“If a clock could count down to the moment you meet your soul mate, would you want to know?”
lol yes, so then i can shave.
One minute, 37 seconds.
My legs are shaking. Holy cow, there is no way I can do this. None.
One minute, 29 secods.
I glance around at the faces surrounding the room. Of course my Meeting would take place in the gross, overcrowded cafeteria.
One minute, six seconds.
Somewhere within these four walls, someone has the exact same countdown on their wrist. They’re going through the exact same pressure as me.
Mom said I should be excited, not nervous. Yet I still find myself wiping my sweaty palms on my dress. I can’t believe she talked me into wearing a dress. I mean, shouldn’t my Soul Mate meet me as I normally am? All plain jeans, blah shirts, and wild brown curls?
Something deep within me tells me to stand up. I do, drawing the attention of my tablemates. They all know too. They smile encouragingly up at me. I chew my lip nervously.
That same feeling pulls me towards the center of the room. My stomach drops away from me as I take a step in that direction.
I continue in that direction. With each step the tempo of my heart picks up.
17. More rapid.
16. It’s racing.
Oh my god this is it. The moment my life changes forever.
My eyes search frantically around the cafeteria, searching for someone who looks as nervous as me. For someone who’s heading towards their future with no sense of direction like me.
The feeling directs me slightly to the left. I turn to accomodate.
5. My heart has given up entirely.
4. I stop walking.
3. Just waiting left.
2. Everything is about to change.
1. Deep breath.
0000 d 00 h 00 m 00 s
Someone bumps my shoulder. I twirl around and my gray eyes meet blue, blue ones.
“Hello there, love. It appears as though we’re Soul Mates then, eh?”
As my words fail me, the only thing I can think is “I’m so glad I shaved this morning.”
“Thats weird…” I checked my wrist, the clock had just hit the 30 second mark but I looked around and there was no one there. I was a worrisome guy overall but I felt justified, I mean today was the day I was meeting my soul mate. Not that I expected my dream girl to be in the storage closet at work but still I was nervous.
Walking out with a box the boss had requested I walked back to my cash register setting it on the shelf. My wrist hit the 20 second mark
Where was she? I could not help but get worried that an error would pop up or that she was gone and my timer would run out with no response. I panicked, I’d change my own fate if I had to. Running out of time I hurried through the back door. There was a park outside and maybe I was supposed to be there to find my soul mate.
A faint ding of the doorbell hit my ear. Wait was that it?? She was here! I turned around running back to the counter. “Don’t worry I’m just in the back!”
I ran out looking at my wrist as it hit zero. Out of breath “Hi I’m Matt!” Sticking out my hand for a handshake it was met by a firm hand. Meeting my soulmate’s eyes for the first time they spoke.
“I’m Steven.” The man gave a smile “It’s nice to meet you.”
I watch my friend carefully. Her excitement is glowing all over her pretty face. Exactly 2 minutes left, she tells me. We’re waiting at the bus stop and the bus is coming in two minutes. I think she hoped she’d meet them on a beach at sunset or something.
”I mean that’s ok - these things can’t always be romantic I mean my mum met dad when he was working at the book store and it’s not like you can plan it to be romantic I just hoped, I mean everyone hopes don’t they-” she breaks off, looking at me awkwardly. “Sorry. It’s just a big day for me you know.” Yes I do know. You’ve been going on about it for the past year. I smile at her.
”Don’t worry. You nervous? You’ll be ok, you always are,” I grin, determined not to ruin this for her. It’s selfish of me to be moody. This is her future being determined. Right here. In now, precisely 1 minute 30 seconds.
She smiles at me, but it isn’t quite reaching her eyes. She’s restless and keeps tapping her foot. Her eyes are wide with.. fear? Excitement? Nerves? Probably all of them and a thousand more things I can’t imagine. She keeps checking her wrist. So do I. The bus comes around the corner. 1 minute 10 seconds.
”Hey. I’ll leave you alone now ok? The bus is here. I’ll sit a couple of seats away, and be there if you need me,” I say, squeezing her arm reassuringly. “Good luck.” I hope it sounded sincere.
The bus pulls up and I climb on first, taking a quick glance at her while I give the driver my ticket. She’s shaking and looks a little green. I want to give her a hug but know I shouldn’t interrupt now. I look at the passengers and it’s full of pensioners. My heart starts beating frantically. What? I can’t see anyone else at the bus stop. But she’s only 18, she can’t end up with a 80 year old.
I turn around and look at her - she’s breathing hard. The bus driver asks if she’s ok but she ignores him. Her eyebrows are creased and her face is flushed. Oh. Oh no. Stay calm. Someone is probably late. I give her a thumbs up and try to smile reassuringly. I think it’s more of a grimace.
I take a seat near the back. Look at my watch. 25 seconds. She sits down a few seats away.
Suddenly a dark shape runs past my window and a boy jumps on the bus. He has that same frantic look in his eyes. I breathe out with relief.
”Yeah get on, we’re running late,” the driver says, taking his ticket. The boy looks around, carefully stepping towards the seats. He’s tall and handsome, holding a sketchbook. I smile slightly; my friend hates art.
He spots her.
His eyes widen as he walks closer, as if being pulled by an invisible rope.
My friend stands up too, that same rope tying her to him.
1 second -
”I was worried the bus would leave. No way could I miss meeting my soul mate!” he jokes, though he looks just as nervous as she. They smile at each other as they both sit down together. I can’t hear what they’re talking about.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Suddenly I’m crying. Hot tears dropping down my cheeks.
I look at my wrist, scratching at it. Trying to get rid of it.
The numbers have never changed.
They’ve always been at 0.Oh my god that last one…. My heart… The feels….
AGH ALL OF YOU WRITE A BOOK THIS VERY INSTANT. PLEASE.
this is beautiful and everyone needs to read it
i hate you tumblr, fucking breaking my goddamn heart
Then, one day, you’re having dinner with a friend you’ve known for as long as you can remember (or perhaps a friend of the family), and you finally talk to them about your counter. You’re crying, explaining that it’s always been at 0, and so you must not have a soul-mate.
Their eyes widen. Tears begin to form, and they throw their arms around you.
"Mine has always been at 0 too."
And that’s when you know…
10 seconds: the doorbell rings, i get out of my chair
5 seconds: i give the man my money
0 seconds: i open the box. it is the most glorious pizza i have ever seen in my life.
Just imagine that when you’re just starting kindergarten and they teach you about the time on your wrist, and you raise your hand in confusion and say “Mine isn’t working.” and one other kid says “Mine too.” And it’s the first kid you met on the first day of school. And your teacher just smiles at you two and you just sit there, young and confused until it sinks in a bit later.
But what if…
You had always refused to look at your wrist. Your mother says that you had been that way since you were little, ever since you learned about the countdown. You had trained yourself to keep your gaze away, while all your friends seemed to sigh and stare at their wrists every chance they got.
People often asked to see your wrist, and you always told the ones who didn’t know you, the strangers, that it was broken. They’d smile uncomfortably, it happened sometimes, but it still wasn’t that common and they didn’t know how to react.
Then, one day a couple of weeks after your thirteenth birthday, you couldn’t stop scratching your wrist. You still didn’t look at it, just ran your fingers along the countdown. You tried to distract yourself, watched some tv, read in front of your fireplace, curled up in a chair.
You’re trying to focus on your book, but now your gaze is pulled to the fireplace. You watch the flames dance, flickering red and gold. You’re mesmerized, drawn in by the soft crackling. You slide down from the chair and go to sit in front of the flames.
Then, your gaze is pulled to the fire pokers. One of the long iron sticks has a metal slab at the end. You slowly pull it out of it’s case and put it in the flames. You watch as the metal goes from black to red to white. You pull it out of the flames and inspect it.
You lean it back in the flames and put your hand on your wrist. You slowly push up your sleeve, still not looking at your countdown. You pick the poker back up and hover the flat metal part above your wrist. In one last fit of resolve, you press down.
You hear screaming and there’s a revolting smell curling in your nose. You rip the poker away, feeling the skin on your arm tear as you do, and toss the poker away from you.
You get up and run to the bathroom. You just make it to the toilet before heaving up all contents of your stomach. When you’ve emptied your insides, you look at your arm. The skin is scorched and mutilated. You pass out.
That’s where your family finds you, white faced and sick on the bathroom floor. They rush you to the hospital, but it’s too late. The doctors cannot save your countdown and since you never let anyone look, or looked yourself, there’s no way to know the time you have left.
Years later, you’re in college, pursuing your dreams and working hard. People still ask to see your countdown and you show them, smiling widely. Some blanch and look away, disgusted by the scar tissue. Others look on in awe as you tell your story. Those are the ones you keep as your friends.
You’ve just left your dorm, after a particularly intense study session. Your roommate has been drilling you all day about your story. You told her she could do her dissertation on you, a study in people who choose to ignore their countdowns, and therefore their destinies. You’d been throwing theories back and forth all day, but you really needed to get to class.
You rush over to class, sliding into your seat, just as the teacher walks in. Followed by a man who was… well, let’s just say this guy was easy on the eyes.
The teacher introduces this… attractive gentleman as his student teacher. Then he motions for the student teacher to sit and begins to teach the class.
You try to pay attention, you really do, but… wow. You can’t stop staring. The student teacher looks up a couple of times, catching your eye. You blush, but don’t stop checking him out.
When class ends, you’re slow to pack up your things, and smile when you see feet approaching you.
“Hi there.” Damn, his voice is sexy too.
You look up and smile. “Hi yourself.”
“Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”
Which is how you end up in a coffee shop which this delicious treat of a human being. You’re actually surprised that he’s still bothering to continue with the date. Even though it’s become more common to date before you meet your soulmate, it’s still got a bit of a stigma.
He’s also telling you about his thesis project, which also happens to be about countdowns. This prompts you to tell him about your friend’s dissertation.
His eyes widen as you tell your story. When you finish, he slowly begins to roll up his sleeve. On his arm, where his countdown should be, his forearm is a mess of scar tissue and mottled skin. No numbers are visible.
“When I was fourteen, my house caught fire.” He tells you. “I didn’t make it out soon enough. And I’d never gotten into the habit of looking at my wrist so I didn’t remember the time.”
“What was the date?” You ask breathlessly.
You push your sleeve back and show him your long scar. “That’s when I did this.”
He slowly reaches out and grasps your arm, running a hand over the burn. “Do you remember the time it said?”
You smile. “I haven’t got a clue. But I think, if there was any way the numbers are still working there, beneath my skin, I’ve got a feeling they just hit zero.”
He smiles too. “I know they did.”
Sorry for the super long story, I got carried away!
(Sirius Black at 2am in the Gryffindor dormitory)
This is the most accurate picture I’ve ever seen.
my fucking life
I love that DanRad is just standing in the middle of fucking Bryant Park with eleven dogs and all the people around him are all YEAH WHATEVER.
New York, motherfuckers.
Here’s a handy dandy color reference chart for you artists, writers, or any one else who needs it! Inspired by this post x
"Hey man, what’s your favorite colo-?"
This is unexpectedly not about make-up haha
reblogged before it was even finished.
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candid picture on a friend’s phone