They say that everyone is put out there for a reason, whether they last a hundred years or just a few minutes; they say that no matter how small a life is it is still worth something to somebody, somewhere. The thing is my life is different and no matter how hard I try and believe otherwise, it is. I have always been the singled out, ugly duckling; when I was born my parents miraculously disappeared from the face of his planet, I was enrolled into care of another from days old and from my earliest memories all I can remember is being this way.
I dream a lot, or what people would call 'dreaming'; the world around me switches off like a light to the visions in my head, and the strongest visions only ever come at night, but I only ever dream the same thing. The dream however has become clearer over my life time; when I was eight I remember dreaming only of brief figures, but the world was still amber, and the timer was still at one second. However now it was different, now I could make out the two faces in my dreams;
a boy, my age, with tousled blond hair, a grey top and black jeans; we both stand on a high, concrete bridge and the wind whips my face like sand in the air. The boy's hand trembles and he points a gun at me. Years ago I couldn't, but I can now hear his voice, ringing out in my skull.
"Liz don't make me..." It echoes like a whisper in a cave around my thoughts. He pulls the trigger as I lunge forward and the single digit plays in my mind before the whole world goes amber. A colour I have come to loathe.Every time the vision becomes stronger; everyday I see the same sights flash before my eyes and every moment my power becomes stronger. That's what I've always called it at least, although it's hardly a 'power' to me it is more of a burden. It can happen anywhere, anytime; an example of this was a year ago.
I was walking out of TopShop in central city when my head buzzed, I knew what was coming so I sat down on a bench and massaged my temples, I closed my eyes and flicked on a switch behind my eyes. As the world came into view all colour lay only light and dark, portrayed in shades of amber. I looked up at the people around and noted the countdown timers above their heads. At first I didn't understand this, and it took me many experiences and took a lot of thinking to crack.One day I sat by a duck pond int he park reading 'The fault in our stars', I looked up at a couple and a small toddler packing up their picnic hamper and heading to their car. My head buzzed and the world went amber and I noted the timers above each member's head was the same, I was intrigued and stood up, closing the book, placing it on the bench and following them to the car park.
For some reason whenever this happened I felt invisible like nobody but me could see what was happening and that I could stand in plain sight without being noticed.
The little girl skipped around her parents feet, the car went 'click' and the mother opened the door for her to get in. She buckled her in, closing the door and the adults got in slamming the doors shut; as they did this I noted the timers counting down to 1:30. I followed the car down to the end of the street and could hear the stereo playing children's songs as it neared the junction. The car waited for a moment as the other cars whizzed past.That was when I realised what was about to happen as their timers ticked down to ten seconds.
I ran, screaming down the street; but the Mini took no notice as it sped forward into the main road, thereafter being hit, as if in slow motion, by a black Land Rover. The car flipped in slow motion and the windscreen smashed into a thousand pieces all over the road. For a moment the world stood still, and the child's scream rung in my ears like a migraine; shooting bullets at my skull. The seconds ticked over to zero and the world spun and went back to normal shades.
I stood on the street watching the scene unfold, thoughts and images playing tennis in my mind.
From that day on I understood. From that moment I understood why the timers tick down, and more importantly what they mean. They are countdowns. I don't know how, but I can see how long people have left to live, those timers tick down people's lives. The question I now have to answers is;
Why me?
YOU ARE READING
Not Your Time (ON HOLD)
Teen FictionLiz is aware she is different. Everyday of her life she is reminded of that. Every night she tosses in the dreams she has encountered for the last seventeen years of her life; unable to escape the final outcome. Liz is not superhuman, she has no spe...