I’ve always knew I was different. From a young age I knew I could hear things, see things, that other little girls couldn’t. At first the visions were short and mostly pleasant. I’d see my friends and I, pelting each other with snowballs, and making misshapen snow angels. Sure enough, then next morning the entire hinterland would be dusted in a comforting layer of snow. For years my family put it down to sheer coincidence. But I knew better.


As I got older, the visions grew longer and became more detailed. I would wake up screaming in the middle of the night, with images of blood-chilling horrors seared across my retinas.  I predicted deaths, births, betrayals and sacrifices, each more vivid than the last.


Over time I learned how to manipulate my ability to my own advantage. I could predict the weather for the coming week, the questions on upcoming exams at school and the ending of every book. I even began having visions during the day, during which I would go into a trance-like state from which I could not be retrieved until the experience was over. Despite all of this however, I lived an astonishingly normal life.


That is, until the morning of my sixteenth birthday, I had a vision that would change my life and the lives of those around me irreversibly. As I slept, images of hideous creatures, humans with mutilated faces and bodies made from metals unlike anything I’ve ever seen flooded my brain. Fire erupted from the ends of their wiry arms, destroying everything in their path. Our villages burned and our people screamed as the world fell before us.


My eyes flew open, my heart thundering against my chest. The visions were always stronger on significant days like this, but never had they predicted such utter chaos.  Although I had learned to control my ability to some degree, I still could only see a few days into the future. The creatures were coming, and could arrive at any moment.


I bolted out of bed, throwing on the first dress I saw and hurriedly fix my hair. I flew down the stairs and into the kitchen, to find my father making a glorious-looking birthday breakfast. I grabbed the frying pan out of his hand and threw it into the sink, the crispy bacon flying across the room and hitting our ugly but lovable cat Misty.  Ignoring his cries of protest and confusion, I grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him outside.


“Faye, what on Earth – “ he began, but stopped when he saw the panic in my eyes. “What is it, what did you see? What’s going to happen?”

I took a deep breath, and told him everything I saw in the vision, the creatures and the destruction they will wreak. As I spoke the colour faded from his face, his eyes widening with panic.


“ We have to tell everyone!” I said impatiently. “We don’t know how long we have left!”


“No,” he said, his eyes distant. “There isn’t enough time. You must take your sisters and run”.