Category:
Literary Fiction
Price: FREE! (eBook)
The tragic story of Nim, a man born without a fate and the journey he must take through different lives to find his correct place.
Nim had always been lifeless and without drive. Back home for a break from college, he is followed by three women that unbelievably explain he was never given a fate in the world.
These mysterious women give him the opportunity or obligation to live and relive his life until he finds what he was destined to be. Strange as their admission, it appears to be true and Nim begins the long journey of finding who he is and where he is supposed to be in the world.
Surreal, tragic, philosophic, 'The Fate of Nim' is a quick read that asks the question: Have you already missed your chance to find a happy life?
Excerpt
“I need you to run downtown,” Nim's mom called from the other room.
“Why?” he said dull.
“I need you to run downtown!” she yelled louder.
“Yeah,” he shrugged, “why, what for?”
His mother stumbled into the room doing her hair. “Your grandmother's table cloth is getting repaired.”
“Yeah?”
“You have to go pick it up.”
Nim slumped in the chair. He let his hair slip out of his face and sighed, “I just got back.”
His mother argued, “I don't care, the family is coming over at five, your grandparents will be here an hour early, you know that; I still have to get dinner set and your father isn't dressed, your brothers and sisters are no where to be seen, nor do I know if they are clean—lord let them be clean—you are sitting here doing nothing.” She stood up straight with her hands on her hips and stray curls hanging in the air.
“Fine,” Nim said sliding up, “where am I going?” His mother handed him a business card that read: Airiom Tailor and Fabric works. “Professional—why get anything fixed, just go buy one.” His mother hung her head, “Your grandmother gave that table cloth to us on my wedding day, it was her mother's.” Nim nodded as if that meant something to him and strolling out of the door. He read the card close to his eyes. “Road here, oblv eight st? Does that sound right?”
He slugged his feet along, scraping rubber on stone, kicking at rocks and stray grass stalks, looking at the sky, shooting at clouds, breathing thick, filling his lungs. There was the city rising up from his ground-stone two story house with lights and glass and metal and smoke. He whistled and walked. A city, small sized, which is bigger than a small town, or a large town as cities are bigger than towns, it held him closed in with store fronts and restaurants and hazy crowds.
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