Soothsayer

Everyday seemed to be just a normal day for me. In the midst of a humid afternoon, I found myself drinking a warm cup of coffee as I watched my brother on the opposite side as he quietly read a book. I smiled upon witnessing the obstinate looks in his eyes, silently captivated by several sheets of paper bound together.

We were both fascinated with books maybe because we were born to have a mother with such wonderful skill in writing. Her works are beyond reality— reality that most people think of as merely result of their playful imagination. When we were kids she told us the stories of the unknown, the paranormal, and the nonhuman and nonexistent creatures that lingered within this world. She told us that there's a lot more in this realm than what we physically see.

Just like any other people, I strongly believed that those stories were just made up however my brother considered it as the other side of reality, a reality that is not evident to all. He often says that he sees paranormal beings wandering, lingering, and living here with us. Both of us have a different perception towards this mystic place called world.

Time flew fast and before long I knew, I met his gaze but shifted it immediately to nowhere. My brows furrowed, feeling annoyed at what he did.

"What is it?" I queried.

"You wouldn't want to know." He quickly replied as he closed the book. I'm about to give no attention to him but he moved to my side and whispered something to me, "Or would you?" Followed by ominous smirk painted on his lips.

Without even giving him a chance to say it, I opposed. I didn't even have to hear it loud.

"Stop it. You're just scaring me, it's not real."

"If it's not then why are you scared?" I had the urge to say something but I can find no words. I sighed in defeat realizing that he has a point. He looked at me deceitfully. "Don't act as if you can't see this world inversely." His voice resonated in my ear, cold as his glare. Then he left me at the living room, bewildered by his words.

He was right, no matter how much I tried to convince myself that I'm just like everyone else, I'm just really not. Our eyes are both open in the unseen but in a different way, not too long ago when I started foreseeing things. At first, I thought those were just mere coincidences and I found it amusing since I am able to foresee the things that will happen beyond the present, but unfortunate turn of events led me closer to fear when I started to see bizarre and obnoxious sceneries. Accident, killings, murder, and all ill-fated circumstances kept flashing before me. It made my head hurts as I witnessed several lives being taken away. Those sceneries led me to fear and depression.

Tonight, I just let the moment passed and went upstairs. I rested my body comfortably on my bed, discerning words of my brother.

As I closed my eyes, thoughts kept lingering on my mind.

If they're not real then what am I afraid of?

Fear is only in my mind but the more I tried to convince myself, the more fearful I became.

Do they exist because of my fear? Or I have fear because they really do exist?

I am on the midst of thinking when a loud clash of shattered glass down broke the deafening silence in house. Afraid of what I might see, I still chose to get up and checked what it was. Before I took a step down the stair, my eyes caught an accustomed figure of a man standing next to my room, I rubbed my eyes thinking that my eyes were just playing tricks on me but then the man was gone.

The lights were off, the silence filled the house but then I suddenly heard someone parsimoniously asking for help. I can barely hear the whispering voices but surely I can hear the loud thumping of my heart for every passing second. I bravely went to where the voice was coming from and I surely regretted what I did.

Beneath the shadow, a silhouette of a man outshined from the moonlight coming from the window. From his back, my eyes shifted down to his hand which was drenched from a thick red liquid that held a sharp, pointed metallic blade. I almost lost it when I saw my brother lying almost lifeless on the floor, soaking wet in blood.

I wanted to scream and shout but it was too late, I swallowed the frightening weep that wanted to come out. The man met my gaze and surely I perceived a cunning smile formed on his lips. My body froze in fright as the man slowly itched his way closer to me, I was able to move only when my brother mouthed me the word,

"Run."

So I did but I was consumed by fear that caused me to run weak. I almost reached the door when I stumbled and he hastily grabbed my hair. His tight grip hurt to the point that I could feel that he's almost pulling off my hair out of my head. Waterworks started running down my cheeks, he lifted his arms showing me the knife that was threatening to end my life, and he almost stabbed me when my sight became blurry and vague until everything went blank.

My eyes opened only to see the wide view of my ceiling. I woke up chasing my breath, sweat dripped from my forehead down to my cheeks. I'm soaking wet.

"It's just a dream," I mumbled between my wheezing. I can still feel the shivering cold of fear from what I saw in my dream. No, it wasn't a dream, more than that. It seemed surreal. I searched for calmness but I am still anxious that it wasn't simply like that. I'm afraid that it's a part of my phantasmagoric visions.

My parched throat was seeking for something to relieve the aridity so I decided to get a glass of water downstairs. Before I took a step, my eyes caught no one next to my room. On my way down, I heard no shattered glass or anything, no signs of any unusual occurrences. I sighed in relief.

I gulped the water as I watched the glass slowly getting empty.

Silence.

My hands were shaky then I felt my tears streaming down when I saw from the translucent bottom of the cup, a trail of thick rubicund blood slowly dripping off, and the unsightly image of my wounded brother that fell from the stairway.

A snigger coming upstairs broke the calmness of the night. I lost grip from the cup I'm holding on, in a spur-of-the-moment I heard the clash of a shattered glass.

What's difficult is not watching the sporadic sceneries flash before me but rather the fact that I can't close my eyes to the things that I never wanted to see and the fact that I'm too late to do something about it.