Youtuber One Shots

Premonition - A MiniNoss (MiniLadd and VanossGaming) Story

HELLO! Welcome back to another story. New ship, new story. Hope you are all doing okay <3 Enjoy!

If you want a part 2, comment below <3

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Sad and a little scary

Words: 1577

-TaylortheDinosaur ^,-,^

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(Mini/Craig's POV)

Dreams are where you have your own world. They appear with every desire you hold and cherish in your mind. Every memory, wish or ambition in one fantasy creation. Maybe its the 'you' whom you've always wanted to be, or the things you despair to have. Everything you want to have. And it's sad to think that the moment you open your eyes, everything's going to disappear, to be lost again. Never to reappear the same ever again. It is a melancholy joy to experience each night.

However, I'm different. My dreams aren't solely a fantasy; a creation I wish upon or an ambition I cease to have accomplished, not even a longing want to pursue this dream state. My dreams are realistic. They are almost a premonition for the future, and my present time. Every dream, I see a person, this person can be anyone: a friend, a family member or a stranger, but they appear in my dream. Almost as if watching through their eyes, each retina viewed as theirs as they worship the day as it goes past. 

But, the dreams are different. They show me the last day of that person, I watch them start the day off and end with their life. It is a nightmare. I feel everything they do, every way they die, I feel it too. I've seen the most happiest adult from my childhood break down in tears, no helper in sight so he gave up - suicide. I've witnessed suicides, car accidents, even murders. My life is spiralling out of control, my dreams were my escape but now they haunt me at night.

The worst thing, is that it all comes true. Each person I witness, each person that dies - it happens the next day. I hate this. I hate dreaming these premonitions.  I tried to get help. Tried to reach out to all my friends but they thought I was crazy. I tried to reach out to the police but all they did was send me to a doctor. Doctors don't help me at all. Doctors sit there, jab you or poison you with medication and then send you home to rest. My dreams still stay. People still die. So, when I declared out that the baker on Borlan Street had died at 4:12 am by a fatal cardiac arrest, they finally believed me...to be crazy, insane and a murderer.

Now, each day, I sit in this empty white cell. Padded and secure. Have done for the last 2 and a half years. I'm fed simple beans on a grey tray, flecks of paint in the unidentifiable sauce as protein. But I'm not alone. I have my premonitions. They still haunt me. They haven't left me. However, they disappear sometimes, even if for a day. Usually the day I actually feel something other than fear, the day Vanoss comes to visit me.

Vanoss was my psychiatrist, he tries to help me become less insane, although it doesn't help. They made every guard, worker or visitor (unless a friend or family member) change their name, or gave them a nickname. Just in case we escape and look for them. Vanoss helps me feel better. He doesn't focus on what my premonitions show, he concentrates how they make me feel. He could care about me, but then again, it is his job. 

I did my normal routine every day, always the same. Today was no different. Vanoss was visiting me tomorrow at 1pm. I still had to brace tonight. I picked up my pale orange toothbrush, walking over to the door quietly before knocking. The slit in the door opened, a nozzle peering out. The white paste squeezed its way out, carefully placing it onto my toothbrush. I thanked the guard, who didn't reply and began brushing. Just because I'm deemed insane, doesn't mean I don't value personal hygiene.

I sat back on my bed, the metal creaking uncomfortably with my weight. Reaching under my pillow, revealing a book. Every night, a guard would push a book through the slot for me to read. My one request. Tonight was a classic, Of Mice and Men. I had read this one before, when I was in school. I picked the book up, opening the first page to see the bold title print. Vinegar; a salty fragrance reached my nostrils, a familiar smell reminding me of home. In a matter of moments I was finishing the book, a few tears shed at the story line. A bang on my door told me that lights were turning off. Replacing the book underneath my pillow, I hit my head to the fabric. My eyes shutting immediately.

Here we go. Another premonition. Another life. Another nightmarish sleep. Another death. 

As always, I watched my eyes flutter open. Well, their eyes. This person was a night owl. I could tell because their joints were stiffer, a pull downwards on their eyes from bags and a sensation rolling off the tongue that was dryer than sand. Opening their closet was their first choice, not the same as a few of the other people I've seen. So many clothes, good style, comfortable to say the least. A brighter red jacket with white strips down the side caught my eye, reaching for it and feeling joy as well as a pair of stylish black jeans. Today felt like a good day. Except they didn't know it was to be their last. 

Walking was different, I felt smaller, compact in space. Heading towards their bathroom was the only time I willed myself to look away. Their business was not my business, especially not to see. At least I stayed standing, I knew it was a male. They walked over to their mirror, finally I'd be able to see the face of the person who'd die. They were smaller than me, I knew that. Black faux hair, gelled upwards. Caramel-like skin, smooth. Gorgeous chocolate covered eyes. 

I knew this person. It was Vanoss. My psychiatrist. No. He can't die. He's the only person that makes me feel any different to the crazy person I'm thought of. He makes me feel special and not like a freak. He makes me happier than I could be in this situation. He couldn't die.

I watched him get on with his day. Until it reached 1pm, when he came in to see me. I watched him scan in, his card reading Evan "Vanoss" Fong. A small picture of him smiling brightly on the left hand corner. He grabbed the plain cardboard clipboard he always had and a piece of paper. Writing on top his nickname and my name beside, hearting the 'i''s. Cute. I would have smiled at this point, but I know what will happen soon. He will die. And I'll never see him again.

I watched him walk to my cell. Bracing himself before knocking. I could see myself in front of him. My pale skin, hazel eyes and bags underneath. My sinking posture, wonky glasses and shaky hands. I looked insane. I saw myself smile, reciprocated by Evan. I could feel my heart beating faster, hear it loud in my head. Did he think I was this crazy? I saw him write down what I was explaining to him. I was talking to him about the book I had read, Of Mice and Men.

I watched his pretty cursive writing write down simple words. Nodding and acting as if he was writing everything I said. Cute. Smart. Caring. Understanding. Craig. A heart overlooked my name. Did he..like me? No way. I looked at my face, a small smile plastered to it. I never realised how happy I was when he was with me. His fluffy slicked back hair always looked nice. His eyes always shone when I said something, no matter what it was. He always found everything I said interesting or intriguing. His bright white smile when I cracked a joke or when I laughed aloud. I liked him back. 

A final goodbye caught my distracted attention. My smile had faltered, sad he had to go. Vanoss smiled, saying he would see me soon. But he wouldn't. He closed my door. Walking back into the hallways he had gone through before. A sigh released from his mouth. But it froze when he felt a large hand around his throat. My throat was seizing up, becoming dry. Breathing became a difficulty. The person was a convict, he'd escaped. Evan reached out trying to get away, clawing and the prisoner behind him. He kicked out, pressing the alarm. It blared loudly, signalling someone had escaped. Guards began to shout and locking sounds erupted in the empty hallways. 

A gruff voice spoke out, "Now you've done it. You'll pay for that!" The giant hands spread further around his neck, feet no longer touching the floor as he lifted me up. Vanoss was dying. I could see him dying. He couldn't breathe at all. Nothing could save him. I could feel his neck snap. His arms and legs go numb, his eyes still open. I watched the criminal punch three guards, before falling to the floor, a bullet in his head. He died. But so did Vanoss. I lost him...