Foresight
Your name is Denny Jones, and you are fifteen years old. You are overweight and wear some pretty thick glasses. Your family lives just barely above poverty level.
None of these things have done you a bit of good in establishing your popularity. As a result, no one really likes you, and the people who talk to you are only doing so to copy your homework or to openly mock you. Getting the crap beat out of you is far from uncommon.
Your mom and dad try to make ends meet, but they struggle. Your mother is a waitress and your father is a factory worker. It's not very often that anyone other than yourself is at home.
All in all, your life is a lonely one.
One morning you wake up to find everything around you to be disorienting. Your head feels dizzy and you have brief moments of memory failure. You call your mother at work and she calls you off of school.
You spend the whole day confused, trying to figure out what is wrong with you. You're not exactly sick, just real dizzy. You wonder briefly if you have a concussion, possibly obtained from one of the many poundings the jocks have given you.
A knock sounds at the front door and you walk over to answer it. A package delivery man, carrying a large box, has just gotten out of his truck and is walking across your small lawn to the door. He must have knocked and then gone to grab the package, you assume.
He smiles at you and sets the package down; somehow you know exactly what he is going to say before he says it. "Hi, you the only one home today?"
You nod. He hands you a clipboard and asks you to sign it. You do.
He leaves you with the package and you take it inside. You look at the label briefly and see that it's some sort of house decoration your mother ordered. You often wonder why she is concerned about making the house look presentable when the money should be spent on food or saved for a rainy day.
You shrug it off and walk off towards the living room where you sit on the couch and watch TV until your dad comes home from work at about 10:00 in the evening.
You tell your dad about the package and he dutifully pulls out a box cutter and begins opening the package.
"Boy, Denny, sometimes I don't know about your mother. She buys things like this that we don't need when we should be saving our money up," He says.
"Or putting food in the fridge," You respond.
You see it before it happens. The box cutter gets stuck on an intersecting length of tape and the blade flies from your fathers' hand in your direction. You dodge to the side and avoid it only to realize that the blade is still in your fathers grip.
You walk over to his side and watch as the box cutter gets momentarily snagged on an intersecting length of packaging tape and the blade flies from your fathers hand. It sails through the air to bang harmlessly into the wall.
At first you don't realize it, but it doesn't take you long to see that you were standing there only seconds ago when you saw it all happen in your head. Somehow you knew that was going to happen. Somehow you avoided serious injury and potential death.
As you ponder this revelation, your father curses a bit and goes over to retrieve the blade, returning to the box to open it the rest of the way. He pulls out tons of bubble wrap and throws it on the ground before he takes out the prize located within.
"A wreath," he mutters, "A fucking wreath. I wonder how much this thing cost." He drops it to the ground and walks away in a fury.
You look down at your mother's new wreath blankly. It's not even a very nice looking wreath.
You go to sleep when night comes. You are still confused about things, but the dizziness has subsided. You just can't figure out how you knew that blade was going to fly across the room at you.
None of these things have done you a bit of good in establishing your popularity. As a result, no one really likes you, and the people who talk to you are only doing so to copy your homework or to openly mock you. Getting the crap beat out of you is far from uncommon.
Your mom and dad try to make ends meet, but they struggle. Your mother is a waitress and your father is a factory worker. It's not very often that anyone other than yourself is at home.
All in all, your life is a lonely one.
One morning you wake up to find everything around you to be disorienting. Your head feels dizzy and you have brief moments of memory failure. You call your mother at work and she calls you off of school.
You spend the whole day confused, trying to figure out what is wrong with you. You're not exactly sick, just real dizzy. You wonder briefly if you have a concussion, possibly obtained from one of the many poundings the jocks have given you.
A knock sounds at the front door and you walk over to answer it. A package delivery man, carrying a large box, has just gotten out of his truck and is walking across your small lawn to the door. He must have knocked and then gone to grab the package, you assume.
He smiles at you and sets the package down; somehow you know exactly what he is going to say before he says it. "Hi, you the only one home today?"
You nod. He hands you a clipboard and asks you to sign it. You do.
He leaves you with the package and you take it inside. You look at the label briefly and see that it's some sort of house decoration your mother ordered. You often wonder why she is concerned about making the house look presentable when the money should be spent on food or saved for a rainy day.
You shrug it off and walk off towards the living room where you sit on the couch and watch TV until your dad comes home from work at about 10:00 in the evening.
You tell your dad about the package and he dutifully pulls out a box cutter and begins opening the package.
"Boy, Denny, sometimes I don't know about your mother. She buys things like this that we don't need when we should be saving our money up," He says.
"Or putting food in the fridge," You respond.
You see it before it happens. The box cutter gets stuck on an intersecting length of tape and the blade flies from your fathers' hand in your direction. You dodge to the side and avoid it only to realize that the blade is still in your fathers grip.
You walk over to his side and watch as the box cutter gets momentarily snagged on an intersecting length of packaging tape and the blade flies from your fathers hand. It sails through the air to bang harmlessly into the wall.
At first you don't realize it, but it doesn't take you long to see that you were standing there only seconds ago when you saw it all happen in your head. Somehow you knew that was going to happen. Somehow you avoided serious injury and potential death.
As you ponder this revelation, your father curses a bit and goes over to retrieve the blade, returning to the box to open it the rest of the way. He pulls out tons of bubble wrap and throws it on the ground before he takes out the prize located within.
"A wreath," he mutters, "A fucking wreath. I wonder how much this thing cost." He drops it to the ground and walks away in a fury.
You look down at your mother's new wreath blankly. It's not even a very nice looking wreath.
You go to sleep when night comes. You are still confused about things, but the dizziness has subsided. You just can't figure out how you knew that blade was going to fly across the room at you.