- …..he thought about it more and more as he grew older–thought about it way too much, in fact–namely: If terrible things can happen to him and to her and to him and to her and to him and to her as well as to countless other unwitting victims like those you read about in the daily newspapers or hear about on the nightly news broadcasts…..then why couldn’t they and–more importantly–why shouldn’t they happen to him or one of his loved ones? Who or what is in control of such things? Who is selected for martyrdom? Is it by grand design or is it entirely random? Is there any rhyme or reason as to why some people are chosen to be victimized while others–oftentimes inarguably less deserving–are spared bad happenstance? Is there any logic at work behind the hand of fate? Does the Law of Averages apply to any degree here? And this preoccupation with death tainted his every action and relationship, to the point where he imagined only the worst things occurring under even the most mundane of circumstances. He couldn’t watch a loved one leave on a routine errand anymore without worrying fate would nefariously intervene on this particular occasion, that said person might be killed in an auto accident, and it therefore could quite easily be the last time he would ever see that cherished individual alive. He couldn’t watch a loved one cross through a T.S.A. screening line at the airport anymore without ghoulishly thinking theirs might be the one plane in ten million (?) that crashes or is hijacked by deranged terrorists. He couldn’t watch a loved one frolicking in the ocean surf anymore without imagining a diabolical riptide would carry them away to their screaming death in the deep bowels of the ocean. He couldn’t attend a major league baseball game anymore without thinking a ferociously hit foul ball would target either him or one of his loved ones sitting nearby out of the fifty thousand other attendees. He couldn’t read about rogue, Armageddonesque asteroids in scientific journals anymore without believing, in the furthest reaches of his mind, that one of those destructive bastards would choose to target Earth in his lifetime. He couldn’t go to sleep at night anymore without the passing thought he might never wake up the following morning. He couldn’t live life anymore without fear this divine stuff mirroring consciousness would suddenly and cruelly be snatched away from him–either directly or by close proxy. The vagaries of fate, the whims of fate, the erratic unpredictability of fate–whatever you want to call those kismet-serving goblins–they bothered him more and more the older he got. Yes, constantly! Every hour of the day and night, it seemed. And, logically speaking, one would think the opposite should be true, inasmuch as when one’s fuel meter draws nearer and nearer to empty, theoretically the value of one’s life becomes less extravagant and hence more affordable i.e. disposable…..
Skip to content
Fred's Soapbox 