There once was a young boy who was in a terrible accident. A simple car crash, nothing spectacular, in fact everyone survived. But he wasn't supposed to. Now many people have come under the impression that when one defies fate, it returns with a vengeance. Now that is nonsense. Why go after a small pebble thrown into a lake by throwing a larger rock in after it? What fate does is limit the ripples. Another misconception is that a simple or small act can have far reaching consequences. A single drop in the oceans ripples forever, or a butterfly's wings can cause a typhoon. This is wrong. Ones actions are little more than a sort of echolocation. It bounces off the people closely related to it before fading into nothingness. What this means is the actions of a single person have little standing in the bendable line that is time. Admittedly some people are far more essential to the timeline than others, but a single dead child who isn't is hardly a problem when handled right.
So this young boy went through life, hardly making a fuss, generally not making much of an impression on anyone not directly in contact with them. As time went on he would make friends but they would lose contact for a great while, neither really missing the effect on the other's life. So time went on. Fate used a strategy she had employed many times before. Give the young boy, now a man, ideas of grandiose schemes. Ideas that would change the course of history, then remove his ability to finish any of them by overwhelming his tiny mind with all the ideas held by a lesser god. And so the boy traveled through his life. He was caught up in his own mind. He was slipped carefully into an unremarkable job where he was nothing more than a face among the crowd. He was overlooked, not mistreated nor given any special treatment. He lived, and that's all that can be said about him. His death was unremarkable as well. A few people came to the funeral, said nice things, and then forgot about him. For fate knew that a person with many people at the death bed was just as noticeable as none. So even in the hospital his death was marginally dull. All his notes and schemes left behind would be lost or thrown away. Unlike the great artists who became well known through their work after death, this young boy, who became a man and died old, would simply be forgotten.
So the boy who should have died but didn't lived rather plainly, died rather plainly, and his life had no effect on time. It was as if he died at the correct time, fate had done its job. And the boy lived miserably until death.
