prompt: autumn, title: autumn leaves in misc. flash fiction

He nicknamed her “Autumn” and she thought it was adorable, she thought it was a reference to the dark brown of her eyes, the rust-red of her hair, her freckles like speckles on a half changed maple tree. He let her believe all of that because it made her smile and he so wanted to her smile but that was not the reason. He nicknamed her “Autumn” because in the end she leaves.

She leaves because eventually she figures out he has the gift to randomly see likely futures in his dreams. She leaves because she figures out he used some of the probable scenarios to manipulate her into loving him. She leaves because these gifts of intermittent prophecies force her to wonder how much of their life together has ever been her own, her own choice, her own free will and not just him pulling what she likes to hear out of the ether. She hasn’t left him yet but his dreams tell him that she will so he tries his best to see her as a season to embrace before it inevitably passes.

Was he manipulating her emotions to predict her favorite bands or foods through somnambulist clairvoyance, surprising her, as if he were the most intuitively attentive paramour ever? Maybe. Probably. Movies about time-travel or magic made things like that seem romantic, though. Hell, in “Groundhog Day” it was part of the evidence Bill Murray was maturing, spending his myriad days changing his life to better please his would-be lady-friend. He thought that since none of it was coercive, none of it demanding, it didn’t count as manipulation. He thought that at worst, it was like the winter, just a large grey area. Or maybe that was just how he rationalized his life.

His dreams told him she wouldn’t see it that way, of course. What he thought wouldn’t matter, would eventually matter to her and she would leave. He accepted this too. When you get little glimpses of how it’s all probably going to go down, but not the whole story at once, there isn’t much else to be done. You just try to enjoy what you have as much as you can until you cannot have it anymore. The pet names, the little manufactured surprises, the hot days and cool nights.

He nicknamed her “Autumn” and as far as his dreams would tell him, he would have a few more years with her before she’d finally live up to this nickname and finally leave. He was imperfect, willing to bend ethics to get with his dream girl. His power imperfect, only giving him enough foreknowledge to nudge the future a little, not change anything big. This life is imperfect, only giving us short stretches of agency over our fates, erratic bursts of time where we’re fully aware how good or bad we really have it. Evanescent interludes between searing heat and bitter cold where everything is beautiful but none of it lasts. This autumnal life.

Last updated September 26, 2021