Damn Fate | ✔️

{×~8~×}

I woke up panting for the fourth time that night.

The same nightmares over and over. I hate nightmares. Well, duh, who doesn't?

I decided I wasn't sleeping anymore. I sat up and got some water from my bed-table. My mouth was dry and I was sweating a lot. I glanced at the bed next to mine. Jon was asleep.

I took a deep breath and lead my head on the wall behind me. I needed sleep, but I didn't want to sleep again. If it prevented these nightmares, I would might as well do it. I couldn't handle all that anymore.

Nights had turned into torture.

I kept dreaming of everyone I care about die or abandon me. Felicia. Ben. Jessie. Chris. Jasmine. Everyone.

It was too much to take.

And in the end, I died too. It wasn't really much of a surprise, no savior ever survived the "war". Even if I really wanted to, I doubted I would make it out alive. It must be some balance thing. When the villain dies, there's way too much good in the world, so the savior had to die too in order to restore balance. I had read that in a book somewhere...

But even if the world depended on it, I didn't want to die. I know that sounds selfish, but I'm just a kid, okay? I had dreams and hopes for my future. Being a savior crushed all that. It chewed on it, then spit it and stomped on it like a merciless elephant.

And the worst part, why did my friends have to die? What did my loved ones ever do? What did every warrior and person that died for their cause ever do? This whole war and fate thing had started to tire me. Moiral followed a script and never got out of it. It was the same story over and over again, getting a reboot every few years. A wheel that turned round and round, always ending up at the same position. A crossroad where whatever road you chose, you would find yourself in the same place.

I was sick and tired of that. We were supposed to make a difference, you know?

Growing up we all wanted to write history. It was our common ambition. And we did it. We wrote history.

Just not in the way we wanted.

We wanted to be known for preventing the script from being rewritten. The reboot from happening. Stopping the wheel from spinning. To choose our own path.

Instead, we became part of all that. We became the cause it all happened. We became just like everyone else.

I wouldn't call that history; repeating the same mistakes. That's what society couldn't understand; the fact that making a difference could be a good thing. That not following the stereotypes that were practically forced on us could actually make things better.

Moiral was the only country that had a civil war  century and that's what stopped us from rising and growing as people. Most Moiralians were stuck-up and against anything that didn't fit in their perfect, stereotypical and uniform world and that was the society's fault. They're the ones that don't only encourage it, but also force it in people's lives.

When did the subject go from nightmares to the problems society has caused? What the hell?

Thinking all that made me want some more water. As I turned around to get the glass, I somehow knocked it over. I managed to yelp "no", before it shattered loudly on the floor.

I closed my eyes tightly and cringed at the sound of the glass breaking. Jon gasped and sat up in terror, looking around to see what the hell was going on.

«I deserve to die, but that doesn't mean I have or want to.» I whispered closing my eyes again. Jon facepalmed and lied back down on his bed.

«What the hell are you doing up at this hour? It's five in the morning!» he hissed.