Distorte is a collection of stories written by Pierce Gleeson

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And so we find ourselves once again driven together by destiny. Whose steady hand, so assured (so barefaced!) guided us onto the same bus route, the same timetable. Of all the buses, of all the timetables…

And also, by some incalculable improbability forced us sitting in our gazes’ crossfire. Actually, let’s call it one in twenty-five. Fifty seats, grouped in twos. Still crazy odds, you must agree. Watching you sleep. Not creepy, like, but merely acknowledging the gift provided. I have no desire to piss off providence. Your hair scattered like spilt spaghetti across your sleeping features, your hands clasped firmly between your thighs. Such lucky hands! Of all the hands, in all the world….

With all this history it was hard to be surprised, then, to pass you on the street at lunch, both of us alone. It seemed right for us to be alone. Suitable. Your eyes downturned. Cautious. Unwilling to admit the enormity of our overlap. The repeated intrusion of the Significant. But to meet you the next three days running, on the same street, at the same time (or thereabouts; I may have idled for a moment or two) was an almost gross admission by the gods. We are bound, you and I. Or I to you at least. I’ll bind you to me yet.

I don’t believe in coincidence, and nor should you. Designs are put in place by greater powers than we know. Of all the people, in all the world, what are the chances that you cross my path once, twice, a dozen times? From here on in it is out of our hands. We cannot be said to plan for aught. Can chance be held to play a part? What are the chances we will meet tonight? What chance of all the bedroom windows in this world, that I will stand outside your bedroom window tonight (and every night this week)? Who can say, when the Fates have taken wing with such wild abandon?

Written by Pierce Gleeson
Posted on the 20 Sep, 2007