Art and music in her, a symphony of light. Her soul is a canvas, emotions a hue, A violin's strings play a tune like her heart. Tulips dance in her garden, cats at her feet, Her dream car awaits, on the 11 street. Her heart is a masterpiece of her own, A symphony of love, a song to call home. In her garden of dreams, she'll always find, I wish you love, through all time.

“How do you always know what I’m thinking?”

I glance across the table and took a deep breath. I already had a response planned out, and John’s response played in my mind. I’d already experienced the conversation before it happened. Next, he was going to get up and pull a salad out of the fridge, and of course complain about the diet his girlfriend put him on.

“I understand that she wants to be healthy, I get it,” he plopped back down and took another sip of his coffee, “but I can only eat so much salad in a week before I lose it.”

Once our lunch break was over, our boss was going to come into the office with some bad news—mandatory overtime until the holidays were over. Everyone’s mood drops, talk of the Christmas party seem like a distant memory, and the long night feels even longer as we all drive home.

I could only sit in the break room and dread the next few hours. Others complain about the terrifying unknown, meanwhile I dread all the things I know.

Surely enough, the day turned sour as the sun started to set. Workers cleaned off their desks and sighed in disappointment, filing out the door once the sun had disappeared from the sky.

“Jan.”

A deep voice, belonging to my boss, startled me out of my thoughts. My brain quit working as I turned around, slowly realizing that this was new. And terrifying.

“Mr. Galloway?” I tried to keep my voice calm. Despite the horrible news he’d just conveyed not too long ago, he seemed to be in high spirits. I was still disoriented.

“I know it’s short notice, but I was hoping you could help me out a little longer,” he swallowed and pointed toward his office. “With overtime pay, of course. I just need some advice.”

“Advice?” I raised my eyebrows. I was not just curious, I was intrigued. This was new. Almost exciting. To experience something I didn’t know would occur hadn’t happened since childhood.

When I realized Mr. Galloway was staring at me in anticipation, I fumbled over my words once again. “Of course. Nothing exciting is waiting for me at home.”

The smile on his face was a little different, softer than I as used to, and I started to feel refreshed.

Day after day, week after week, when it came to Mr. Galloway, everything was new. Unpredictable. Outside of work, he always managed to surprise me. Overtime was almost fun as long as he was still in the office. I was addicted to the unknown, and for one reason or another, Mr. Galloway was my gateway into it.

The ability to see into the future is a curse I’ve fought against my entire life. It always felt like the paradoxical chicken and the egg. Was I really foretelling my future or were my prognostications just ideas planted in my mind that became self fulfilled prophecies? Which came first? I couldn’t figure it out and wasn’t sure it really mattered.

I yearned to live a normal life. When the natural occurrences of everyday experiences are an option that doesn’t exist, life becomes a meaningless journey. The joys that came from achievement and the heartbreak from failure were lost amidst a bevy of suggestive predictions. There had to be more.

A few of my friends thought my complaints were fabricated nonsense. A sign that my reality was convoluted in comparison to the rest of the world. The same way the rich and famous complained about being so recognizable that it precluded any personal space from the paparazzi or general public. Outsiders focused solely on the positive attributes without considering the byproduct of negative issues that also existed.

I began acting in opposition of the conjured images, if only to test the fates, but that didn’t help. It changed nothing. It was like ignoring a specified route identified on the GPS navigation in my truck. If the shortest route was sidestepped by traveling down a different path, my internal barometer automatically updated. The final destination remained the same, it just took longer to get there. It felt like I had little control over the direction of my life.

The frustration within continued to build until I lashed out in anger. I yelled at the wall, to myself, at others; the culmination of everything summarized in a few graphic words. The release felt wonderful. Feeling emotion to an extreme created a blindspot that had never before been experienced.

The longer I shouted, the cloudier the images in my head became. It was a resolution that provided an escape I never wanted to return from. I lost track of time, spending days shouting at everything in sight. When the inevitable happened and I lost my voice, the premonitions returned.

Panic stricken, a nervous jitteriness consumed my focus. My body ached for the sweet release of anger induced dopamine into my system. I had gotten used to the feeling of not knowing the future. It was something I was unwilling to go without.

The progression through maintaining an angry disposition moved quick. Punching holes into walls were replaced with pummeling a heavy bag at a boxing gym. Sparring with amateur pugilists followed but that wasn’t enough, even when our combined efforts resulted in bloodshed.

The line between acceptable and antisocial behavior became blurred. I found myself willing to do anything to satisfy the peaceful consciousness which had always been elusive. It didn’t matter that the feeling was fleeting. The few seconds of calm was the best part of the day.

Sustained anger was no longer a simple desire. It was a need. The enjoyable highs of altered reality became the only degree of normalcy that mattered.

The savior of my sanity later proved to be a slippery slope when walked upon. It caused my downfall, with many lives irreparably damaged in the process. None more than my own.

He’d been practicing lately. This time last year, he was only clinging to fragments of events, with no inkling of when or who they came from. He had no control of them. They began with physical sensations: the texture of clothing, heat from the sun, euphoria, sadness, tension. Always little pieces of long repressed memories making their way to the surface of consciousness, but not his own. Never his own.

He developed the ability to peek into other peoples lives at the age of 19. He didn’t know why, never believed such a thing to be possible. He chose not to share his gift with others. It was his escape. His father had spent too many parenting years beating a brutal reality into him. He was an inconvenience. He needed the distraction. He preferred living in the happy memories of others to dealing with the issues he’d neatly tucked away in the back of his mind.

He was finally beginning to grasp the idea of a technique he coined time-marking. He still invaded the minds of random strangers, but at least now, he had some control over the general time and date he experienced their lives. He could find peace in the backseat of their consciousnesses by invoking memories having to do with generalized world events. But not without trial and error.

Three months ago, from the safety of a park bench, he’d made a discovery about his ability that forced him to proceed with a bit more caution, inspiring the very technique he was currently mastering.

                             —————

A woman, in her mid to late 30’s stared at her reflection in the mirror at an outdated vanity. Various pill bottles were strewn across the limited space around the basin. The bathroom was small, black and white tiles adorning the floor. A grubby green claw foot tub sat behind her. She was a stranger. They were always strangers.

As she fussed over the wrinkles beginning to form around her mouth and brows, a tear loosed and rolled down her bronzed cheek. She wore a melancholy scowl that didn’t suit her smile lines. Only the sound of her even breathing filled the room.

She turned to face the tub and lingered a moment before she crossed the tiles in two bounds. Her legs felt like they had been filled with sand, stiff and reluctant to move. He watched quietly as she lowered herself down into the tub, fully clothed. She didn’t turn on the faucet. He felt a sharp pain in his hand. Her hand.

She peered down, sight blurred by the tears hazing the lower rim of her eyes, to a razor blade which had already bitten into the palm of her tense hand.

He anticipated what was to come, and attempted to see his way out of her mind. He’d never before been able to see the memories of someone who’d died, and he wasn’t keen on witnessing a failed suicide attempt. He’d witnessed painful memories from all walks of life, and wasn’t fond of reliving others’ traumas. He already had enough of his own. He preferred happy memories, but he’d never been able to control what memories he coerced from others. In defense of that, as soon as he began to grasp the nuances of his sight, he developed a technique that allowed him to exit painful memories at will.

As he subconsciously moved for the exit, he found something blocking his path. A mental ward of sorts. Something was holding him hostage in this memory. Nothing like this had ever happened before. When he was learning to walk in and out of memories, he’d had resistance, but none that wasn’t of his own ignorance to the limitations of the ability he possessed. This time, it was as if some foreign presence was disavowing his escape. A third party.

If he was in his body, his palms would have been sweating, but there, in her body, he felt blood warming his palm as it dripped down onto her bare thigh.

She steadied the hand that contained the blade. She grasped it between her thumb and forefinger, and slowly dragged it across her opposite wrist. It was a clean swipe. Blood began running, pulsing lightly to the rhythm of her slowing heartbeat, coating the wall of the tub. He felt her become light headed, and her vision blurred as darkness edged around her peripherals. She fought death as it creeped into her veins. Her body remained tense. She twitched and thrashed even as her faculties left her. A minute later, the picture was completely dark.

It wasn’t the sort of darkness that exists in a room with no light, it was the sort of darkness that suggested the absence of light entirely. It was nothing.

He was alone there, with only his thoughts, floating into oblivion. He couldn’t even conjure his own voice within his mind. Again, he attempted to break free of the memory. Again, he failed. He tried to reach for the entity preventing his exit, but he couldn’t find it. He began to think he’d become trapped inside this woman’s death. He began to panic. Would he never break free? Would he never feel light on his face again?

A moment later, he was back in that bathroom.

The same green tub and black and white tile reflected from the mirror behind her. They looked newer. Cleaner. The pill bottles were gone and had been replaced with a hair brush and silk scrunchies in rich berry shades.

The woman who had ended herself before his eyes was no longer there. No, it was a girl. She couldn’t have been more than 14 years old. She stared herself coldly in the eyes, unrelenting, as if she were trying to pry open her soul with the gaze. Mascara streaked her cheeks, but that was the only evidence of crying. Her expression whispered icy rage. Her hands gripped the sides of the vanity with a force that would surely break her fingers.

When she spoke, he tumbled from her mind back into his own. It was the most uncomfortable transition he’d ever experienced. Even in the beginning, he’d never felt like this; it was as if his soul was cleaved from the other, unwillingly, and violently.

The words the girl spoke still rang sharply in his mind, piercing through the wall he’d built between seeing and feeling.

“Get out of my head.” She’d seethed with level tone, through clenched teeth.

He envisioned the portrait of the girl who’d cleaved him from her mind. She looked like she could have been the daughter of the woman who came before her.

He vomited in the garbage can next to the park bench he’d been daydreaming on. A woman with a stroller hurried herself and her sleeping child across the brick pathway, jarring the baby awake. It began to whimper. She asked him hurriedly if he needed help. He waved her away with nothing but a flail of his arm.

That girl wasn’t looking at herself in the mirror as the woman before her had been. She was looking at him.

That girl wasn’t the dead woman’s daughter.

He’d seen her death. She must have seen it too. That’s why she sucked him into her present. That’s why she forced him to look her in the eyes when she tossed him out.

Had they all sensed him in the shadows of their consciousnesses? Had he always been sitting shotgun on their memories, or had he been giving them a front row seat to their futures? The question lingered.

He wasn’t willing to let go of his curiosity with strangers’ memories, not even close. He needed them as much as their owners did. But seeing the future created a pit in his stomach. He knew that the future wasn’t something he was ready for.

I have dreams. Well not dreams, visions at night. Dreams wouldn’t be the right word, because dreams are something you want, these blurs in the future aren’t exactly what anyone wants. Every night I get a chance to see into someone else future. But lately I’ve been seeing a lake at the edge of a forest at night and then complete darkness. Every night is the same. The woods get more real and the lake becomes more cold. The panic and fear the person is having becomes my own. She’s drowning. She’s going to die. But last night there was nothing. Just black. I have never had nothing before, it was always something. After a fay of school, saw a rabbit. He looked at me and ran a bit. He stopped and looked back. As if he wanted me to follow. So I ran towards him and he kept looking back to see if I was following. He ran all the way into the forest and there was a lake. The same lake in my visions. The rabbit jumped into the water splashing cold drips of water on me. I looked around, the dream never finished I was always just standing at the end he of the water. Then there was a low growl behind me. I turned around slowly to see a grizzly bear standing on its hind legs. The visions I had been have were of my death. It wasn’t what was in ground of me it what was behind me the visions warned me about. The bear bear swiped it claw and I fell backwards into the dark deep waters. I was drowning and there was red liquid floating above me. I was dying. I never saw the ending but all I saw was darkness. And the end.

She was sore. She was tired. And she was angry. This morning had promised pancakes and long lie in the night before. Instead the morning delivered Alexander’s girlfriend showing up, an argument, and Estrella slipping out of Alexander’s back window. Estella was angry with herself. The campus was blue skies and fluffy clouds. People making better life choices hurried to classes. Squaring her shoulders, Estella slowed her stride. She breathed out her memories of her ex one more in a long line. Estella swayed into class, Aberrant Psychology.
All her life Estella was hunting, hoping to meet the one, waiting for her gift to unfold. It had been easier when she was fourteen and could believe in true love with her whole heart. It had grown harder each year each day. Estella scoped for a good seat way in the back preferably behind a fat person. She needed sleep. Walking down the aisle was a thick blonde, buzz cut, no makeup, pillow lips, and shrouded in oversized sweats. Estella thought of summer warm grass and the first bite of pink cherries. They clasped hands and the smell of clean sheets fresh of a line flooded her. The woman exhaled and shivered. Suddenly Estella unfolded and she could see her first month with Chelsea her true love. Together she could see the future and Chelsea could read minds. Together holding hands separately they read the classroom recognizing how their gifts could be considered dangerous. “It’s Chelsea right let’s get the hell out of here?”

I stood before the portal. Usually when Starling sent me somewhere I could see the destination. This time it was nothing but darkness. “You sure you want to do this, Mum?” I looked back at my boy. He was already full grown. I knew almost ever possible future. But why was it when I first held him in my arms that the moment after I stepped into this portal everything was blank. Not for just a moment either. Whole days even months were blank. I’d have to do this without my future sight. A foreign concept. A risk. If I couldn’t be sure of the future then my goal would be harder to achieve. However the futures where I don’t step through the portal were very bleak. And not just for me. I gave my son a smile. He was already going through so much trying to be a father to a girl he didn’t bear. Pining for a woman who hadn’t and now couldn’t return his affections. I was glad he had his friend at least to lighten the load. “I’ll be fine, my child.” “But your future vision-“ “Is not the only power I have.” I reached up to touch his cheek. “I will be fine. Save your care for the ones who need it.” He nodded. I stepped back, taking one last look at him. Then I stepped through the portal. Darkness enveloped me so completely that I knew the portal had shut on its own. I felt out with my senses. It was cold. But there was a wisp of something. Almost like mind. I couldn’t grab hold of it. I followed it as it slowly moved forward. And then I felt another mind ahead of that one. Then another. But as I moved forward I didn’t bump into anyone. There was only cold. So this was Zerdan’s realm. And all of the minds… No, spirits. All of these spirits were his citizens. No wonder my future vision didn’t work here. The dead had no future. A familiar mind brush past me. I froze. It couldn’t be. But of course it was. “You shouldn’t be here.” The spirit whispered. I grasped at the voice but there was nothing to hold on to. “You shouldn’t be here. You should’ve been reincarnated with the others long ago.” “Zerdan said I was needed here.” I opened my mouth wanting to say so much. To explain. But time was different here. And if I wasn’t careful I’d end up centuries too late when I returned. “Will you take me to him?” She didn’t say anything, just started drifting to the direction I’d come from. As we traveled there were less and less spirits. And it was growing warmer. There was even a light at the end of the tunnel. But the lighter it grew the more I could see of her. Or what had been of her before she’d died. My heart weighed with guilt. Finally she stopped at the threshold to a large cavern. “I can’t enter without permission. You must see him alone.” And she turned away. “I’m sorry.” I said, stopping her. “I could have saved you but…” She turned. “Everyone else would have died, right? At least everyone who was at the castle.” What could I say to that? That they didn’t matter? That I’d sacrifice them anyway just to have her next to me? “I don’t blame you for what happened.” Then she gave a dimpled smile. “I’m just glad that you’re happy now.” “It would have been better if you lived.” “But then you wouldn’t have your son.” She giggled at my look. “Yes, I’m still watching over you. Just like you did for me all those years ago.” “Thank you, Cynthia.” She nodded and drifted back into the darkness. I turned to the light and stepped into the cavern. Before me lay an enormous black dragon. He took up half the space just lying down. His head snaked away from the spirit he was talking to. And he sighed. “Finally.” I couldn’t agree with him more. For the next moments would be crucial. And then I’d have my revenge on a certain little dragon. Then maybe Cynthia’s spirit would be able to move on.

There are a few rules to seeing the future. Rule number one, you only get glimpses, joy the full picture. Rule number two, you can’t see other Prophets in the future. And rule number three, there are more than one paths and roads in future, so just because you see something doesn’t mean it’ll necessarily happen. It just means it’s one of the possible outcomes. So I was minding my business, reading tarot cards and peering into a crystal ball to see people’s futures, when the strangest thing happened. I had a vision. No, that wasn’t the strange thing. The strange thing was that it wasn’t a visual vision. I couldn’t only hear, not see. And the audio was freaky. All I could hear were growls. So I thought, okay, that’s weird. But I continued my day as usual, and forgot all about it. Until the next day, when a literal DEMON walked into my shop. Yes, you heard me right. A DEMON. True, all the demons supposedly went extinct years ago, but apparently not! So yeah, a demon walked into my shop. And usually I would seen this in the future! Like, really seen, not just heard. So obviously, I whipped out my magic and imprisoned it on the spot. But I was confused about how it had managed to evade my predictions. Clearly it wasn’t another Prophet, since it was a demon, but how else would I not have been able to see it? I’ll update you when I have more knowledge, I guess.

I woke up ready to spy on my big brother John again only he bust though the door saying plainly that I can’t spy on him and to stay away from him. This obviously surprises me but he always had the uncanny ability to see in the future somehow. The day begins like any other day in the summer, he plays games in his room until 12 noon then eats something then leaves to be with his friends however after two more instances where he found me before I could do anything I decided to have him be surprised for once.

So I try again next day I convinced the girl next-door to visit him on hopes that the cooties would freak him out or at least surprise him, but nope he brushes her off and Slams the door in her face. Then I try sending the tomboy girl at the corner block however while they seem to be friends now, he was not surprised.

Lastly I try to Second guess his actions but it became a little too confusing for me to keep up, so well clutching my head and heading upstairs I took a bad step and fell backwards on the stairwell. The last thing I saw before I fell unconscious was my bro surprise face in worry including the rest of the family so I guess I won?

In the end My brother thought he could prevent any antics I could get up to but he didn’t account on me getting hurt also says that he doesn’t see everything like he thought he did it was sorry if he was mean to me.

Merlin bowed before the throne. “You summoned me, Your Majesty?”

Uther Pendragon nodded, his eyes shaded by his furrowed brows.

“Merlin, son of none, are you not my court seer?”

“And ever loyal to king and country, Your Majesty.”

“Are you not a seer?”

“I am that, Your Majesty.”

“Can you not see everything before it happens?”

“For many centuries, Your Majesty.”

The king harrumphed. “And did you not foresee that none of my line would inherit my throne?”

“I did, Your Majesty.”

“Did you not say that my cousin Constantine was to be king after me?”

“I did, Your Majesty.”

“Did you not tell your king that he would not pass down his seed?”

“I did, Your Majesty.”

Uther harrumphed again. “Then explain how it is that the queen is with child!”

“Begging your majesty’s pardon, but the queen is not with child.”

“Do you dare call your king a liar?”

“May my tongue be cut from my mouth and may I be hanged, drawn, and quartered before ever I make such an accusation of your majesty!” said Merlin. “But your majesty is mistaken.”

“Do you think I cannot tell when a woman is with child?”

“Your Majesty, if the queen were with child, I would have foreseen it.”

“And yet the queen is with child, nearly three months along now. Explain this!”

“Begging your majesty’s pardon, but is it not obvious? The queen has been defiled.”

The Pendragon rose. “Do you suggest that the child in the queen’s womb is not the king’s, but a bastard?”

“Begging your majesty’s pardon, but was not the queen married before?”

“To Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall, before I slew him in battle. What of it?”

“And was that battle not two months ago?”

“It was. Get to the point.”

“Begging your majesty’s pardon, but is the point not obvious? The child in the queen’s womb is that of the late duke.”

Uther harrumphed. “Do you think your king a fool?”

“May I be hanged, drawn, and quartered before ever I have such an evil thought of Your Majesty!” said the wizard.

“I have looked deeply into this matter already. The healers and midwives are unanimous: the child in the queen’s womb was conceived three months ago. And all witnesses of the time are unanimous: while he lived, the duke did not know his wife at the time this child was conceived. I, and I alone, knew her.”

“Begging your majesty’s pardon, but they are all mistaken, or else they lie. If the child in the queen’s womb were the king’s, I would have foreseen it.”

Uther Pendragon sat down. “Merlin, you know the law. When two witnesses agree, they tell the truth unless it is proven otherwise. Can you produce a second witness to swear to what you say?”

“I cannot, your majesty. But it is true nonetheless.”

“You know the law. If one man makes a claim, he tells not the truth. The law says that you tell not the truth, but that you falsely call the king’s child not his. You know the penalty for such slander.”

“I do, Your Majesty. And had I committed slander, I would confess and gladly accept my sentence. But my words are true.”

The Pendragon’s face turned red. “The only thing that could possibly save your life, Merlin, is if you are mad. A madman bears no responsibility for his ravings.”

“What you say is true, Your Majesty. But I am not mad, and I have not been raving. I take full responsibility for my words.”

“Then you have as much as pled guilty to slander upon royalty, though you refuse to admit it. What need then of a trial?”

“I have only spoken the truth, Your Majesty. It is impossible that your majesty has conceived a child and I have not foreseen it. I am a soothsayer and prognosticator. I cannot be blinded to the future.”

“Since you persist, you will be executed at dawn. Guards, take this false seer to the dungeon.”

The night before Merlin’s execution, the king was troubled by a dream.

He saw his son, Arthur, mortally wounded and spirited away by three ladies across the sea.

He saw Merlin, whose back was to this sight.

“Uther! Uther!” said a voice.

“Here I am.”

“Do not execute Merlin. Though blinded by pride, he could not foresee your son. He foresees only the dead, and your son will not die. He will be the Once and Future King.”