Fate's Whisper

The story left me, as the ones who heard it before me, muzzled. It was a story meant to stay in the shadows, carried only by whispers, but even stories like this creep to the surface if left alone to fester.

At night, when my eyes surrender to the darkness, I dream of the story that consumes my mind. It is the story that convinces me that the only way to shatter the chains that imprison me is to publish it.

After weeks of wearing me down I surrender and I take it to my editor with desperation. He slowly takes it from my hand. Usually he is reserved, waiting for me to leave before casting his eyes on the pages I hand him. However today he starts to devour my story like it fills holes in his soul he did not even know he had. When he finishes, he is quiet, and I leave him alone with his thoughts, praying for a peaceful sleep.

That night, with hope in my heart, I rest. Then the phone rings. I recognize the woman’s voice, and before tonight and the phone call, I would have called her a friend. But now it is cold and filled with blame. She quietly says, “He’s dead. I don’t know what story you served him, but he set it and himself on fire.” I try to apologize before she hangs up, I fail and my dreams return.

I dream of the editor before his death. He takes my book home and reads it several more times hungry for the words to change. His wife comes in. He looks crazed as he beckons her to read it. When the book is placed in her hands however she screams. She turns to the editor, her husband, and wonders out loud what sort of evil he has allowed into her home. She cannot help but fall to her knees in prayer. With her eyes closed the book and the man are consumed in instant intense flames. The heat causes her to open her eyes, and the man she once loved is dead, leaving only a burnt spot and ashes where he once sat. Then fate whispers its last act into her ear and she calls me.

This happens two more times with two different editors before I realize only a certain type of person can handle the toll of my story. It holds the truth of humanity in its clutch, and not everyone can handle it. That is when I decided to publish it myself.

I start small, releasing only a few among the trusted. I warn them: prepare yourself or die reading the world’s truth. I sleep with peace in my soul even as the story gets bigger and more and more out of control. I am not totally sure of the death toll, only that it becomes the book that is a rite of passage and hidden from the weak.

I have never and will never see the book I published in a bookshop or library. However one time I went to an acquaintance’s home for a dinner party of authors. In the library under glass protection was the forbidden story I published. I sat and stared at it. Feeling a bit jealous it had given its attention to a new owner. It must have felt me too for its sweet whispers started filling my head with compliments and anger. The owner was drawn to me and we felt a connection. I asked him about the reason for the glass. He said it was under lock and key because his housekeeper tried to destroy the book before killing herself. I then knew we both understood its power and together we silently breathed in its control like an addiction.

I suppose there have always been whispers of this story throughout time. Usually behind closed doors in the name of ritual. We see leaders today use it and bend the fate of many souls to allow it to grow and prosper. I have heard whispers of my book appearing without warning in the sight of power. However I’m not one to chase fate, I keep it in the pockets of my soul waiting for me to catch up to it again when agony wants to play with me.

Now that you know the history of my involvement with the story that is in your hands, if you continue, well, that is up to you. The strong put it down, but the courageous move forward, and it is up to you where you stand.

If you are reading this part it means you are one of the courageous few and this is my last warning before you continue. This is not like a story that, once it is over, will be finished. It feeds off the actions of its reader. It will fill you with both beauty and dread. It will give a path and an end. It is everything this life you lead is built on, not knowing the story played a part in your life all along.

At the time of creation, a mirror that told fate was hidden in plain sight. Whoever looked inside the mirror saw their life’s truth. Not all could handle it but the few who could used it and let the mirror feed off their power. A man named David walked along a swift stream. He had used this stream his whole life. One day, he noticed his reflection in the stream. He had never seen a smooth patch before, so he got in the cool water and examined his face. That is when he saw the mirror. He liked what he saw and took it with him to give it a place to exist in the real world. Through the years, the mirror would whisper his fate of power through corruption. It fed off of the predictions being fulfilled. David was afraid others would find the mirror, and when the mirror told David of the noose meant for his neck, he took his anger out on his old companion and smashed it, releasing its power into the world through story.

A maid in the next room rushed to the sound of the noise. Shards of glass pierced her skin, and she became a whisper of fate. The day David was hung, the maid whispered fates into the ears of all that would hear, and shards of glass would poke holes into the souls of those who needed its release. The maid became an advisor to the powerful but even she had a timeline and end. On the maid’s deathbed she whispered the final fate into the ear of her doctor’s daughter and the story of fate was born and thrived through whisper.

Throughout time, fate has whispered into the ears of the powerful, hated, and loved. It has developed cities, created war, and fed off of fear. It is in innocent advice meant to help, but raises questions and doubt instead. Most importantly, not a soul in time has escaped its grasp, not even you.

Now that you have devoured my story, your soul has opened its doors to my possibilities. You will now always wonder. Was that your idea or mine? Embrace me, and we can create beautiful magic. Ignore me, and we can play a game of cat and mouse. The only gift that is truly yours is choice, and I eagerly await your decision.