The three Fates of Greek mythology, Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, watch over every mortal’s life. Clotho spins the thread, Lachesis measures it, and Atropos cuts it.
Clotho spun my thread into existence, a one in 400 quadrillion chance. Out of every possible genetic combination, I was born.
Lachesis, the measurer, determines the course a life will take. By luck, I ended up attending North Brunswick Township Middle School; by luck, I landed in a fifth‑grade art class where I sat next to Armoni Len Bennett, newly arrived from Illinois to New Jersey. But it felt like fate that he would become my best friend. Armoni had a way of brightening any room he walked into — he could make anyone laugh, even on days they didn’t want to.
Of course, fate doesn’t promise smoothness. Armoni and I had our differences, and I blocked him more times than I care to admit. Yet somehow, he always found a way back into my life, whether through a new account, a new platform, or even a desperate message on Roblox asking me to unblock him. During one of the rare weeks I’d distanced myself, I bumped into his dad at Target. He told me how much Armoni truly missed me. I didn’t say much, but the words stayed with me. They made me question whether I was taking him for granted. Was a disagreement worth losing someone who kept choosing to return? I decided to give him another chance.
But as Lachesis is known as the ultimate allocator of destiny, she decided that Armoni’s thread would be pulled far from mine. First to Morocco, where he lived with his family and his raccoon named Ice Spice. Then, back to Illinois instead of New Jersey, despite the promises he made. Months passed, and our conversations grew shorter, thinner, and more distant.
The last message I received from him was a simple “Happy birthday.”
He was planning to visit New Jersey on April 2, his birthday. He was 38 days from finally coming back to New Jersey when he was shot and murdered.
And that is where Atropos, the eldest Fate, stepped in. She is the one who cuts the thread, ending the story, reminding us that death is inescapable. On February 23, 2025, in Bloomington, Illinois, she decided Armoni’s thread had reached its end.
By some cruel twist of luck, Armoni never made it back to New Jersey. By some cruel twist of luck, I am still here, and the greatest person I have ever known is not.
At his funeral, I saw his step-mom for the first time in years. She hugged me like she was trying to hold together every thread the Fates had ever tangled. Through tears, she told me how he truly loved me, how often he talked about our friendship, and how badly he wanted to return to New Jersey.
Luck allowed me to win the lottery of friendship, of being able to call Armoni a friend. I took that luck for granted through our arguments and the distance I let build between us, always assuming there would be more time to fix things, more chances to grow close again. But Fate had other plans, knotting our stories in ways I never fully appreciated until his thread snapped.
