Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the charters... blah, blah, blah. The poem on the other hand is mine.

Feedback: Yes please, yes please... I need heaps of reassurance or I won’t write any more, well I will but I won’t post them. I know, I know, I’ve only had one good one so far but I’m working on it... (Yes I can write ‘Maria babble’.) Constructive criticism welcome, tips welcome...etc.

***

Destiny.
I don’t believe in it.
That is not to say
That I don’t believe in fate.
Because I do.
That is not to say
That I don’t believe
Things happen for a reason.
Because I do.
But life is not predestined.

How can I say
That I believe in fate
And then say
“Life is not predestined.”?
Let me explain.

It is all about choice.
Fate is like a gunshot,
Different people react differently.
Most cower in fear
And let what is seemingly
‘Predestined’ happen.

But some don’t.
They act.
They don’t sit back
And say “poor me”
And accept their lot.
They challenge it
And they change it.

Destiny.
I don’t believe in it.
And I’m not going to accept mine.
I’m going to change it.
My choice.
Not somebody else’s.
I’ll make my own destiny.

The English class was silent when Max finished his poem. He looked around the room, trying to read the class’s reaction. Somebody started to clap. Alex Whitman. Good old Alex. Most of the class was soon applauding, yet Max was only really interested in one person’s reaction. That was why he hardly noticed when a short blond girl ran out of the room with tears streaming down her face.

“Very moving, Mr. Evans.” The teacher complimented him.

“Thank you, Sir.”

As Max slowly made his way back to his desk he paused by the desk in front of his just long enough to drop a note on it. He watched the dark-haired girl at the desk in front of him as she carefully unfolded the note.

This is what the note read: You’re my choice Liz, if you want me.

The rest of the period was lost on Max. He just wanted it to end so that he could talk to her. Liz. His angel. Could he win her back?

Back to Area 51 (Section III)