Fate

*In a world where mothers can see how their children die when they reach 5 years of age….. just not when*

Hi! My name’s Persais. This is the story of how I avoided the first time I was supposed to die.

My mom was a single mother up until I was three. Around my third birthday, she met my step-dad, Klyde. She named me Persais which means popularity, guess she had high hopes for me. She died when I was 6 and gve guardian rights to Klyde.

One day, me and my friend, Trisha, decided to go through my mom’s old diary. Trisha and I were both 15 and sophomores in high school at the time. Unlike me, Trisha had been through foster care until age ten. So she didn’t know her cause of death. Neither did I.

“Can we read another? Please?!” I giggled at Trisha’s eagerness and my mother’s diary. “Sure.” I said as I flipped through the pages until I found an entry from my 5th birthday. “Here…. October 11, 3021. ‘Drowning. That’s how it’ll happen.’’ I paused and looked up at Trisha without saying anything. “Wow- what a horrible way to go…i’m sorry.” Trisha said in sympathy. There was a long pause between the two of them. “Trisha? What is your Fate?” I said, forgetting about Trisha’s past of foster homes and different families. “Don’t know. Ma never told me.” Trashia said in a sarcastic tone of voice while giggling. I giggled along.

Trisha got a telegraphic call from Malissa, her guardian at the time, telling her that she needed to come home and wash up for dinner. Trisha told me that she’d see me at school tomorrow while grabbing her things and walking out the door. About 2 minutes had gone by when there was a loud screech and crash sound from outside. “What was that?!” I said making my way to my window to see who or what that car hit. When I saw who it was, I froze. It was Trisha.

I ran to the door of her apartment at lightning speed bumping into her step-dad, Klyde, on the way. “Woah…. What’s the rush, kido?” Klyde yelled. “IT’S TRISHA! CALL THE COPS, CALL MALISSA!” I hollered as I ran down the 15 flights of stairs in her apartment building. When I got to the road, I pushed through the crowd of onlookers and fell to my knees in front of my friend’s lifeless body.

I heard a loud siren with a robotic sounding voice that said:

“Warning! Flood headed east.”

I froze realizing what the people in the crowd were saying. “That’s our way,” “It’s coming for us.”

My mom’s diary entry rang in my ears: “Drowning. That’s how it’ll happen.”

“PERSAIS! GET INSIDE NOW” Klyde yelled from the entrance to my apartment building. We ran up to our apartment and packed a few valuables in two backpacks and ran up the stairs to the roof of the building. By the time we got up there the city was already a mess: buildings collapsing, people drowning. It was a mess.

When it was done the red cross was looking for survivors: people on foot looking, helicopters, etc. A helicopter dropped a ladder down to us after we flagged it down. They flew Klyde and I to a government sanctuary. When I got there I got stares from all the officials. They looked at me like I was a ghost. Someone finally came up to me. “You didn’t die?!” They asked in disbelief. “Um...yea?” I said, confused.

They called over someone of Higher rank. They then exclaimed that I was statistical improbability. There have been only 10 other people in history to avoid death, dating back to the 2000’s.

Now, telling this story, I am 28. I will die of old age with the lucky ones. I still miss Trisha, but I visit her grave every Sunday and eat ice cream while venting to her. This is something we did in middle school. Sunday Sunday’s we called ’em. I hope, oneday, I can help my kids beat their first wave.