Jonas, my bestfriend (Part I)

Everything started when I found that book. An old, brown leather-covered book lying abandoned in the middle of the park. Something about it pulled me in, an unexplainable force, like a whisper just beyond my comprehension. My fingers hesitated on the worn cover, feeling the rough texture as if the book itself was breathing beneath my touch.

Curious, I flipped to the first page. The story seemed innocent at first, telling the tale of an infant born completely bald, yet with an unusual condition in his eyes, strabismus. My breath caught. That detail felt… unsettling. Eyes just like mine.

I don’t know who wrote this, but I’ve lived with this condition my whole life. It never bothered me... not at all, really. But people made sure that this feature had some limelight. Some laughed, others mocked, and a few were outright violent, throwing punches because I “looked at them the wrong way.”

Intrigued, I kept reading. The words pulled me in, deeper and deeper. Then, out of habit, I did what I always do with books—I skipped to the end.

And I read the final words:

“... An now I am here dying at my 21 years old, been killed by my best friend, Jonas.”

A chill ran down my spine.

What a terrible ending.

And what were the odds that I had a best friend named Jonas?

I let out a dry laugh. What a stupid coincidence. A cruel joke, nothing more.

But then, I flipped through the pages, my fingers moving faster now, my pulse hammering in my ears. There were no chapters, only sections dividing life into infancy, teenage years, and adulthood.

I started reading the middle section.

And my world stopped.

Every event, every painful humiliation from my childhood… it was all there. Word for word.

The first love. The first heartbreak with Donna.

Every. Single. Milestone.

Exactly the same as my life.

By the time I reached the teenage years, my hands were trembling.

Oh my God! Was I reading about myself ?

And worse… would my best friend in the world, Jonas, really will kill me?

I needed proof. Something in the near future—something significant enough to be undeniable. If it happened exactly as the book described, then…

This wasn’t just a story.

How ridiculous. If this thing could predict my future, why didn’t it say I was going to be rich instead?

Next month, I would find out if I got into university. I had applied to four: the University of Washington, Seattle University, Seattle Pacific University, and North Seattle College.

Getting accepted was one thing. Getting a scholarship was another battle entirely. These universities—especially Seattle University—had highly competitive scholarship programs. I wasn’t the perfect student, but in my last year, I had done my best. I volunteered at local shelters and community programs hopping this was a good extracurricular activity.

Those shelters… ugh. The people there were so loud, so messy, so… The air itself felt different inside those places. Like stepping into a world where chaos reigned, where filth was the norm. I know helping the community is important, but did they have to be such disgusting?

Still, volunteering there might help with my scholarship. It was a sacrifice I made for my dream of becoming a veterinary, I love more animals than people anyway. Maybe it would be enough. Maybe it would change my future.

Or maybe… my future was already written.

I flipped through the pages, searching for the part about my scholarship.

I wasn’t accepted. No scholarship. Nothing.

My vision blurred, Jesus!

Screw this book! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

I need to be rational right now...  One book can't predict my future. This is nonsense. I lost my mind... I'm delusional to think that some random book can say anything about me... It's a coincidence

I am the master of my own destiny!

I slammed the book shut an threw it away in the grass, my breath came in short gasps. The park suddenly felt too small and dark. I nees some time to rest. I'm going home to chill out and clear my head.