Signals From Tomorrow

CHAPTER 8: Public Event

Ethan had settled into a rhythm that felt almost like peace.

He woke, he read the day’s predictions, he prepared, he moved through his hours with a quiet confidence that had been missing from his life for as long as he could remember.

He knew what time to leave, what to wear, what to say, what to expect. The world, which had once felt like a confusing, dangerous place full of traps and surprises, had become something organised, something readable, something he could navigate with ease.

But the message at the end of the previous day had lingered in his mind like a shadow. Soon, the scope will widen. Soon, you will see things that do not just affect you.

He had wondered what that meant. He had imagined it might mean bigger events in his own life—more serious trouble at school, or changes at home, or something happening to Jeffrey or his parents. He had expected it to still be about him, in one way or another.

He hadn’t expected it to be about everyone else.

It started on a Thursday morning, just like any other. Ethan woke, reached for the phone, and sat up in bed to read the list of events that would take place that day.

At first, it looked exactly the same as always. There were the usual entries about his commute, his classes, what would happen at lunch, what his family would do when he got home. He scanned through them quickly, already making mental notes of what he needed to bring or what routes he should take.

But when he reached the bottom of the list, he found new lines of text—entries that didn’t mention him at all. They didn’t mention his school, his street, or anyone he knew. They were written clearly, just like all the others, but they described things happening elsewhere, to people whose names he didn’t recognise, in places he only knew from driving past them or seeing them on the news.

He read the first one slowly, his brow furrowing in confusion:

“Prediction 021: At 11:03 AM, at the main market square in the centre of town, an elderly woman named Mrs. Eleanor Hale will slip on a patch of wet stone near the flower stalls. She will fall hard, striking her shoulder and her head against the edge of the stone step. She will be unable to stand. She will suffer a minor concussion and a broken collarbone. Medical assistance will arrive eight minutes later. Recovery will take approximately six weeks.”

Ethan blinked, reading it again to make sure he hadn’t misread.

Eleanor Hale? The market square?

He knew the market well. It was a busy, crowded place, full of stalls selling food, flowers, clothes, and goods of every kind. People went there every day to shop, to meet friends, or just to walk around and look at everything. But it was nearly a forty-minute walk from his school, and it was nowhere near the route he took to go anywhere. He never went there on weekdays, and he certainly wouldn’t be there at 11:03 AM on a school morning.

And this woman—Mrs. Hale—he had never heard of her. She wasn’t related to Mr. Hale his History teacher, as far as he knew. She was just… a stranger. Someone he had never met, never spoken to, never even seen.

Why is this here? Ethan wondered. What does this have to do with me? Why am I being told this?

He scrolled further down, and there were more of them. Dozens of them. Events happening all over the city, throughout the day, to people he didn’t know, in places he rarely visited.

“Prediction 022: At 12:17 PM, a delivery cyclist will lose control while turning onto Bridge Street. He will collide with a parked vehicle. No serious injuries, but his bicycle will be damaged beyond repair, and he will lose the rest of his day’s earnings as a result.”

“Prediction 023: At 2:48 PM, a group of children playing near the riverbank will accidentally knock a small dog into the water. The dog will be swept downstream for several metres before being pulled to safety. It will be frightened and cold, but unharmed.”

“Prediction 024: At 5:32 PM, a shop assistant at the corner bookshop will drop a stack of expensive hardback books. Many will have their covers damaged, and they will have to be sold at a heavy discount. The manager will be angry, and the assistant will be given a written warning.”

And on and on they went. Small events, medium events, events that were just inconveniences and events that were painful or frightening. None of them involved him. None of them would change his life in any way, whether they happened or not.

Ethan put the phone down and rubbed his eyes, feeling a strange, heavy feeling settle in his chest.

In the past, the predictions had felt like a service, a guide, something that was there to help him, to keep him safe, to make his life easier. They had felt like they were for him.

But these felt different. These felt like he had suddenly been given access to the entire script of the whole world. It was as if he had been standing in a small room, looking only at what was inside his own four walls, and then suddenly someone had pulled back the curtains and shown him the whole city, the whole country, the whole world, moving and living and acting all around him.

He didn’t understand why he needed to know these things. He didn’t understand what purpose they served. But he knew, without having to be told, that this was exactly what the earlier message had warned him about. The scope had widened. He was no longer just seeing his own path. He was seeing everything.

The morning passed slowly, and Ethan found it hard to focus on his lessons. His mind kept drifting back to the messages on the screen. Every time he had a spare moment, he would pull the phone out and read them again, trying to figure out why they were there, trying to understand what he was supposed to do with this information.

At 11:03 AM, he was sitting in Maths class, listening to the teacher explain equations he barely paid attention to. As the clock ticked over to the exact minute, he found himself holding his breath, almost as if he could feel what was happening miles away in the market square.

He checked the screen a few minutes later.

“Prediction 021: Confirmed. Accuracy 100%.”

A cold shiver ran down his spine.

It had happened. Just as it said it would. A woman he didn’t know, in a place he wasn’t, had fallen and hurt herself. She was in pain. She was injured. And he had known it was going to happen. He had known the exact time, the exact place, the exact injuries she would suffer. He had known it, and he had sat here in class and done nothing.

But what could I have done? he asked himself, trying to push the uncomfortable feeling away. I was here. I couldn’t have gotten there in time. Even if I had run, I never would have made it. It’s not my fault. It’s not my responsibility.

He told himself this over and over again, but it didn’t make the feeling go away. It just sat there, heavy and awkward, like a stone stuck in his throat.

At 12:17 PM, the next event happened. The cyclist lost control and crashed. Confirmed. At 2:48 PM, the dog fell into the river. Confirmed. At 5:32 PM, the books were dropped and damaged. Confirmed.

One by one, they all came true. And one by one, Ethan sat there and watched them happen, doing nothing, saying nothing, unable to do anything even if he had wanted to.

By the time school finished for the day, Ethan felt exhausted, even though he hadn’t done anything strenuous. It wasn’t physical tiredness. It was emotional. It was the weight of carrying knowledge that didn’t belong to him, knowledge that he couldn’t use, knowledge that just made him aware of pain and trouble happening all around him, everywhere he looked.

He walked home slowly, his usual light step gone, his head bowed slightly in thought. He kept the phone in his hand, his eyes scanning the new predictions that had appeared to replace the ones that had passed. They were more of the same—events happening everywhere, to everyone, things that were good, things that were bad, things that were sad, things that were just ordinary.

And then, he saw one that stopped him in his tracks.

“Prediction 025: At 6:45 PM this evening, at the pedestrian crossing on Oakwood Road, a young child will run out into the road without looking. A large delivery truck will be passing at that exact moment. The driver will not have time to stop or turn. The child will be struck. The injuries will be severe and life-threatening. Emergency services will be called immediately, but the outcome is uncertain.”

Ethan froze where he stood, right in the middle of the pavement.

This was different. This wasn’t a fall or a broken bone or a lost job. This was life and death. This was something terrible, something tragic, something that would destroy lives forever.

And it was happening right here.

Oakwood Road was the main road he walked along every single day. It was less than five minutes from his house. He knew that crossing well. It was a busy road, fast cars, heavy traffic, and the crossing was right near the park where children often played.

This isn’t far away. This isn’t somewhere I can’t get to. This is right here. Right now.

He checked the time. It was 6:32 PM. He had thirteen minutes. Thirteen minutes to get there, to do something, to stop it from happening.

For the first time since he had learned that he couldn’t simply change the outcome, he felt that old, desperate urge rising up inside him. He had tried to stop things before, and he had failed. He had tried to alter events, and the results had just found another way to happen. But this was different. This wasn’t just a broken cabinet or a tripping accident. This was a child’s life.

I have to try. I have to do something. If I know this is going to happen and I just stand back and let it happen… then what am I?

He began to run.

His feet pounded against the pavement, his breath coming fast and hard, his heart hammering against his ribs. He ran as fast as he had ever run in his life, turning corners, dodging other pedestrians, pushing himself harder and harder. All the thoughts he had learned to accept over the last few weeks—the future is fixed, you can’t change it, you are just an observer—faded away, replaced by one single, powerful thought: I cannot let this happen.

He reached the crossing at 6:41 PM. He was out of breath, sweating, his legs burning, but he was there.

The road was busy, just as it always was. Cars and trucks moved up and down the lanes, fast and steady. People were waiting on the pavement, waiting for the lights to change so they could cross safely.

Ethan scanned the crowd. There were a few children there, but none of them were small enough to match the description in the message. He looked toward the park entrance just a few metres away, where kids were still playing, running around, chasing each other, laughing and shouting.

Where is it? Where is the child?

He checked his watch. 6:43 PM. Two minutes left.

He moved closer to the edge of the pavement, his eyes darting everywhere, searching, watching, ready to react the moment he saw what was going to happen. He didn’t know exactly how it would go down. He didn’t know which child it would be or exactly when they would run. But he was ready. The second he saw anyone step toward the road, he would grab them, he would hold them back, he would do whatever it took to keep them safe.

6:44…

A truck came into view from the distance, travelling fast, heading straight toward the crossing. It was large, heavy, exactly as the message had described. It was moving too quickly to stop suddenly, too big to swerve easily.

6:44:45… 6:44:50… 6:44:58…

6:45 PM.

Ethan tensed his whole body, his hands clenching into fists, his eyes fixed on the group of children playing near the gate.

And then he saw it.

A small boy, no older than five or six, chasing a ball that had bounced away from him. He was running fast, his eyes fixed entirely on the rolling toy, not looking left or right, not seeing the traffic, not hearing the noise of the engines. He ran straight out from the grass, across the narrow strip of pavement, and right toward the road.

Ethan didn’t even think. He moved faster than he had ever moved before. He lunged forward, reaching out, grabbing the boy by the back of his jacket and pulling him hard backward, just as the child’s feet were about to step off the kerb.

The boy stumbled and fell back onto the pavement, landing in a heap on the ground, looking up at Ethan in shock and confusion.

At exactly the same moment, the large truck roared past, travelling so close to the edge that the wind from its passing ruffled their hair and clothes. If the boy had been even one second faster, if Ethan had been even one second slower…

It would have been too late.

Ethan stood there, breathing heavily, his hands shaking, looking down at the child who was now sitting safely on the ground, crying a little from the shock of being pulled back so suddenly.

I did it, Ethan thought, a huge rush of relief and triumph washing over him. I actually did it. I stopped it. I changed the future. I saved his life.

He turned immediately to look at the phone in his hand, eager to see the message change, eager to see it marked as incorrect or altered, eager to finally have proof that he could make a difference when it really mattered.

But what he saw made his blood run cold, and all the relief vanished in an instant.

The prediction was still there. The words were exactly the same. And below them, glowing bright and green, was the confirmation:

Prediction 025: Confirmed. Accuracy 100%.

“What?!” Ethan whispered, his voice cracking. “How?! It didn’t happen! I stopped him! I pulled him back! He’s safe! How can it be confirmed?!”

He looked up, confused and terrified, and then he heard the sound.

A scream. Loud, sharp, filled with pain and terror.

He turned his head toward the other side of the road. There, on the opposite pavement, on the exact spot where the crossing was, a woman had stepped out into the road just a few seconds earlier, right as the truck had passed. She had been looking the other way, or perhaps had thought the traffic had stopped.

The truck had been too close, moving too fast, and had struck her hard.

People were rushing toward her, shouting, calling for help, kneeling down beside her. She was lying on the road, unmoving, as the traffic came to a sudden stop all around her.

Ethan stood frozen, staring across the road, his mind reeling as the terrible truth crashed down on him.

He had saved the boy. He had stopped the event exactly as it had been described. But the danger hadn’t gone away. It had simply moved. It had found another victim. It had changed who was hurt, but it hadn’t stopped the hurt from happening at all.

He had saved one life… but he had not prevented the tragedy. He had just shifted it from one person to another.

He looked back down at the screen, and new text had appeared beneath the confirmation, words that felt like they were written in heavy ink, pressing down on his soul:

“You sought to save one. But events are woven together like threads in a tapestry. Pull one free, and another takes its place. The danger was not attached to the child. It was attached to the moment, to the place, to the flow of time itself. You changed who was affected… but you could not change that something would be affected. The outcome was always going to be pain. You chose who would bear it.”

Ethan let the phone slip from his hand, falling back into his pocket. He felt sick. He felt empty. He felt like he had just done the right thing and the wrong thing all at once.

He had thought that knowing the future was a gift. He had thought it gave him the power to help people, to stop bad things from happening, to make the world a better place.

But now he realised the terrible truth.

Knowing what is going to happen doesn’t just give you the power to help. It also gives you the responsibility for every choice you make.

And now, because of what he had done, he was left with a question that would haunt him for a long time:

Had he done a good thing? Or had he simply decided who got to be hurt and who got to be safe?

As he turned away from the scene, listening to the sirens wailing in the distance, he understood exactly what the next stage of his life was going to be.

Nothing was random anymore. And every choice, no matter how small or how well-meaning, came with a cost.