I never understood why someone would want to see into the future the way a woman never sees a man's fascination with breasts. This is no laughing matter, I'm losing it up here. My whole life I had this...well I guess you could say this condition: I can see 20 seconds into the future. In a world of epic superhero movies and complex fantasy stories, maybe I'm not all that impressive, but everybody's got something, right? 20 seconds is a weird timeframe, and I find it's a perfect balance between Mild Annoyance and Suicidal Depression. Seeing failed test grades and rejected prom proposals moments before receiving them wasn't as bad as experiencing the death of my dog twice. You see, it's like a yawn. Most of the time, it's involuntary, but if I really try, I can (most of the time) force myself to get it right. But, as any sci-fi story dealing with time travel will tell you, once you see the future, it changes.

Think you want what I've got? Maybe this will change your mind. Back in 2003, I found myself in Vegas, trying my luck at some of the casinos. It was harder than you might think. Slot machines, seeing the future doesn't help. As for poker and blackjack, all the other players took about 20 seconds just to decide what to do, and the roulette wheel's ball felt like a good 20 minutes to spin. The only game I would occasionally get a hot-streak on was craps, and that was only when the guys who didn't spend all day getting the women to blow on their dice before rolling didn't play. So not often. However, this one night I made a couple thousand and called it quits before the casino security got suspicious (I'd made that mistake before). I rented a room with a view. not a penthouse, but still very nice for a 24 year old with just a lucky hand. I went down to the bar at one point in the night and met a nice young woman who tried so very desperately to act as if she was just a normal, gorgeous woman alone in a bar in a low-cut dress, waiting for a guy to flash a wad of cash. I asked how much she would cost, she slapped me, told me her price, and we returned to my room and she called up some friends.

The night powered on with the incessant fervor that comes with young people believing they are anything more. Whatever I saw 20 seconds into the future of, I only got excited about. That is, up until around three in the morning. I was playing trashketball with two lovely ladies in their underwear as the other seven did I don't know what. Upon scoring an impressive dunk into the small wire wastebasket with a balled-up magazine page, I had my first terrifying vision of the night. The usual process happened, nothing I wasn't used to by now. My foot began to get the feeling of falling asleep, I seized up, my lungs tightened, and there was a dull pain in my eyes as the vision of a humiliated-on-the-court escort was replaced by that same escort being strangled to death. I saw the vision briefly, then returned to being terribly guarded by a girl who thought we were "shooting touchdowns". Panicked, I looked around for any intruders, down at my watch. I tackled the girl and wrapped my arms around her head, protecting her from any harm. I counted, one...two...three...four...Nothing. There came no intrusion, attack, or strangling. The would-be victim was wildly laughing under my arms, and two other girls had jumped on top of me, play wrestling. I pushed them off of me and stood, once again looking around for unwelcome guest.

"What is it?" One asked. I didn't reply. My foot began to sizzle. Round two. This time, I saw two girls, both lying in pools of their own blood, a shattered lamp in between them. I returned, and immediately saw that same lamp. I grabbed it, and held it, looking around like a wild animal about to be gunned down in cold blood.

*Let me quickly interject here to explain how my visions are never wrong. Not once, in all my years, has a vision been wrong. And it is always 20 seconds, always.*

Once more, a vision struck me: a shattered window, five girls on the pavement outside, some forty stories below. I returned. I leaped in front of the window, dropping the lamp, and spread my arms, crouching like a lineman when the opposing quarterback yells hut.

Vision: A closed pair of eyes and the whispering of "Just do it", as a needle punctures a forearm's vein. A clear overdose of some substance was slowly injected, and the eyes opened, fluttered closed, and stayed closed. I returned, and fell to the ground, sobbing.

All nine huddled around me, cradling me. They never asked what was wrong, they just rubbed my back, nestled their heads into my neck, kissed the back of my head. I suddenly got the idea that they must deal with broken down men on a daily basis. Men who can't believe they're actually cheating, can't believe they've run away, can't believe they're paying for sex, can't believe they aren't even attracted to women, can't believe none of the girls have died yet.

*My visions were never wrong, and they always occurred 20 seconds after being seen. The only thing I had wrong was assuming they were always mine.*

Suddenly, 20 seconds since my first vision hit. The girl who I'd met in the bar wrapped her hands around the throat of another. 10 seconds after that, as the first victim lay lifeless on the ground for the second time in my eyes, she picked up the lamp I had dropped and crashed it over two girls whose heads were pressed together over my chest. By now, the other five girls had stood, screaming, and the woman picked up two chairs throwing one at the window behind the girls, shattering it, sprinting full speed at the girls with the other. She one girl in the gut with one leg, another girl in the thigh with a second leg, and the backrest and head of the chair slammed into the other three girls' chests with such force that they joined the other two in stumbling the three inches backward to the edge of the window. Only one lost her balance, but she grabbed the girl next to her, who grabbed the girl next to her, and so on, until the last remaining girl clutched the air as she was forced backwards into the warm Vegas air, down some forty stories.

I looked up at this woman, who turned and grabbed a syringe that was filled with heroine, to be used when things got really crazy. She grabbed the purse of the girl who had brought the heroin and took out three vials form it. She punctured the rubber tops of each vial, filling the syringe to it's limit with each anonymous amphetamine, or steroid, or stimulant, who cared anymore. She walked over to me, and knelt down.

"Why?" I asked. As she readied the syringe, I childishly thought 'I guess things are getting really crazy now'.

"Because you've been lazy these past few years, and because of that I know about your gift. I work for some very powerful people who want what you have, and know about previous cases of it. Did you know it can be extracted from dead bodies? All you need is the cadaver, which we've never had, because seeing 20 seconds into the future makes it easy to escape. Except for someone as ignorant and selfish as you. Thanks."

I closed my eyes, "Just do it.".

Cherish being as limited as you are when it comes to vision. Seeing into the future is like looking at the bottom of the ocean. The surface distorts, and by the time you get there, who knows what will have changed. Ignorance truly is bliss, but don't look at not being able to see into the future as ignorance, because that's simply asking too much of any mere mortal, take it from me. Instead "Awareness is Bliss". See what is immediate, and react accordingly. Once again, my advice, like my gift, is probably not all too impressive, but seeing the future changes it. Being blind to the future? Well, that shapes it.