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“That was my story, but I wanted a different one.”
A girl blinked her eyes, staring out at the world beneath her. The sound of rushing waves and the coolness of the dusk breeze coming from the beaches was the same as it was yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. Cities and states filled with millions of people, and yet loneliness curled like a claw, tearing away at her with every passing hour. She could never talk to Earth, only watch and write, twisting the fate of society with just a word written on her paper like the threads of a spider’s web.
Her eyes were empty and cold, a reflection of her very being. She had no idea what she was, but people called her by the name “Karma.” Her long black hair swayed with her dress laced with stars billions of lightyears away. She kneeled down, looking at all of the things she couldn’t be part of.
She watched as a child gripped it’s mother’s hand, smiling up at them. Sometimes, people would look up at the sky, and she would be filled with happiness, thinking that someone could finally see her. She wanted Earth to notice her, to acknowledge her for one second. God, she wanted nothing more than to know what the feeling to be loved like Earth was.
But she didn’t feel anything. Not anymore.
Her job was to create stories. What happened in the world was what she wrote, and what she wrote was uncontrollable by her own part. She didn’t understand. She would never understand.
She was there, watching as Earth created and destroyed itself over and over and over for as long as it had been around. She had to watch as greedy people fought and died, lived and hoped, took and gave. She would never be able to feel what they did. The only thing she could do was watch. Write and sketch out the path of the world in her notepad.
All she wanted was to be one of them, part of humanity. But she couldn’t. Her mother, Life, was cruel that way. She told her that she had an important job, to monitor Earth and control Death, Life’s enemy. The only thing she had was her notebook. Fate was the only story she could write.
She looked down upon the planet, seeing the hate that fueled her like fire. Earth was tinted, and disgust was the only emotion she could seem to feel. Her heart turned black and frigid. It wasn’t fair that Earth was beloved, that Life was cherished, and she wasn’t. Like Death, she was resented by many. It wasn’t fair. Loathing, Karma took out her notebook.
She began to write.