A margin of error - by Cunien

This is just a little something spat out of my mind as unpredictably as a red ball from a Precog. It's not much - may develop into something more. Maybe not.
Basically it's just something to fill the massive Minority Report shaped hole in fanfiction.net. (C'mon! It's an excellent film! Why is no one writing about it?!?)

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Precrime - it works!

Fresh-faced children stare out of the walls at me. They make me feel claustrophobic. The walls have eyes - literally.

They probably have no idea what they're talking about anyway. They only know what they're parents tell them, and they in turn are told by the leaders of this great, free country called America. We're supposed to be able to say whatever we want here. We're supposed to have the right to know what's going on in our own societies.

The children smile little brain-washed smiles at me. They are the very picture of innocence and ignorance.

I should have been like that, at their age.

It occurs to me now, the irony of it all. Murder is no longer the sordid, unmentionable creature bred of the baseness of humanity. Of our darkest desires.
It has been brought from behind closed doors, alley ways and dark nights, into the mouths of our children.

The snow is falling lightly onto the streets. A little girl, no more than 5 or 6 squeals in delight. She opens her mouth to catch snowflakes on her tongue as her mother drags her through the busy streets.
It snows a lot here now, but people still love it. It makes everyone feel like a child again.

It reminds me of Precrime. People are eager to believe that the world can be bright and white when it snows. They don't remember what's underneath, under every flake that kisses the ground. The sidewalks are still there, just as black and filthy as they have ever been, probably stained with the blood from the epidemic of murders that swept the country over 6 years ago.
They forget they're just the same sidewalks they've ever been.

I should be the greatest advocate of Precrime. My Father, as an upstanding citizen, was called time and time again as witness when the detectives pieced together the images spat out of the Precog's minds.
He wanted me to grow up without the fear of what people are capable of, and so he sat me on his knee, and I watched with him. I bore witness to crimes of passion and hatred, predetermined killings and violent arguments. I saw rape and death and everything in between, too scared to watch but too afraid to turn away.

I was six years old.

But it was then I knew that things could be different. I saw how much guesswork the detectives did, because there is a margin of error to everything.

And if there's one thing I know about, it's humanity. My father made sure of that. But he showed me something he didn't intend for me to know - the unpredictability of life. The Precogs don't know all ends.

I'm not doing this for glory. I'm not doing it for those innocents, haloed and shipped away to be conveniently forgotten for a crime they *might* have committed, had they been given the chance.

I'm doing this for myself. For the little boy who lost his innocence and saw things that he should never have had to see.
I was six years old for fucks sake!

I'm doing this so that no one will ever have to see another broken, shattered image of a broken and shattered human being.
I don't want to have to watch it anymore

So I walk towards the Precrime offices, to the place I've been working for 2 months. I hate it there, but this is the only way I can prove the systems wrong, and that there must be another way.

People will thank me.
Because we all get tired of the snow, when it's slushing in yellowing puddles at the side of the road.
We forget what we ever saw in it.
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Ta-da! What do you think? More? Probably not. I actually doubt anyone is even reading this, as no one seems to be interested in Minority Report on this site!

If someone has, by chance, strayed upon this fic, please please review? Please?!?
Thanks.x.x.x.