The therapist playbook

TO SEE IS TO LIVE

The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains, casting its golden hue across his bedroom. Raphael has always been the modest type, and so was my room, with a single bed pushed against the wall, a wooden desk cluttered with school books and drawings, and a wardrobe that had seen better days. A gentle breeze wafted in through the open window, stirring the pages of a sketchbook that lay on the desk, half-filled with rough sketches of faces and places. The air was still, the silence broken only by the distant sound of birds chirping outside.

Suddenly, the tranquillity was shattered.

A sharp gasp filled the room as the boy shot up from his bed, his heart racing, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts. His light honey-coloured eyes were wide with terror, still seeing the remnants of the nightmare that had gripped him so fiercely. His skin, pale and clammy, was slick with sweat, and his ginger brown hair clung to his forehead in damp strands. He sat there, motionless, trying to steady his breathing, trying to shake off the lingering fear that clung to him like a dark cloud.

The dream had been so vivid, so real. He could still feel the sensation of falling, the rush of wind against his face, the sickening drop in his stomach as he plummeted towards the ground. He could still hear the faint echoes of his own scream as he tumbled through the air, helpless and terrified. And then, just as he was about to hit the ground, he had jolted awake, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of the dream.

But this wasn’t just any dream. It never was.

Raphael Lalo had always been different. From the moment he could speak, his parents had noticed something unusual about him. He was quiet, observant, and seemed to know things that a boy his age shouldn’t have known. As he grew older, it became clear that Raphael had a gift that set him apart from everyone else. He could see things, things that hadn’t happened yet, things that were hidden from others. His visions came to him in dreams, in flashes, sometimes in the middle of the day when he was least expecting it. They were never wrong, but the feeling wasn't always pleasant

Today was no different.

Raphael ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and placed his feet on the cool tiled floor, grounding himself in the present. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus on the here and now, on the small, familiar details of his room. The dream was over, but the fear still lingered, gnawing at the edges of his consciousness.

He was the third of four children, the only boy in a family full of sisters. His older sisters, Valerie and Ellie, were close in age and always seemed to be in each other’s business, leaving Raphael to fend for himself most of the time. His younger sister, Margaret , was the baby of the family, loved on by everyone, including Raphael. Despite the chaos of having three sisters, Raphael had always felt a deep connection to his family, a bond that went beyond the usual sibling squabbles. But his gift, the visions that came to him in his dreams, set him apart, made him different, and sometimes, even his own family didn’t quite understand him.

But Raphael had learned to live with his gift, to accept it as a part of who he was. He had even found ways to use it to his advantage. His friends, David, Troy, and Curtis, were the closest thing he had to brothers at this time, and though they didn’t know about his gift, they had always marvelled at his uncanny ability to predict things, to know things before they happened. Raphael had become their go-to guy for advice, for help with school, for guidance in navigating the tricky world of teenage relationships. He was good with people, especially with girls, and his friends often teased him about his “magic touch” when it came to talking to them.

But it wasn’t magic. It was foresight.

Raphael had seen it all before, in dreams, in flashes, in the quiet moments when his mind wandered. He knew what to say, how to act, because he had already seen the outcome. It was a blessing but not one a human can handle fully as knowing the future doesn't help you handle it better , a gift that set him apart but also isolated him in ways that his friends could never understand.

He rubbed his eyes, still tired from the restless night, and glanced at the clock on his bedside table. It was still early, but the house was already beginning to stir. He could hear the faint sounds of his sisters moving about in their rooms, the sound of their voices. As his mother walked down the hall. He knew he had to get up, had to shake off the dream and face the day ahead, but the weight of the vision lingered, pulling him back into its dark embrace.

As he dressed, pulling on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, Raphael couldn’t shake the feeling that today was different. The dream had been more intense than usual, more vivid, more real. He had felt the terror in his bones, the certainty of his impending death as he fell from the building. He had never experienced anything like it before, and it left him with a sense of unease that he couldn’t quite explain.

He knew he had to be careful today, more careful than usual. The visions were never wrong, he really hoped it was just another dream, for if he had seen himself falling from a building, then it meant that something dangerous was on the horizon. He would have to watch his step, avoid any situation that could lead to that outcome. But how could he avoid something that he didn’t fully understand? The visions were always cryptic, always incomplete, leaving him with more questions than answers.

Raphael made his way downstairs, trying to push the dream to the back of his mind. The kitchen was bright and warm, the smell of coffee and toast filling the air. His mother stood at the stove, flipping pancakes, while his sisters sat at the table, chatting and laughing. It was a scene of domestic bliss, the kind of morning that Raphael had always taken for granted. But today, it felt different, tinged with the dark shadow of the vision that still haunted him.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” his mother greeted him with a smile as he entered the kitchen. “Rough night?”

He forced a smile, trying to appear normal. “Yeah, just a weird dream,” he replied, sliding into his usual seat at the table.

“Another one of your famous dreams?” Ellie teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “What did you see this time? The end of the world?”

He chuckled, but it was forced, hollow. “Nothing like that. Just a bad fall.”

“Careful, or you’ll end up like Humpty Dumpty,” Valerie jokes, nudging him with an elbow as she joins them at the table.

“Yeah, and no one will be able to put you back together again,” Ellie added with a grin.

Raphael smiled, but his heart wasn’t in it. His sisters meant well, but they had no idea what it was really like, to carry the weight of these visions, to see the future in such a terrifying and vivid way. They didn’t understand the fear that came with knowing too much, the burden of foresight.

As the morning passed, Raphael found himself growing more and more anxious. The vision was like a dark cloud hanging over him, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible was about to happen. He kept replaying the dream in his mind, trying to make sense of it, trying to figure out what it meant. But the more he thought about it, the more confused he became. There were too many variables, too many unknowns. He couldn’t piece it all together, couldn’t see the bigger picture.

He got out and headed to his friends and they noticed his unease, but they didn’t press him. They had learned long ago that when he was in one of these moods, it was best to give him space. They trusted him, relied on him, and they knew that if something was bothering him, he would eventually tell them. But today, Raphael wasn’t sure he could share this with them. How could he explain a vision that he didn’t fully understand? How could he warn them about something that he couldn’t even put into words?

The day passed in a blur, with Raphael going through the motions, trying to act normal, trying to pretend that everything was fine. But the vision was always there, lurking in the back of his mind, a constant reminder of the danger that awaited him. He knew he couldn’t avoid it forever. He would have to face it, to confront whatever it was that the vision was trying to show him.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the town, Raphael found himself drawn to the place in his dream. It was a tall building, an old, abandoned factory on the outskirts of town. He had passed it a hundred times before, but today it felt different, ominous, as if it was calling to him. He knew he shouldn’t go there, knew that it was dangerous, but something inside him compelled him to go, to see for himself if the vision was real.

He arrived at the factory just as the last rays of sunlight disappeared behind the horizon. The building loomed over him, dark and foreboding, its windows shattered, its walls covered in graffiti. The air was thick with the smell of decay, of rust and neglect. Raphael’s heart pounded in his chest as he approached the entrance, his mind racing with fear and anticipation.

He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he knew he had to find it, to face whatever it was that had haunted him in his dream. He stepped inside, his footsteps echoing in the empty space. The air was cold, damp, and filled with the sounds of distant creaks and groans as the old building settled around him.

As he made his way deeper into the factory, he began to feel a strange sense of déjà vu. The layout, the shadows, the sounds—it was all exactly as he had seen in his dream. His heart raced faster as he climbed the stairs to the roof, the place where he had seen himself fall. His legs felt like lead, every step a struggle against the overwhelming fear that threatened to consume him.

Finally, he reached the roof. The wind whipped around him, tugging at his clothes, as he stood at the edge, looking down at the street below. It was a long drop, just as he had seen in his vision. He could feel the pull of gravity, the same sickening sensation he had felt in the dream. But this time, he was awake. This time, it was real.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself against the fear that clawed at his insides. He knew he had to be careful, and had to avoid making the same mistake he had seen in the vision. But as he stood there, teetering on the edge, he realised that he didn’t know what that mistake was. The vision had shown him the fall, but not how to prevent it.

Panic set in as he realised that he was in danger, that the vision was about to come true. He stumbled back, away from the edge, his heart pounding in his ears. He had to get out of there, had to escape before it was too late. But just as he turned to leave, he heard a voice, faint and distant, calling his name.

“Raphael…”

He froze, his breath catching in his throat. The voice was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, echoing around him in the empty space. He turned back towards the edge, his eyes scanning the darkness for the source of the voice.

And then he saw it.

A figure, standing on the opposite side of the roof, shrouded in shadow. It was tall, thin, and seemed to be watching him, its eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. Raphael’s heart skipped a beat as he realised that the figure was the same one he had seen in his vision, the one that had pushed him off the roof.

“Who are you?” Raphael demanded, his voice trembling with fear.

The figure didn’t respond. It just stood there, silent and still, its glowing eyes locked onto Raphaels. The wind picked up, howling around them, and he felt a chill run down his spine.