God's gift, devil's curse.

Some tell you that it's God's gift, some say it's the Devil's curse.

Either way you've got it. It's now apart of you, never leaving you. Coming and going when it pleases.

Some hate you for it, some love you for it.

Others have no idea.

It haunts your every waking hour, and prays on your dreams.

What use to be your biggest joy is not your biggest fear.

Day, night it's always there threating to over your sight over for a mere split seconds, or maybe even hours causing all to go wrong, causing for you to see what will be.

You have no idea how to deal. No idea what do to, or what must be done.

All you know it what it wants, allows you to see.

Some say you could prevent all that is to happen, some say you shouldn't for it's just not your choice, not your right.

You have not an idea of what to do, how to prevent, and if you don't prevent what is happen, to come of you?

You walk down the streets of the city you call home, hearing them whisper. Seeing some back away for thy believe your the Devil's curse, some prasing for thy believe your God's gift.
You stop mid-step, your vision going black, your body completely numb.

You see it before it really happens.

A million peoples death and you've got front row seats.

You hear the faint tick, tick.

You wave, yell but no one can hear, your simply there for the show and noting more.

The faint sound of the tick, tick gets louder, beeping faster now getting the notice of the passer byers of the little pink flower cart on the side of the cold, light gray walk way, but it's all to late now.

The tick, tick comes to a dead stop and the little pink flower cart goes up into pieces of flames along with the passer byers of the side walk.

You look around, bodies on the dead cold, solid ground, unmoving along with the strong, nasty smell of burnt flesh fresh in the air.

Your vision goes black once more, taking you threw a dark tunnel of never ending shameless hope.

Your vision comes back, forming in shapes and colors in front of your eyes, like putting the pieces of a puzzle together.

Facing down, you see your hands are shaking, trembling with the sight you just saw.

Looking forward you see the little pink cart holding flower of all shades of colors not even five steps away.

You listen closey and thats when you hear it; tick, tick.

Not my right, you think. Not my right to save these helpless people from death? Not my right?
You run the five steps, looking for where the bomb is planted for thy never shows just where the source of death lies, only when, the sence, and that it'll happen. It always does.

You look inbetween, in and around all the flowers, screaching, looking for death it self like an easter egg hunt. Like a game, a cruel heartless game.

A game you may be able to finally win. A game you may never win, a game you may lose.

Only this time if you do, your going down too.

THE END.