Foreseeing Death

DEATH. I can see how people die, well not really how they die. It’s not really a blessing for me, what’s the point of having an ability you can’t benefit from? I can only see a few seconds into their death and the condition of their corpse. I can’t really see the reason they die. But anyways, I see death through brief and sudden flashes of the future. And they always happen without warning. I could be eating, a vision would flash before me. I don’t know why I can, or where this ability came from. I just…can. I realized something was different about me when I was a kid, when I first started seeing things that I shouldn’t have been able to see. It all started during a sunny morning, I was six years old during this time. I was with my family that day, surrounded by the familiar voices and warmth. I remember seeing my grandma laughing with my mom, probably talking about something I was too young to understand. My brother and sister weren’t there during that time, they were on vacation with dad. Then without warning, a sudden vision flashed before my eyes. A car. Screeching tires. Blinding lights. Sirens. And the most chilling of all, my grandmother’s motionless body in a pool of blood. I didn’t understand what I was seeing, it was so dizzying and frightening for a six year old. At that time it felt like I was the one experiencing the situation, it was scary . I collapsed to the floor, crying. My relatives rushed towards me. I was crying my eyes out. I didn’t understand what was happening, and why I’d seen those things. “Hun, what’s wrong?” My grandma hurried near me with a look of worry visible on her face. She gently lifted me by the arms and sat me down in her lap. She ran her fingers through my hair in a comforting manner. I buried my face against her, “nana, please don’t leave tomorrow!” I sniffled. My face wet due to the tears that kept falling uncontrollably. I could hear soft awes and sympathetic cooing from my other relatives. They probably thought I was just a clingy granddaughter that doesn’t want her grandma to go. “Nana, please!” I gripped her shirt tighter. My voice broke as I looked up to her. “You’ll die if you do!” Everyone’s face turned pale. Laughter turned into whispers and murmurs. My mom’s face dropped, she felt shy at all the attention. My mother grabbed me from my Grandma’s lap, she smacked my face. “Don’t say that you naughty girl!” My lips pouted, tears continued flowing. Everyone around us gave awkward laughs. That was a weird thing for a kid to say. A really, really weird thing. Heck, even I would get weirded out. The next morning, our relatives had already left. My mom was cooking as usual. I was sitting on the counter, giggling, waiting patiently for the food to finish. The kitchen was filled with the aroma of bacon and eggs, a classic breakfast for a normal day. My ears perked at the sound of approaching footsteps. I turned around the doorway just in time to see my grandma walking down the stairs. She was dressed in her nicest clothes, her lips red from her lipstick, and her favorite black purse dangling from her arm. My grandma looked like she became young again. “I’ll be back by noon, darlings!” Grandma called cheerfully, giving us a little wave. “I’m just going to play cards with the ladies.” She smiled before turning toward the door. It wasn’t anything unusual, my grandma would always go and play cards with her friends during the weekends. I watched her walk outside, my small hands gripping the edge of my shirt. She didn’t believe me. Why would she? I was just a little girl, I didn’t know any better. Nothing will happen, I was wrong right? My grandmother didn’t come back that afternoon. At first, I didn’t understand. I was waiting for her as usual. I thought she’d come home eventually, like she always did. I kept waiting for the sound of the front door, but I never heard it. No door opening, no doorknob nor keys jiggling. Everything happened so fast. One moment, I was sitting on the floor of my room, happily playing with my dolls. The next, my mom burst through the door and grabbed me. She didn’t explain anything. She just picked me up and hurried downstairs, She moved with a swift, panicked pace. “Mommy?” I asked, confused. My mom was moving too fast for my liking. I was getting anxious. I think the uncertainty of the situation made me more scared. She didn’t answer. I remember her rushing me toward the car, her hands trembling as she buckled me in. She climbed into the driver’s seat and immediately sped off, gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned pale. Her breathing was shallow. Tears streamed down her face. She kept wiping at them, but they wouldn’t stop. She was crying so hard that she could barely say anything. I didn’t understand anything. All I could do was sit there and watch her. Then we arrived at the hospital. My mom rushed inside with me, shouting at a nurse. She was crying and yelling, desperately trying to know where our grandmother was. The nurse looked startled and immediately tried to calm her down. I remember standing in the corner, clutching one of my dolls against my chest. Why was mommy shouting? Where’s grandma? The nurse finally managed to calm my mom down. I was sitting near the vending machine, my mom was pacing back and forth, waiting for the doctor’s update on the condition of my grandmother. After what felt like eternity for a six year old. The doctor finally came out. His face filled with sorrow. He sighed, shaking his head slowly. He removes his blood-soaked gloves.”I’m sorry, she didn’t make it.” My mom froze. She was in shock. For a moment she didn’t say anything. Then her legs gave out, she fell to the floor, crying her eyes out. I couldn’t blame her, she just lost her mother. I didn’t know how to process grief, I didn’t even understand a single thing. I didn’t understand why mom was crying and why grandma didn’t come home. I was only three. But, there was one thing that I understood. What I saw had come true. That terrified me more than anything. Even at three years old, I knew something was terribly wrong with me. After that incident, I grew up thinking I was destined to have this ability of seeing death as a gift. For a while I believed I could save people from their fates, their deaths. I truly believed I could help them live, help them survive. But overtime, no matter how I tried saving them, trying to change their fate but death would always catch up to them. This ability wasn’t a gift. It was a curse. Over time, I stopped trying. I stopped trying to save them, I simply let the universe decide their fate. Because no amount of saving can change a person’s destiny, I learned that the hard way. I stopped trying, I was afraid of making it worse I also earned the “crazy weird girl” title thanks to my so-called “superpowers.” No one believes me. Whenever I try to warn someone, they’ll just brush me off. Calling me names, bullying me. Some call me weird, some call me crazy. Eventually, the whispers and gossips turned into bullying, and I learned to keep my mouth shut and close myself off. Sometimes, I still warn people. Not because I pity them. Not because I think I can help them I do it for fun. Ironic isn’t it? If nobody believes me anyway, why not make the most of it? After all, there’s something strangely amusing about watching someone laugh in your face after you’ve just told them exactly how they’re going to die. So, here I am. Sixteen years old Still a freak in everyone’s eyes. I don’t really have friends, well….I have one. My best friend since birth. Cain Samael Montgomery. Also, I wouldn’t exactly call my relationship with my mother a good one. Things haven’t been the same between us since my dad died, I guess it was my fault for failing to save him. But it’s not like she stopped loving me. Once a while she tries to make efforts in mending our relationship But she eventually stopped. She just changed. Or maybe I did? Either way, we’ve grown apart over the years. We barely talk unless it’s needed. But somehow, every conversation we have always ends in an argument. I’ve gotten used to it. I’ve gotten used to a lot of things, actually. Being called weird. Seeing things I’m not supposed to see. And most importantly, knowing when someone is going to die… and pretending I don’t care. How long can I keep putting this act up? How long will I keep lying to myself? To death itself?