I never really had a normal childhood, mostly because I could see things that weren’t there. Not figures or creatures mind you, but information. Thing’s other people could never know. More specifically, the exact day when someone would cease to exist. A series of numbers, seemingly etched into a person’s forehead.
Growing up I told my parents what I saw, and asked if they could see it too. Of course I was met with questionable looks. My father would often say, “stop playing games, Elizabeth.” Visions written off as the vivid imagination of a young child. But whatever I saw in other people, I did not see in myself, which I was grateful for. Yet I always wondered what it all meant. Enough time passed, and I realized what I was seeing were dates, and when someone’s date had come, they would inevitably die.
It started with people I would see on a regular basis. Like at the hospital where mom worked. First it was Mr. Fitzgerald, a kind old man who had been there several weeks for a hip fracture. Whenever I saw him he would make faces and try to make me laugh, always in good spirits. But I noticed his date was coming up. The day came and went, and I thought nothing of it, until some time later when I overheard my mom speaking to my dad when I wasn’t in the room. She said Mr. Fitzgerald had died of complications. On that exact date. His date.
Of course it was odd, but I still had not made the connection. I was pretty young after all. And then it happened again. A quiet patient at the Hospital, in room 203. Elisa was her name. She never spoke and had been there quite a while. I’m not sure what her ailments were, but they were enough to keep her there indefinitely. The last time I saw her was on her date, when we picked mom up from work that afternoon. The woman was wheeling herself out of her room when we locked eyes. She did not look well, skin pale and eyes red. It turned out later that night she had passed away due to heart failure. A pattern was forming. One that I did not want to acknowledge. But the next date that would come due was one that I did not take lightly.
It was my teacher, Ms. Frost. She was the sweetest and always amazing to me. We got along great. She felt like an older sister, going out of her way to make me feel comfortable and accepted. Especially when some of the kids teased me. I was extra quiet so it was only natural for her to step in I suppose. Well one day, I realized that her date was coming up. The following day actually. When I tried to talk to her about it, I couldn’t approach the conversation in a manner that didn’t make me look crazy. I gave her an extra tight hug and she seemed to sense something was a miss. My last words to her were, “please be careful tomorrow.” I smiled and waved to her for the last time as I walked out of school for the day. Turns out she would die the next morning in a car accident.
After that I became depressed and more quiet than normal. For a while I stopped talking, wanting to avoid people all together. My parents booked me in with a psychiatrist later that month. He went on and on, trying to dissect me, pointing out things that could help me without knowing the truth behind it all. I despised him. His arrogance. His attitude. I didn’t even feel bad when I realized his date was coming up too.
“Not my business,” I thought. But I had been irreparably damaged from this tainted knowledge of knowing when someone’s time was up. So I lied to my parents, telling them I was all better, knowing full well that I had to live with it. Many ideas went through my head, and as I grew older, I studied obscure materials. Anything that could explain where I had received this dark gift from. More of a curse really. But everything led me to a dead end. Merely legends and stories. Nothing concrete to go on.
Eventually when I went to college, I did my best to stay away from other people. But as fate would have it, I was unable to help falling in love with a boy named Zack. Brick by brick he broke down my wall, and we became very close. His date was far away so I wasn’t worried about that. But I made a mistake when I eventually opened up to him about my “gift”, and he became distant. I shouldn’t have said anything, trusted anyone else to understand. We spoke less and less until he eventually avoided me, then told everyone my secret. Just like in grade school, people looked at me like a freak.
After those 4 long years at school, I graduated and moved back to my hometown where my parents still lived, and ended up working alongside my mother. I tried my very best to save everyone that I could, but no matter how many times I tried to delay someone’s date, nothing ever changed. On a few occasions I did catch underlying issues that had saved their lives, but it was futile. That same day something would swoop in and lay claim to their souls. I didn’t get it. But it was taking a toll on me.
I avoided looking at people, wanting no part in knowing their future, but with my parents, I knew their date was approaching all too quickly. No matter how much I tried explaining it to them, they would say I was over working myself, or that maybe I should see a therapist again. Nothing was helping.
There was no shock or surprise when my parents date came and they were both found dead from a house fire. For weeks leading up to it, I told them not to leave the house. To stay at home and do nothing. Just to make me feel better, they took my advice and stayed home. And look where that got them. No matter what I did, I couldn’t change anything. I was overwhelmed with grief and emotion, so I did the only thing I could think of.
I took out my eyes. I no longer wanted them. I didn’t want to live another day with that curse.
Still to this day, I don’t regret it. Yes, I did spend some time in a mental facility after the incident, but it didn’t take long to show them that I was getting better. Eventually I learned to accept my past, and grieve those I couldn’t save. And I learned to live anew, finding the beauty in the things around me while rejecting the dark information that I saw for so long. I became an important figure in the rehabilitation ward where I helped those in distress, especially the recently blind on how to cope and live life to the fullest, despite our limitations.
Eventually I met the most wonderful man that truly turned my life into a fairy tale. But I never mentioned to him the awful ability I once had, and never will. That is a part of me long dead and buried.
We had a child recently; a girl. We named her Alexis, after my mother. She loves to laugh. So very full of life. But now, holding her in my arms, feeling this fragile little thing grow each day, something in the back of my mind won’t let me rest. I can’t help but wonder if she also sees the things that I once saw. But day after day, I’ll bide my time. Hoping that when my daughter begins to speak, she won’t ask me about the numbers carved into my forehead.