

I’ll grunt and nod and walk a little faster. Or sometimes I’ll be wearing headphones and not say anything at all. I think his mind must be going, if it hasn’t completely gone already.

That isn’t enough to get away from him though. My history class has a big window facing the park and I’ll spot him sitting on a bench. He always has a giant book on the seat next to him, but I’ve never seen him read from it. All he ever does is sit and watch me, smiling whenever he catches me glancing his way.

“Is the day already done?” he asked once on my way home. “Did you have any fun? Has your studying begun? Where are you going, my favorite grandson?”

I don’t like the attention or how his voice rolls up and down in pitch. I don’t like how he strokes his book while he talks to me, as if it were an aggressive dog that he’s trying to keep calm. I don’t typically stop, but I made an exception this time.

“Hey gramps,” I said.

His eyes lit up with excitement. He glanced over his shoulder as though in disbelief that I was actually addressing him.

“Look, I don’t know what your deal is, but I’ve got this parent teacher conference and my math teacher wants to talk to my parents about a test I failed. I don’t want my parents to know about it though, so, um, I thought you could maybe go with me instead.”

He wiped his face with the back of his hand and beamed at me. “I never tested well either. I’d be happy to yell at your teacher.”

“You don’t have to yell. Actually, definitely don’t yell. And don’t rhyme either. All you’ve got to do is thank her for letting you know.”

“Anything I can do to help, and all I ask,” he said, “is for you to listen to the story of when I ditched class.”

I still had an hour to kill before the conference, so I sat down with him on the bench to listen. That’s when he told me the story of the book of fate.

They caught me skipping school again,

My parents were less than impressed.

They ground me, but I sneak out when

I began to feel stressed and oppressed.

I don’t think they notice, don’t think they mind,

that I’m off doing anything anywhere.

It’s not that they’re cruel, nor especially kind,

but they’re happier when I’m out of their hair.

“We’re going away, your mother and I,”

Said my father as he packed the car.

“Just a few days, promise not to die,

You’re a favorite child of ours.

Can you come? Don’t ask that, you can’t;

You’re being punished for what you did.

Now stop complaining, stay with your aunt,

and behave like a well mannered kid.”

“We’re going away, your father and I,”

Said my mother as she locked the home.

You want me to say, to explain why?

A boring lecture, don’t worry we’ll phone.”

She was lying, that’s clear, but I didn’t care,

I just wish they would compare notes.

They weren’t even trying, and it wasn’t fair

That I was never allowed any votes.

There I stood, outside my aunt’s place.

“You be good,” they said, and off they race.

Too fast to chase, but it’s not like I would.

I liked having space, I’d stay alone if I could.

They always left me with old Aunt Hedge,

Though I don’t think she was related at all.

They always told lies, and this they alleged,

Saying she needs company in case that she falls.

“It’s time I disappeared,” I quickly cut in.

“I’m going now, maybe I’ll see you again.

Say I’ve stayed here, you can pretend

Please don’t ask how, or where I’ve been.”

“Good riddance, I don’t want you around me,”

Chirped that old pile of bones and skin.

“But I won’t make it so easy to flee,

If you want me to lie to your kin.

I’ll cover for you, if you do some work,

won’t you help an old lady out?”

Her pleading voice came with a smirk 

“Now get to it you lazy lout.”

I made the deal with the devil,

I’d help her with one job and be free.

My fate was sealed by the disheveled

old creature hobbling before me.

She led me down to her basement,

smelling of must from decades past.

“This place needs cleaning it went

to hell since I’ve been in here last.”

She turned on the light,

but the dark

was so thick it was reluctant to leave.

Before me was a sight

that left my heart

More sick with despair than relief.

The room was filthy save for a corner

With a bundle hidden under a sheet.

“Have a broom and heed my warner

Never gape at what is discreet.”

Hedge left me alone and hobbled away,

And while I worked there very hard,

I can’t deny I was curious what lay

where I was forbidden to regard.

It wouldn’t do any harm to peek,

And surely she’d never know!

I stole around to the corner to seek

What treasure was hidden below.

Whisk and swish, the sheet is beat,

I flung it high into the air. 

Risk and wish, it greets my feet.

To reveal what’s hidden there.

A giant book stood as tall as I

Puffing a great cloud of dust.

It left me now to wonder why

my Aunt had made such a fuss.

I pried open the ancient pages

with great trouble due to their size.

It would’ve taken a hundred sages

a hundred years to write and revise.

The thick leather binding must have taken

an entire cow to cover the spine.

A pity that this book was forsaken,

lost amongst rubbish for all this time.

Each giant canvas leaf

contained a name at the head.

Blazoned gold motif

Framing words that said:

‘Imbed in poetry is each life:

each grief, each joy, each secret dream.

Dread the pen over any knife,

A thief subtler than it seems.’

Below the inscription

came a description

of the life each name had led.

A quill found conscription

As it wrote the transcription

With small bright letters of red.

I flipped quickly through the tome

to look for my own name.

The time I spared was time on loan,

for Old Hedge might spoil the game.

Where was it? Where was I?

And my life upon the page.

There I was, the book complies,

branding me upon the stage.

Up a new quill began to dance,

Scratch scratch scratching away.

What a mockery of romance

To hold my whole life on a page.

Here it wrote on the last line

My early death inscribed by fate.

I disagreed! It was mine to assign

and my future was mine to make.

I seized that prancing quill,

still struggling to write its lies.

‘Deny your life and you will

fulfill your pending demise.’

I wouldn’t let it write its threats

I wrestled the quill and wrenched!

There I fell, panting sweat,

on the floor and drenched.

Now I held the quill, my fate

Safe in my own hands.

The ink is mine to spill, I wait

Thinking up commands.

I forced the quill against its will

To scribe stories of adventure wild.

What child would not choose to kill

his fill of monsters with a smile.

I compiled a list of all I’d like to do:

Instead of school I’d wander wide.

I’d ride a dragon, join a pirate’s crew,

I’d slay a kraken beneath the tide.

To think my life was mine to choose,

What a fantastic life will be mine.

The book was angry at me, I knew,

The trembling pages surely a sign.

But I fell into those fantastic tales,

And lived each life I wrote.

The sheet became a mighty sail,

The book became my boat.

I must have eaten because I stayed alive,

but I never left the book alone.

It fought me day and night to strive

to take back its quill and throne.

Each time I won the battle

and tore the quill away.

I broke the mount without sword or saddle,

and taught it to obey.

Then tires on the gravel pathing,

Scrape scrape scraping outside.

Voices of my parents laughing,

I didn’t want to go confide.

I flipped to my parents page,

and danced the quill to and fro.

They would no longer be my cage

as I dealt the words a blow.

Each mention of myself I struck

a thin red line through and through.

I laughed as if this changed my luck,

with dead words breathing life anew. 

Then up the stairs, creaking cracking,

sound behind me, scuffling, scratching.

Up on to the higher floor,

Back to the basement, the thick wood door.

“Oh Miss Hedge it is good to see you.

We’ve sailed to the edge of the world on a cruise.

We wanted to visit, but I can’t recall why.

I’m a silly old git, that’s all so goodbye.”

“Mother what of me?” I asked.

“And what do you mean a cruise?

I don’t care if you had a blast

Or whatever your excuse.”

“We did have a blast!” said my mother.

“There were cocktails and coconuts with rum.

But you’re mistaking me for another

I haven’t a clue who you are,” said my mum.

There I stood, cross, confused,

although I knew her to be thoughtless.

If this was a joke, I wasn’t amused,

for I knew her memory spotless.

“Father you can’t really forget me!

Were you just going to run?

Were you so sloshed and baked at sea

That you forgot your only son?”

“I was a bit sloshed,” said he.

“Baked? A bit by the sun.

But I know my own family tree

And I’m afraid you’re simply not one.”

This couldn’t happen, wasn’t right,

to abandon me without being contrite.

Then the sight of that old crone,

she’s fighting laughter at my moans.

“You should atone if you have sins,

or else be disowned by own kin.”

She must have known! Back to the stair!

Back to my throne, and my book in the lair.

Scratch scratch scratch of a quill at work

I snatched it away, angered, berserk!

The book once broken now filled its time,

holding tight to my thin red lines.

And with the striking of my name

my life would never be the same.

Each word, each phrase, each thought

Of me crossed out and forgotten.

In its anger my name was sought

and from the pages rotten.

Not just my parents, my friends as well

And every person I adored. 

My name crossed out, and with the spell

I was no-one to anyone forevermore.

I dragged the heavy tome above,

not willing to risk it writing more.

For all I didn’t know I’d do for love,

this weight I could bear, I swore.

Too late, the car drives away.

I was forgotten by those lines.

It doesn’t matter, what could I say

to turn back the wheel of time?

Things were never right again,

for the book was never done. 

Forever it would be my bane,

A constant battle I never won.

I carried that thing on my back,

though it weighed as much as I.

And whenever I heard it scratch

I’d fling it open for a fight.

Now every time I grow close

to another more lines are drawn.

They forget what matters most,

and thoughts of me are gone.

Don’t feel sorry, I don’t feel hate.

For it’s a small price to pay.

For I can dip my quill in fate,

And travel the world in a day.

So if I’ve spent my life poorly,

Then please don’t judge me ill.

I’ve grown to love, and it adore me,

heart scribed by scratching quill.

When my grandfather finished his story, I took him by the hand and promised him that I wouldn’t forget.

He told me that this was the third time he’s shared the story, and that I should probably write it down.