A life without Destiny is everything. He just needs to show her that.
Night time had encapsulated the house and its surrounding streets and roads. With no star or moonlight to speak of those midnight stalkers, who stumbled home from parties and drinking, were reliant only on the man-made street lighting. Tall looming poles that gave the darkened world a sickly yellow tint, as the pools of light morphed the world outside into its usual ailing illness.
Inside one of the box like houses, a young boy watched through his cornflower blue eyes at the old woman, who was sitting at a desk near by. Daniel moved closer as he watched her weathered hand move across the last page of a leather bound book with a beautiful golden pen. The nib barely touched the paper, and yet still the letters formed and arranged to become unreadable words on the smooth creamy paper.
He had watched her do this for most of his life. Grandmother Agatha sitting at her desk with the beautiful leather bound book. A book that he could not read and had never dared to pick up. Daniel looked up at the old woman again and moved closer – letting his small fingers clutch the loose material of her blouse. His head rested on the arm that wasn't writing.
Agatha ignored him completely. In her trance like state it was as though he didn't exist, and only the words that formed on the paper mattered. He watched again with wonder in his eyes as he realised she was not writing at all now. The words were writing themselves.
Daniel had asked her once before why they did that, and she had merely smiled and ushered him to bed. For his childish sensibilities he found it frustrating that she had denied such an important secret from him – such a skill could be used in a million ways! Homework was one of them of course.
The distinct wobble of her body brought her back into his attention span. She was now writing directly onto the paper, and it seemed to be vehemently opposing her efforts. His grip increased as though to give her more strength; he felt a sudden dizzying sensation sweep over him as if to acknowledge his willingness to help her.
The ever increasing difficulty that Agatha was having in writing down her words came to a sudden stop as she finished her sentence. No later than her breath a heartbreaking snap echoed around the room. The beautiful pen she once held was reduced into nothing but splinters. Daniel watched as his grandmother disposed of the remains by dumping it in the bin – all sentimentality that was there now gone in the space of a few seconds – and stepped back as she dusted the page with a strange powder. She then gave the book to him.
"Do you remember what I said about this book being very important?" She asked him, her voice was clear and obviously weakened from her invisible ordeal. He nodded and took the book, ignoring the flickering light bulb and the sudden howling wind that was not there a moment ago; he ran up the stairs with his shoes on and ran through a door.
He had made sure to close it behind him; careful as she had taught him to be. Now the gentle wind and warm sunlight caught his attention. Daniel's hands unconsciously squeezed the book, and looked up at the blue sky that was decorated with sparse cotton-like clouds. The wind was still dancing around him as it caught his white blonde hair and made it move about easily. The young boy paid no attention to it.
Suddenly he was lost, not knowing where to go and what to do. Daniel couldn't go back like his heart suddenly yearned to; it's unending beating suddenly becoming overwhelmingly painful. He realised that he had never told his grandma good bye. His parents… The little boy felt his chest swell with a crushing sensation that clogged up his stomach and lungs. He let out a gasp as though to try and force the unearthly sensations out of him. The soft gasps he made did little to ease it, and he found tears trickling down his pale cheeks. His mind was screaming at him to go back and never let go of his smiling mother and haughty father. He clutched the book harder as a loud wail came from him as he found his voice at last.
The job he had been assigned was no longer important to him. The book he carried was a burden and the reason why he couldn't go back to see his family. He let out a softer wail than before, and his heart made a promise never to forgive the grandmother who did this to him.