Sight
“So, you want to hear my story?” The fire crackled in the silence of the living room as two souls; one young and one old, sat before it sipping on two steaming cups of hot chocolate. “Everybody's story is different. Remember that when you're listening to their tales. Some of us were blessed with gifts that went beyond this world that we work in. I know so, because I am one of those people. I didn't always have full access to my gift. I actually stopped dreaming because of it. Imagine, your coping mechanism for emotional regulation combining with your gift to portray a reality you never wanted to exist. That's how my story begins and that's where my dreams ended.”
A heavy sigh filled a brief pause. “I didn't know it was called sight. I just knew that I knew things without knowing them and I could see things without seeing them. Writing was my escape route away from this world. I wanted to create a new reality, a safe haven away from this one for those that were like me. I never expected my sight to taint the one thing that brought me peace.”
“So what happened?” a soft and quiet voice asked, as small eyes stared up in wonder.
A frown graced aged lips. “No interruptions, but to answer your question. I wrote down how my four year old godson would die. The story was mostly fiction with real friends as the main characters. It was already in progress when everything came to light. Initially, I wasn't told he was four. I was told he was four months old. I wasn't told what happened, just that he was hit chasing a ball into the street. It'd be years later when I find out the true damage done to my son's small body. So, I stopped writing stories with friends and family as the main characters. That didn't stop my sight, but it stopped my writing dreams.”
Small brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean it didn't stop your sight?”
The aged lips smiled this time. “The thing about gifts is that if you're meant to have them, they'll always show up. I might've blocked my sight, but I didn't stop it. It found me years later in my dreams, revealing to me the way in which my cousin had died. Though some of us are born into this world with gifts, not all of us consider them as such. To me, because of how close to home and what my sight had shown me, I looked at it like a curse. I feared it. I feared it so much I stopped writing. My heart couldn't take writing down another death prediction. I feared it so much I learned to block it out, instead relying on the basic form of it through claircognizant. Yet still, my sight has always been with me.”
“What about now?” Small eyes widened with curiosity.
“It’s mine to behold. It took a lot of work; Breaking down and reimagining my feelings and thoughts on my gifts, but my Sight is a welcomed gift I’m proud to hold. From a curse to a blessing, I am proud of my gift.”
A wrinkled hand gently came down on a small knee. “Having a gift isn’t always easy to embrace, but it was given to you as the one to handle and master it. Do not let fear of your gift stop you from using it. I spent so many years wasted fearing my gift; fearing my Sight.” Old eyes softened as they locked with younger ones. “Embrace your gift and let it help you change the world.”
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