It Doesn't Hurt As Much

If you don't know it's coming...

Walking down the street was uncomfortable.  No.  That wasn't the right word.  Walking down the street, looking in to peoples' eyes, seeing their deaths, it was frightening.  Painful.  Especially when she knew that death was coming soon.  A mother smiling at her daughter, not knowing in a week's time she would be laid to rest in a family plot.  An older couple not realizing the car accident that would leave one of them hooked to a machine in a hospital bed.

She avoided the streets as much as possible.  She avoided people as much as possible.  Somehow, imagining that if she couldn't visualize the death it wouldn't happen, comforted her.  But yet pictures and voices still filled her mind, refusing to be ignored.

When she was younger, a teen in school, dressed in black and ostracized from her peers, she felt a barrier between her and the rest of the world.  What she felt as normal was in fact a freak show to everyone else, including her own parents.  Once open to talking with her family about her predictions, they laughed at her imagination.  Until the predictions repeatedly and without doubt came true.  

Psychiatrist and psychologist after other mental care provider asked her questions, gave her pills, but nothing made the visions stop.  So she lied.  Claimed to be "cured." Normal.  Sane.  Anything to stop the barrage of questions and accusations and stares.  She kept her knowledge to herself.

People don't want to know their own deaths.  Even if they are asking for how it will happen, when it will happen, they don't want to know.

It hurts less if you don't know it's coming.