by William Morgan
My death awaits me.
Today, sometime. I saw it in a vision. My throat will be slashed.
I’m sitting in the corner of my bedroom, gun in my hand, waiting.
I can hear children’s laughter outside, raucous, full of joy, full of future.
My visions destroyed my family. I foresaw their fiery deaths. They would not listen. I couldn’t protect them.
I wait. Trembling with fear.Who’s my killer?
Suddenly, one of the children yells “No!,” and a baseball smashes through my bedroom window.
Time slows as I watch a large shard of broken glass head straight toward me….