Harbinger

It was a nice, sunny day in Ottawa, even though it was already September.

Monica was sitting in front of the river, a book in her hands, enjoying the out-of-season warmth.

It felt a bit strange to read about Antarctica, of all things, on such a lovely day. Next to her, people in their shorts were playing ball, running or stretching, as if they didn’t have a care in the world. She was in a very different state: she was waiting for her phone to ring, a wait so anxious that it actually hurt.

She felt she had performed well in each interview with Solgyn Tech, and yet the final confirmation was late in coming. She was starting to think they might have found somebody better in the following days, and would just not call her anymore.

At that thought, she felt a renewed sense of anxiety rise in her heart. Once again, to calm herself, she looked down at the story she was reading.

There was something almost inexplicable in how Lovecraft’s existential horror calmed her. It was not as gory and violent as the more modern stories tended to be, but it was still subtly unsettling. Maybe that was the reason after all: it gave her a feeling that was similar enough to the anxiety she was already feeling, but with a higher level of control over it.

After all, she could just close that book any time she wanted to, she thought. It would have been nice to be able to force the Solgyn Tech personnel to call her, with the same ease.

While she was distracted by that thought, she felt the air get slightly colder, as an unwelcome gust of wind reminded ol’ Ottawa that the summer was actually ending.

That’s when her phone lit up. Before it could even start ringing, she was already grabbing it, with feverish impatience. The number was the one she had been expecting. She almost dropped it.

It took her a big effort to calm down and breathe, letting the phone ring for a couple more seconds to appear less desperate. Then she took the call, her heart beating so strong she was certain the people on the other end must be able to hear it.

The book she was reading was immediately forgotten. She didn’t know it at that time, but that was the last moment she would ever read its pages.

If one could see the many different futures ahead of us all, they would have been amazed at how different things could have been for her in that moment. If she had read on for just a few more minutes, there is no telling whether, and how, the story she was yet to live would have changed.

Or maybe, fate would not have allowed any of that to happen any differently.