ὄστρακα

Sybil

"Smile! It might never happen!"

I look at the man who has just yelled this aphorism, and his doom is obvious to me. It is literally written on his face. I see him badly burned, with blackened flesh peeling from heat-charred bone. The sight sickens me; makes me want to vomit. Even though I see death every day, it still unnerves me. Then I blink and the vision is gone - a momentary upset. I try to compose myself, but it's too late.

"What's a matter, love? Don't you like me? Ain't I good enough for you?"

The man stumbles towards me, pushing his face into my field of vision again. I see his death again, but it is different this time. I see him broken and bleeding, the side of his head staved in as if by some massive impact. I recoil in horror from the brutality of this vision, and try to turn away so I do not have to see him any more; but he doesn't let me look away. Instead, he dances around me, trying to gain my attention.

"C'mon darlin'! You tryin' to ignore me? Hey! Hey! Why you lookin' so miserable?"

I can't take it any more. How dare he force his mindless banter on me, his half-wit cheer! His ignorance offends me almost as much as he does. Once upon a time I was like him: ignorant of the future. Now I am cursed to see how everything will end. Now I have the unwanted gift of prophecy. My optimism has withered and died, leaving only bitter seeds in its place. How can I love anyone when I am reminded of their demise every time I touch them? How can I smile at someone when I know what their ultimate fate will be?

The man grabs at my wrist, and his flesh touches mine. His eyes go wide with horror, and I know he is seeing himself as I see him. He stares at me. "Is this ... ?"

"Yes," I say to him, fixing his gaze with mine. "It's true. It's always true."

The man lets go and stumbles backwards into the traffic. By the time he realises what he has done, it is too late. A horn blares; tyres screech on asphalt; metal warps under the force of the impact. I turn my head away, knowing that I am complicit in his death.

The strangest thought occurs to me: Lucky man! At least he didn't have to live long with the knowledge of his death. Then I bow my head and run away, hoping I do not catch the eye of anyone else today.