weird random short story i found about someone who "Wasn't meant to be born"
first part of it i can almost relate
chapter 1: The Unseen Birth
The angels, in their infinite wisdomâor perhaps in their divine carelessnessâhad never planned for Gregory. This wasnât something anyone could have foreseen. Gregory wasnât part of any celestial plot to save the world or rewrite history. He wasnât supposed to be a king or a prophet. In fact, when the swirling currents of fate finally brought him into existence, there was a brief cosmic hesitation.
The heavens, in all their grandeur, paused when Gregoryâs conception flickered into the ether. No songs were sung, no star did dance. The celestial scribes, whose ink penned the paths of so many important lives, were perplexed. They felt the sudden tug of a new thread in the grand weave of existence, but it was a thread that did not belong to anything they recognized. It seemed like an anomaly, a mistake. How could someone be born without a grand narrative? How could someone exist with no heavenly foretelling?
âShould we⌠undo it?â one angel asked, hovering in the milky mist of the universe.
âImpossible,â another replied, flicking their wings with an air of finality. âOnce a soul enters the world, there is no unmaking it. ButâŚâ The angel paused, peering curiously at the Earth below. âWhat is his purpose?â
No one had an answer.
"He was NOT meant to be born" many of the angels said in unison.
Gregory was born anyway.
Chapter 2: The Quiet Baby
Gregory grew up in a small, quiet house on the outskirts of town, where the hum of daily life flowed with the rhythms of routine. His mother, Joan, had always wanted more children but only had Claire, who was ten years older than Gregory. She had not wanted him, at least not consciously. He was a product of an unexpected and somewhat misguided decision made years ago. But Joan wasnât unkind. She wasnât neglectful. She just didnât know what to make of Gregory, who was different from Claire in every way possible.
Gregory didnât cry much as a baby, which, at first, seemed like a blessing. Joan would often find herself staring at him, wondering why he didnât fuss or laugh or smile like other babies. He would gaze up at her with wide, silent eyes as if contemplating some vast, unspoken mystery.
One afternoon, when Gregory was three, Joan asked her friend, Eliza, who had a toddler of her own, âDo you think itâs normal? I mean, heâs⌠quiet. He doesnât interact much, not like other kids. He just sort of looks at things.â
Eliza, who was always the first to offer advice about anything, said, âWell, Joan, you know how babies are, right? Maybe heâs just a little more introspective than the others. But donât worry. Iâm sure itâll pass.â
But it didnât pass. As he grew older, Gregoryâs silence became more pronounced. When he was four, he was often found sitting alone in the corner of the room, carefully arranging his toys in strange patterns, or staring out the window for hours on end, lost in thoughts no one could understand.
"Is he... special?" Joan asked her husband one evening, her voice filled with an unfamiliar concern. "I mean, I donât know what to think. He just doesnât fit with other kids.â
Father Joan, the man Gregory called Dad, scratched his chin thoughtfully. âMaybe heâs just quiet. Some people are quiet, thatâs all.â
âHe doesnât even look like a normal kid,â Joan mused. âWhat if heâs autistic?â
Father Joan shook his head. âNot necessarily. But if itâs something we need to think about, weâll figure it out together. But for now, letâs just let him be Gregory.â
Chapter 3: The Quiet Years
As Gregory grew older, he became even more of a mystery to the people around him. He was never unkind, never troublesome. He simply didnât participate in life the way others did. At school, Gregory sat at the back of the class, quietly observing. He never raised his hand. He didnât engage in the chaotic games of his classmates. He would listen to their chatter, often smiling faintly at their antics, as though he understood everything they were doing but had no interest in participating.
Sometimes, the other children would try to get his attention, but Gregoryâs responses were often delayed, or offbeat. His mind, it seemed, moved to the beat of its own drum. And for some strange reason, that made other kids uneasy. He wasnât the kind of kid who stood out for being a star athlete or a class clown. He was just... there. Like a piece of furniture that nobody noticed unless they were asked to.
One day, in the middle of math class, the teacher asked Gregory a simple question. âGregory, whatâs 4 plus 3?â
He sat, motionless, staring at the blackboard. His classmates waited, half-expecting him to give a complicated, far-out answer. When Gregory finally spoke, he said in his slow, almost melodic voice, âSeven.â
The class seemed confused. It wasnât that Gregory didnât know the answerâit was that he said it like he was revealing a cosmic secret, as though seven had a deeper significance that no one else could see.
After that, some of the children started to wonder if Gregory might be different in ways they didnât understand. Some whispered that he might have a special gift, while others simply ignored him, unsure of what to make of him.
Chapter 4: The Search for Meaning
The years passed, and Gregoryâs search for meaning became more pronounced. He had never been the type of person to speak his mind, to argue, or even to ask questions. It was as if the world was a puzzle, and he was constantly trying to figure out his place in it, but the pieces never quite fit.
At sixteen, Gregory was no longer the strange, silent child of his youth. He had grown tall and thin, with wild hair that seemed to defy any attempt at grooming. He had the same silent manner about him, but there was a quiet intensity in the way he observed the world now. He could see patterns in the people around himâtiny things that no one else seemed to notice.
One day, while walking to the small library in town, Gregory stumbled upon an old, dusty book on a shelf in the corner. The title, âThe Unwritten Path,â intrigued him. He had no idea what it meant, but he felt drawn to it, as though the book were calling his name.
As he flipped through the pages, something strange happened. The words seemed to speak directly to him, as if they understood his confusion, his emptiness. The book didnât offer any grand answers, but it did suggest something important: You must write your own story. No one else can do it for you.
This thought struck Gregory like a bolt of lightning. The idea that his life didnât have to be mapped out for him by anyone elseâthat he could make his own wayâwas revolutionary. It was the first time in his life that he felt truly seen.
Chapter 5: The First Step
Gregoryâs new awareness began to shape his actions. He started walking the town streets, not with the heavy, aimless gait of someone searching for answers, but with a certain resolve. He began helping at the local church, a place he had attended every Sunday with his family, but always as an observer.
At first, the churchgoers didnât know quite what to make of Gregoryâs sudden involvement. He was quietâtoo quiet at timesâbut he seemed earnest. He helped with the food drives, assisted with the youth group, and did odd jobs around the church. Father Patrick, a jovial old priest with a booming laugh, began to notice the subtle changes in Gregoryâs demeanor.
One day, after Sunday mass, Father Patrick approached him. âGregory,â he said warmly, âyouâve been doing a lot of good work around here lately. Itâs been... a pleasure to have you around. Have you ever considered doing more? I mean, have you thought about helping people in a bigger way?â
Gregory looked at the priest, his brow furrowed in thought. âWhat do you mean?â he asked, his voice low.
âWell,â Father Patrick began, âyou seem to have a heart for people, even if you donât talk about it much. Some people are born to lead others. Maybe thatâs your calling.â
Gregory wasnât sure what Father Patrick meant by âcalling.â But the more he thought about it, the more something stirred inside of him. A sense of purpose, of being a part of something larger than himself.
Chapter 6: The Whispers of the Divine
It was on a particularly quiet evening, as Gregory sat outside the church alone, that the whispers began. It wasnât a voice, not exactly. More like a soft, subtle tug at his soul, an undeniable sense that he wasnât as lost as he had once believed.
He stood up and walked to the small chapel at the back of the church. There, in the hushed sanctity of the holy space, something remarkable happened. A warmth spread across his chest, and for the first time in his life, Gregory felt truly connectedânot to the people around him, but to the universe itself.
It was as if, in that stillness, God Himself whispered into Gregoryâs heart, âYou are not a mistake. You were always meant to be here. Itâs time for you to write your own story.â
Chapter 7: The Preacher Who Wasnât Meant to Be
From that moment on, Gregoryâs life took a turn. He became a preacher, but not in the traditional sense. He didnât stand in front of crowds and preach grand sermons. Instead, he wandered the streets, the coffee shops, and the corners of town, sharing what he had learned: that life, though full of uncertainty, was not a mistake.
His words were simple. His presence, quiet but steady. He didnât force people to listen; he didnât need to. People came to him, drawn by the peacefulness that radiated from him, the calm assurance that there was purpose in life, even when it felt like there wasnât.
And slowly, the town began to change. People came to Gregory for guidance. They asked him questions about life, about faith, about the mysteries they didnât understand. And Gregory, who had once been a boy without a story, now found himself telling others that their stories were just beginning.
Epilogue: The Path Continues
As the years went by, Gregoryâs purpose became clearer. He still wasnât the grand leader the angels had once envisioned, but that didnât matter anymore. His purpose was smaller, quieter, and yet more profound than any celestial plan could have imagined.
Gregoryâs story was written not by the heavens, but by his own hand. A life of simple choices, small kindnesses, and quiet wisdom. And in the end, Gregory realized that sometimes the most significant lives are the ones that are never fully understood by anyone except the ones who live them.
His path had been unwritten. But now, with each passing day, he knew the story would always continue.
Random.....
folklorescotland.com
