"Mary Alice," a whisper curled through the dark. "Mary Alice. Wake up."

I was seven years old, and my sister Cynthia was nine. I knew whose voice it was by the way she said my name. My parents never said my name with any sort of love, but Cynthia did.

"What is it?" And then I saw it.

"Do you see it?" Cynthia asked. "I just overheard them talking about it."

"I'm not sure what I see," I confessed. I did what Cynthia had taught me, delving deep into the vision and describing every last detail.

"It's dark. The room is a small square. I'm scared. I'm alone. I can feel something hit me. It hurts. And then my vision goes black and my arms and legs are moving but I can't feel them..."

I pulled myself out of the abyss that was my visions. "Cynthia!" I cried out. "What was that?"

"It's called an asylum," Cynthia related. "It's for crazy people."

Maybe most ordinary kids would have protested, would have said, "But I'm not crazy!" I was different. I was crazy. I had visions of the future, blurry visions that always came true.

In some regions or religions, that would have made me a prophet, but my family wasn't that region/religion.

My family locked me in my room for days at a time if I talked about any visions. They took away my food and tried to starve me to death. They hit me, hard, with a razor strap. They hated any mention at all of my future-telling.

"When?" It was the only word I could force through my mouth. I had always known they'd probably kick me out. But so soon?

"Soon," Cynthia replied ominously. "As soon as tomorrow."

I swallowed. I wanted to protest, but I knew it probably wouldn't do much good. Maybe I would be safer there. They couldn't touch me. They couldn't hurt me.

Of course, neither could Cynthia.

"I need help," I said without meaning to. As soon as I'd spoken, I wanted to kick myself. Cynthia did everything she could to help me, and I repaid her by asking for more?

She stroked my hair. "Of course you do," she soothed. "I'll try to help you. I'll do everything I can..."

Another vision came, this time one of Cynthia with me. She was there, lying on the floor, arms and legs twisting in strange positions.

"Don't," I instructed. "I'll be fine."

She looked at me, concern sketched on her face. "Did something happen?" she asked.

I just shook my head. "It's nothing," I lied. "Nothing at all, as long as you don't try to help."

Cynthia's face softened. "I love you, Mary Al."

"I love you too, Cynthia."

I curled up beside her and fell asleep, lulled by my sister's peaceful breathing.

In the morning, I ate breakfast like always. I carefully watched the future. I could see my parents breaking the news to me, but I couldn't see when. I tried to tell Cynthia about the vision.

"It's at the table. We're all there, all eating. Mother looks up and clears her throat. She hands me a brochure, lets me look through it. Then Father starts explaining. It's an institution for people like you. People who are special..."

My voice trailed off and broke. I looked around our small, cramped bathroom that Cynthia and I were hiding in. "What are we eating?" she asked.

I shook my head. "I can't tell."

"You must be able to," she insisted. "You told me we were eating, so what are we eating?"

I thought back to my vision. "Potatoes. Steak and potatoes. It must be an upcoming holiday..." What was today's date? September 19th. My parents' anniversary was the 23rd.

"It's their anniversary," I declared, "and I'm giving them the best gift I can."

Cynthia hugged me. "Oh, don't say that. Now come on, we'll be late to school."

I dressed in my forest green dress and black patent leather shoes, then walked the few blocks to school.

"What do you really think about my visions?" I asked her. "Why was I given them? What are they?"

"I think you were blessed by God," Cynthia declared, "because there's no one on earth better than you. And I think they're pieces of the future that you get because you're special."

I glowed. No one could make me feel better like Cynthia.

At school that day, I was ignored, as always. Schoolmates had heard rumors of my vision, ever since I told my best friend Janey Freeman and she told Mary Claire Davids and she told Julia Chester and...well, you get the idea.

Suffice it to say I was not the favorite child of my classmates. I didn't have the best grades and I didn't talk much and the only person I ever smiled around was my sister.

Cynthia was the popular one, the beautiful one. Her hair was long and shiny, with a slight wave. Her cheeks were rosy red and she was always smiling and laughing. She had plenty of friends. She brought home Marlee and Linnea all the time, and they'd disappear into our room to laugh and joke.

"I don't mean to leave you with Mother and Father," she swore. "I just kind of...forget."

Me, well, I had never had a friend since Janey Freeman. Janey was a bit of an odd one too. Her ribbons were forever falling out and she smelled like cats. Her father was dead, so that was the first thing everyone told about her.

At this school, your popularity was based on what Jo-Ann Leslie told the new kids about you. Jo-Ann was a hall monitor, and she took every new kid under her wing. She told them about every girl in the school.

"That's Mary Alice Brandon. Don't talk to her; she's weird. People say she sees visions of the future."

"That's Cynthia Brandon. She's really nice. Maybe you could be her friend?"

"That's Janey Freeman. Her father died, so try to be nice."

And that was all anyone ever was to Janey. Nice, polite, cordial. But no one took the time to get inside her head.

Next year, Jo-Ann would leave the school, and one of the other third-graders would be appointed to introduce new kids. But for now, I was just "the weird one."

After school, I went into the alley for a little while. I had a friend in an alley cat that I'd named Alexandra. I called her Sandra, or Sandy for short. I fed her bits of my lunch.

I went behind and held out the sandwich. "Here, kitty kitty kitty," I cooed. "Here, Sandra."

Sure enough, with a loud "MEOW!" she raced toward me, gulping down the sandwich. I laughed, a rare occasion, and scratched her head.

"Hey, cute little girl," I praised, rubbing my chewed-off nails across her head. "Hey. I'm going to an asylum, baby."

I wasn't an idiot. I could see Sandra's future. At the moment, no one was ever going to take her in. No one needed a ratter. She would waste away while I was gone, and starve to death.

I would have cried, but I didn't mourn anyone. Sadness surrounded us in this world. Grief was our forever friend. People and cats died all the time. It was the circle of life.

"I'm not sane." I practiced saying the words out loud, lying to myself. I was sane. I actually did have visions; the things I saw came true.

And I didn't act crazy. Well, maybe a little to conform, but not too crazy. I didn't go around with a necklace of garlic around my neck and chant in Japanese or anything psychotic like that.

To me, I was just a quiet little girl with visions of the future and unloving parents.

But I knew the rest of the world would never see it that way. I stood up and waited to accept my fate.