Your story has not been set in stone, but already the wheel of fate is turning. What life did you live, what past did you lead? Was it worth it, knowing that it would come to this?
You were something of a drifter. An author by trade, although you didn’t have very many successes to your name to prove such. A paragraph here, an introduction there, you produced pieces your contemporaries often critiqued as “confused” and “inarticulate”, noting your tendency to jump from topic to topic with dizzying speed. A novel about urban life earned you enough acclaim to gain a spot at a local newspaper writing about authors unknown whose works are as obscure as yours, but whose careers you would happily uplift rather than your own.
It’s a troubling tendency in you, according to those people who’ve taken the time to get to know what little of you they can. “He’s kinda spacy,” they would say. “Kinda shows up sometimes, but he’s not the sort of guy you can rely on, you know?” Your old girlfriends would agree, adding that part of the reason why you’ve been single for the better part of your life is that you don’t push yourself to do or be greater. You just are.
Once, perhaps, you had ambition. Once you had far-reaching dreams of possibilities extending far beyond the scope of your computer and an honours in Literature. Now, however, you look around you and are pleased to find that the only thing really wrong in your life is a little boredom. Perhaps you’re no president or CEO, or even a best-selling author. But your little life is happy, and with that you were content.
At least, that is, until fate intervened and drew you into a brand new story.