Quixotic. That singular word summed up the entire scene that was unfolding in the quiet confines of the kitchen.
A man and a woman sat opposite each other. His dark hair falling into onyx
eyes, pale face looking downwards. A faraway look clouded the features of hers. You couldn't tell what was going on in their minds.
The knife lay between them, untouched, on the wooden table.
If anyone were to walk in on the two, they would have felt an opressive feeling of sombre uncertainty press down upon them, like heavy black fumes from a fire. It was almost as if Death itself was present. But then, perhaps it was, teetering at the edge of vision, waiting to see if something was going to happen.
Lips parted, and a warm, moist tongue began forming words.
" If I were to pick up that knife, and run its edge across my skin, staining it with my blood, what you you do? "
A thoughtful look graced her features.
" Why would you do that? "
The face emerged from studying the legs of the table.
" Because Fate told me to. She has been whispering at the back of my mind,
telling me it is my Destiny to die by my own hand, and no other, "
Silence.
" I see. "
A pregnant pause.
" What would you do? "
His eardrums protested as a chair scraped across the tiled floor. A decidedly feminine back greeted him, as the woman stared out the open window at the buildings opposite theirs.
" Do as you like, but when your casket is about to take its plunge six feet under, I will not be there for that final farewell. " The cold, hard voice sliced through the atmosphere, making it decidedly colder.
He didn't have to look to know her eyes were frozen orbs of fury.
A soft sigh escaped his mouth. If she was angry, then that wasn't so bad. Indifference really, was the opposite of love, not anger.
" Who created Fate? The idea of Destiny. They are but figments of our imagination, so commonly used to justify meaningless , despondent or otherwise tragic lives. A cliche. Sever you arm for all I care, if your reason behind it is prompted by such asinine logic."
Venom dripped from her words, it warmed the room, it's poison so tangible, he could almost taste it.
Mmm..Cold and metallic.
" What would make you come visit this poor man's grave? If such reasoning is ludicrous, give me another so that I might die satisfied the woman I love would pay me visits, while my empty shell lies rotting beneath the ground, "
A cluser of grey clouds overcastted the brilliant gold of the evening sky. Again, they stood in silence, for he had joined her shortly after she had gotten up. When the brief darkness passed, and their world shone once more, she began:
" I do not believe in Fate, or Destiny. But I believe in Choice. You choose the path you walk on, you carve your future out of stone, you make it happen. If it is by your choice that you die by your own hands, then I will grieve you. Never before. "
She had that faraway look in her eyes again. He could see where her thoughts were going. She was picturing herself in a white dress, long hair trailing in the wind, standing before the a grey slab of stone that marked his grave. A pure, crystalline tear escaping her eye. That was how she would mourn for him.
" What if I choose to listen to Her that is Fate? It is my choice that I die with Her as my reasoning. What would you do then? " He felt her body stiffen under his arms, yes, he now had his arms around her slender waist. Then it relaxed once more.
" If you choose to follow that path," She began." Who I am to stop you? For you have made your choice. Choice, made you follow Destiny's path. I will be there to say my final goodbyes, "
She settled her head unto his chest.
How warped her way of thinking is. A smile tugged the edges of his lips. Choice . . . The choice to follow the path that has been written down for you, as opposed to simply following. . .
But then again, he mused; It's her choice if she wishes to see reason that way.
