Clairvoyant Perceptions (On Hold)

Chapter 1

A small room, enclosed by its four walls, making it seem like an encircled cocoon. I see a frozen, ash form leaning against a wooden table. Pain etches at every inch of his face. Streaks of blood run down his face, spots of sweat rest on his cheeks, mixing with traces of dried up tears. Brusquely, the emphasis shook off the blond-haired man, and a tanned girl, with shoulder-length hair came into sight – that's me.

I start hyperventilating and wake up. Eerie nightmares are never that evocative. I force myself to believe that it was another dream, or a nightmare instead, but, over these years, I have gained the skill to distinguish between hallucinations and visions of the future. Expediently, my 'book of visions', as I prefer calling it, is placed on my ivory white nightstand, along with a blue pen. They say I'm one gifted child, since I can nearly predict the proximate future. Although, how can I make use of the moderately queer ability, when at times I can't even discern whether that was a product of my quirky imagination (which usually consists of boisterous unicorns and rainbows), or an impending event.

After a while, I make note of the recent vision, and look at the alarm clock, merely to realize that I woke ten minutes prior to my alarm. "Great." I mutter to myself, as I hopped out of bed to get dressed for school.

As I grabbed my breakfast for the morning, I head to the living room, and I notice the customary, disconcerting silence I am welcomed by each morning, accompanied by the vacant, hollow halls of my house. I should probably get accustomed to this lifestyle, where my parents travel at least one-hundred and eighty three days an year. On the other hand, they always make an attempt to fill the bareness with all the money they have, but the much-required physical presence can never compete with a million dollars. Oh well, it's less than George Clooney from 'Up in the Air' though! When I'm finished eating breakfast, I dial in my best friend, Trinity's phone number. And yes, that's her name. Atypically, she is hopeless with an instrument.

"What's up, the 21st Century Mozart?" I say, as she picks up the phone.

"Hey. Do you want me to pick you up, or peculiarly, is your car still running?" She replies. For once, it seems as if Trinity's plan had been ruined. This is the reason I call her a 'control freak'. On another note, I am gobsmacked myself that I haven't ruined my car just yet, to be honest.

"For a change, allow me to pick you up today. And anyway, it's one of our last car rides before I leave for my internship in Germany next week." I responded, with an intimation of poise in my voice.

"So, they managed to fix the damages over the weekend?"

"Yeah. You need to see the transformation. It practically looks like a brand new car. Since the owner was my dad's friend, they serviced it, in addition to fixing the damages."

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"Pat your feet before you get in, I don't want your dirt on my rug." Trinity says, narcissistically. However, I could tell by her tone that it was only banter.

"Had a look at my spotless sidewalk, Trin?" I replied, sarcastically. She scoffed at my feisty comeback.

"Anyway, are you ready? It's quarter to eight, we should probably get going." I asked.

"Yeah." She said as she pulled her mom into a hearty hug. Looking at the bond Trinity and her mom share, it too makes me wish that my mom would spend more time with me. Like other daughters, even I desire manicures, shopping sprees, picnics and ice cream dates with my mother. But, maybe, destiny always has its own plans.

Trinity is the only person who knows about the visions I get. I told her about this one, and her response was relatively nonchalant.

"Listen, Scarlett. Maybe, it was a nightmare. And, c'mon, at times, the visions you get aren't even spot-on or accurate. Calm down."

"And how are you so sure? Trinity, trust me, I'm self-assured. That was a vision." I said, as I banged my head on the steering wheel.

I regret my outburst of anger and as most best friends are, she's realized that I've been grimm all morning. We cachinnate at the awkward silence as I start to drive past the misty, foggy road and reminisce the vision again. To keep myself from thinking about it, Trin and I indulge into a conversation on school-work.

The first lesson was my favorite. I was always up for a design class! Although, this year, the teacher wasn't desired by even the most dedicated students. As I step foot in the class, I knew that she wasn't in a great mood. Her burgundy, bob-cut hair drew my attention, as she lowered down her spectacles and gave away a very intimidating look. "Good Morning, Ms. Reed. May I know the reason behind your late arrival?" She said, in her fake Doncaster accent. Damn. I was only a minute late. "Umm... Mrs. Evans, I'm really sorry. I had trouble finding a car parking due to the heavy fog." I say, as she looks at me, giving away a very 'are you serious' type look.

Mesmerized by the intensity and the texture of the ink as its pigments tint the ivory white paper, I slowly-but-surely fall into the beguiling world of art and design. When I look at the picture I've created as a whole, it looks like someone's terrified, and what petrifies them, is the knowledge they possess. That's exactly what I feel like.