Time Out

[WP] You have the power to see five minutes into the future and manipulate minor events that happen in that timespan. No one takes you seriously. You're going to show them all why they should.

*****

I don't know how it started, or why I was chosen. I always called them glitches in the Matrix - you know, after the movie - when it happens.

The first time, I was young. I saw my death. I don't mean that in a gruesome way - I was just a kid, chasing a ball out into the street, and a car hit me. It was over quickly, surrounded by my crying parents and the neighbors, the driver horrified at what they had done.

But it stopped me from chasing the ball, and true to the premonition - at least, most of it, as I clearly wasn't in the right spot - the ball went under the car. They didn't stop. No one was crying. I wasn't hurt.

But I remembered.

I don't know how to control it, but I always listen to it. As I grew up, it got more frequent - it started to become events that weren't directly related to me, but always had ripples. Sometimes it took me a while to catch up to those ripples, but I always did eventually. For instance, when I was 18, I saw one of those bike delivery boys get clipped by a car on a curb. Car didn't stop, delivery boy was harmed, I think comatose. I didn't know the kid - he didn't look like anyone important, at all. Just a delivery driver.

I stopped him. I had learned, you know - always listen to the glitches. So I dropped my bag in front of him, and he stopped on his bike to help me, just as the car hit the curb, seconds from where he should have been. He didn't even notice.

I did.

That was years ago. I barely remember some of the glitches, but that one I do - I hadn't caught up to the ripples yet. It always comes back to me, like I'm the center of this universe, and I hate loose ends.

I'm dying, you see.

Right now, I'm in the hospital. I have cancer - some rare, incurable type - and I don't have long to live. My therapist is here, which I thought was nice of her - she knows I don't have family anymore, and well, she isn't supposed to drive to meet clients, but she does for me.

She knows about the glitches, and she thinks it's all in my head. I can't control it, so I can't really prove it, so I guess, in a way, it is. I try to show her things, but I mean, I've changed what was supposed to happen - what she sees is the truth as result to my actions. She thinks I have a hero complex, or a God complex, or something. I don't know. I know she's wrong, so I try to ignore it, but I like talking to her.

We're talking about how I feel about dying, which is, I don't want to. She's asked if I saw this coming - referring to my ability she doesn't believe in - but I didn't, and I tell her that. She asks if I have regrets, and I mention the boy - how I didn't find the ripples yet. I don't know why I saved him. I want to know. I hate leaving things unfinished. I don't really mind dying beyond that.

A doctor comes in. It's normally bad news, so I tend to tune them out. This treatment might help or this thing might lessen the pain. It never does. Can we make you more comfortable? Blah, blah, blah.

I'm trying to be nice, so I don't voice how tired I am of the new treatments. Maybe God or whoever will have pity on me. Maybe He'll explain why I was given this ability. Maybe the cancer and my ability are connected. I don't really know, but I would give it up if I get to live beyond 40.

The doctor hasn't said anything, and finally, I turn to look. His back is to me; he has one of those little carts with his laptop and things on it that he's pulling through the door. That's unusual. I've already signed all the documents.

He turns, and it's instant, electrified. He recognizes me - I recognize him. My therapist is on alert, because she's good at reading body language, like a therapist should be, and she knows *something* just occurred.

"That's him," I tell her. I see the understanding dawn on her face. She's never seen the ripples in action. Emotions tumble across her features - surprise, fear, disbelief - gone within seconds, finally settling on professionally *neutral.* She thinks I'm playing a joke. I'm all out of jokes.

He clears his throat. "I don't think you remember me," he starts, and I immediately want to challenge that: of course I remember you, I saved your life, you fool. "You saved my life when I was a teenager. Well, I'm a few years late, but I think it's time to repay the favor."

It doesn't make sense what he's saying. My cancer is incurable. Everyone has told me that. I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything. My therapist clears her throat, but the doctor rushes in to explain, cutting her off.

"I developed a cure, and I think you're a candidate for it. The first, even."

Ripples.

*****

THE END.

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