Through the Eyes of Prendle

Diary Entry 1

August 23, 2013

Dear Diary,

It has been ages since I last wrote. I was nine years old and had just suffered the most traumatic experience of my entire life. I didn't want to remember the events, so I stopped keeping a diary. Nine-year-old me thought not writing about it would help me forget. At twenty-eight years old, which is how old I am now, I know how wrong I was. The experience is something I'll never forget for as long as I live. It keeps happening. It's not usually as public as it was all those years ago.

They thought something was mentally wrong with me when I told the ride attendant people were going to get hurt. My mother tried to pull me away, but I was insistent. I cried, kicked, and screamed, but still, nobody would believe me. I told them the ride was going to fall. Mom dragged me home and made me go to my room. She was so ashamed her daughter had acted in such a way and made her look bad in public. Only when she saw on the news hours later that the ride had collapsed just as I'd said it would, and five people were announced dead, did she let me out of my room and apologize for not believing me. She never took anything I said for granted again.

After the humiliation I'd suffered, I said nothing of my visions. The other children would hardly come around me; even some parents were cautious. Some whispered and stared, and others gave me dirty looks. Mom and I moved not long after the incident. The visions didn't stop when we got to Marshlyn. I ignored most of them, the ones where no one was in real danger, but the ones where people died, I couldn't just turn a blind "eye." My mother or I would call the police and give anonymous tips. (Mom did it until I was around sixteen.) Most of the time, the police ignored what we told them, but once they realized the tips they were getting were right on the money, they started to listen and take heed. So many lives were saved, not that I'm bragging or anything. Why can't people open their hearts and listen? What's so hard about listening?

The newspapers got wind of the police being tipped off and begged for the person responsible. I thought about it so I wouldn't have to hide anymore. Mom talked me down. I wasn't interested in recognition; I didn't want to keep the secret any longer. The weight of it was killing me. It still does sometimes. All I wanted to do was help. It's all I have ever wanted to do. HELP. It has been four years since I've seen anything in my visions I couldn't handle without aid. That changed today. My new vision is the reason I started a diary again. I have got to tell someone to get out my feelings about this before I explode.

Let me start with my background. I am the manager at Southlyn Hotel, the only one in town. Marshlyn is a small town, just like my hometown. It was payday today, so I went to the bank to cash my check. (The hotel owner is old-fashioned and doesn't have direct deposit.) I always go inside to do my bank business because I hate waiting in line in the drive-thru. A young woman named Arielle Franks is my teller of choice when she's working, and we have become heavily acquainted with one another over the years. She has a husband, Richard Franks, and she's pregnant. She's the closest thing to the best friend I've ever had. She's always been so friendly to me and never fails to greet me with a smile. It was the same today. I smiled back at her and handed over my check.

As she was punching all of my information into the computer, we began to chat about her unborn baby and possibly having a baby shower to help with some of the upcoming expenses. She handed me my cash, and that's when her hand brushed mine. It wouldn't have bothered me, but touch is all it takes to spark a vision, especially if it's something the supernatural universe thinks I should know.

And suddenly, it was as if I was surrounded by water. That's how it feels like you're floating in the water just above your ears.

It was so unexpected I gasped out loud. Every head in the bank turned toward me as I staggered back a little. I grabbed onto the counter to steady myself and shut my eyes. That's when the movie inside of my head began to play.

I saw Arielle, her cell phone in hand, walking to her car. She wasn't wearing the same clothes. It was dark outside, and she was alone. I could tell by her surroundings that she was behind the bank. She must have just gotten off work and was on her way home. She stopped walking, looked through her purse, probably for her keys, and couldn't find them. She rushed to her car and sat her bag on the hood to dig through it better. She was so focused on finding what she was looking for that she didn't see the man, dressed in black and wearing a ski mask, emerge from the shadows. He sneaked up on her swiftly and quietly. I wanted to cry out as he attacked her from behind, positioning his large arm around her neck. She screamed as he pulled her back against his body and squeezed until her eyes bulged and the air had left her lungs. Arielle was dead, and he ruthlessly threw her body to the ground as he took her purse and ran off.

When I opened my eyes, everyone in the bank stared at me. I blinked several times, trying to process what I'd just seen. Arielle tried asking me if I was okay, but I ignored her. I was so shaken I just ran, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. I ran to the car and started it up, not daring to look back, and I drove straight home. I wasn't inside my apartment for two seconds before I planted my butt in front of the computer.

There is a website where you can type in someone's telephone number; it will give you the address. (Thankfully, I had Arielle's number from when I contributed to her church bake sale. She had wanted me to call her so she could come and pick up the brownies I'd made when they were ready.) I plugged her number into the search bar and got her address. I found out that she lives on Main Street, which isn't but about half a mile away.

I'm going to her house tonight once she gets home from work. I'll tell her what I saw to warn her about what's coming. I don't want her or her baby to die.

I'm nervous. I'm not sure how Arielle will take it. How do you react to someone who tells you they saw a vision of your future? If the circumstances were different, I don't think I would take it well, but I don't have a choice, do I? Again, I don't want her to die. Not when I can stop it. I get these visions for a reason. I can prevent things like this. Wish me luck.

Until next time, Prendle Rose