A World without String is Chaos

"The sky was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel."

It was a gray, cloudy day. Fred, his mother, Emily, and Mark were standing in front of a grave in a cemetery. Fred and Mark were wearing black suits, while Fred's mother and Emily were wearing black dresses. Emily was wearing a black veil, too. There was no priest or minister.

The funeral was over. Friends and family had come and went, giving their condolences. No one inquired much into Emily and Mark, although Fred did introduce them. It wasn't a good time to ask questions. Besides, Fred's father was the focus of the day. It was a shame that he didn't ever meet his grandson and the mother of his grandson. But, at least, they were here for his sending off.

The day went by without a single drop of rain, although the skies looked as if they would shed tears for a man gone at any moment. Alas, it did not rain.

Fred's father was a serious man. He was a working man. A good husband, a good father. He would have made a great grandfather.

Fred felt the loss, but he couldn't keep his mind at peace. Why couldn't he change the fate of his father's death? He passed too early. Would it have warped the world so if he let his father live longer by a decade, or a year, even a week? Why didn't he see a string that he could cut at all?

"It was his time, Fred." The knife. After making the statement, which sounded more like a judgment, it stayed silent.

Fred thought of all those people and their fates that he changed so haphazardly. He remembered deeming them as ordinary, mundane, even boring. But didn't each and every one of them live lives? Which one of them didn't have others who loved them, hated them, cared for them? Didn't each person impact society, the world, existence, no matter how small, how negligibly?

No, Fred refused to believe it. No one was negligible. They all made a difference. We all make a difference.

The time was nearing to say goodbye. It was getting dark, from gray to black. Fred, his mother, Emily and Mark left the cemetery. Fred's mother had no tears left to shed. Perhaps, the skies mirrored her, refraining from the rain in respect.

The crater left in Fred's heart was massive. And the world lost a good man. A small man. A great man.

He mattered.

We all matter.