Momowords

It always happens like this.

I stroll through the square, my feet brushing through the leaves. Out of the corner of my eyes, I make out Mrs. Baumern’s black cat trying to jump from one window sill to another. I stop to watch it. I suddenly hear a loud thudding sound. I look to the left and see Mr. Weseley cutting down a tree with his axe. It starts raining, and the sky grows dark, as though in a hurry. Mr. Weseley stands up straight, his back still turned, silent.

“Mr. Weseley?” I ask hesitatingly.

He slowly turns around until he is facing me. His head is drooping slightly, so I can’t quite make out his face from under his hooded grey cloak. After what feels like an eternity, he raises his head. I feel myself grow pale. All the colour has been drained from my face. Instead of Mr. Weseley, I see a black oval shape, with two sunken eye-sockets and a mouth shaped hole. Grey smoke is pouring out of it. I want to scream but nothing seems to be coming out.

He starts advancing towards me. My feet are as though fastened to the ground. As he grows closer, I realise that what I thought had been an axe was in fact much bigger and thinner, much more elegant. It is a scythe. He stops as he reaches me. He seems so fragile, and yet so powerful at the same time. I can practically taste his loneliness, rolling off him in waves. I want to run from this sad, desolate creature, but I can’t. I can feel him drawing the life out of me. I wonder why he even carries a scythe. He doesn’t need one.

Suddenly my legs buckle. I don’t want to run any more. I feel my face against the dead leaves. I don’t want to be afraid any more. I can no longer feel anything. I don’t feel. There is darkness. There is silence. There is nothing.

Ever since I can remember, I have been able to see what will happen in the future. Every so often I am randomly hit by a vision of something that will take place in my future life. I used to think they were simply dreams, but I soon came to realise they meant something more.

When I was six, I had a vision of my little brother drowning in the lake. At the time, I dismissed it as a nightmare. However two years later, my father was telling me that my little brother had just drowned in the lake. He described it just as I had seen it. That was when I knew my dreams and nightmares were not only imaginings of the mind, but predictions of the future.

Most of the time, the visions are quite unimportant; for example the surprise test in maths next week, or my neighbours moving out in a year’s time. A handful, however, are much more meaningful, and none of which I can prevent. Believe me I’ve tried, but it’s as though something were holding me back, restraining me from not breaking my leg. Or not being able to warn anyone as the church burned down with people still locked in a few years back. I even had a vision of my boyfriend breaking up with me last month which I was yet again unable to prevent.

I don’t know what causes them, but these visions are someone’s fault, and I intend to find out who. I hate the feeling of not knowing, but I’m not going to pretend I do. I used to think of these visions as a kind of gift, but I think of them now as a curse. Knowing how you are going to die isn’t particularly comforting. Knowing how you are going to die and not being able to do anything about it isn’t particularly soothing either.

I have never had the same vision twice. Except one. There is one vision which I have everyday. At least once everyday, I see myself dying the same way, over and over again. Over the course of the years, I have come to notice and pick up every minute detail of it. The movement of each branch, the sound of each step, the taste of each intake of air, the smell of each flower, the feel of my face crashing against each leaf. And then nothing. I can’t even describe it. It’s just a kind of emptiness, which cannot be filled. Should not, in fact, be filled.

This is what I tell myself as I stroll through the village square, my feet brushing through the thick carpet of leaves. I’ve never liked autumn; too many noisy dead leaves. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Mrs. Baumern’s black cat trying to jump from one window sill to another. I stop immediately, watching it. I suddenly hear a loud thudding sound.

The inevitable has come to pass, and I feel now the future in the instant.