Warning: Spoilers

Sometimes I See little things. Nathan getting punched by Kelly, or Simon getting called "Weird Kid". Things that anyone can predict happening. But sometimes... sometimes I See bigger things.

It happened on a day much, much, like any other. I arrived a half-hour early to the community center like I normally do. At that time, I hadn't Seen anything for a couple of days, a rare occurrence indeed. I should have known that something big was brewing, something that I would think back on for rest of my life.

There he was, standing in front of an old, crackle-painted locker, contemplating the orange jumpsuit we were all forced to wear. He turned to look toward the sound of my arrival, and smiled. It was faint, but warm. Worn all day, but still special, still unique. Just for me. His eyes crinkled upward, forming kinks in his skin, fanning outward toward his temples. As I looked into his eyes, (his wonderful eyes!) needles shot up my spine. My stomach churned, my eyes glazed over and I Saw.

Images pushed into my eyes, images that I didn't want to See. I Saw the reasons and the aftermath, into Time far ahead of the Present. I Saw the life given up, the life saved, and the life wasted. And it all started today. The chain of events that could not be prevented, unlike Curtis' power allowed. My Sight was carved into the stone of Time.

I... had fallen? I was looking up at the rotting, dingy ceiling, spotted with rain damage and mildew. I had never, ever, passed out from my power. Then again, this was a Sight I had never seen coming.

"Are you alright?" The voice froze my body in place as my eyes flicked to my right. A boy was squatting there, his eyes concerned and his eyebrows contracted in an adorably round-yet-square face. Dread filled my stomach.

"Y-Yeah," I stammered, "What's your name?" He looked a little worried still, and helped me to my feet before answering.

"Ollie. Ollie Smiley." was his confused reply.

"Listen, Ollie... How do you feel about death?"

We were sitting in silence. He was going to get shot today, and he knew it. It will be fatal, but it will be quick. A million others haven't had the same opportunity. Funnily enough, it didn't help when I mentioned that.

"So I'm going to die?" He said this quietly, looking at his hands clenched together in front of him.

"Yes." I said simply. "But through death you will save many more."

His head shot up, and looked at me.

"I will?"

"Yes. Her name will be Nikki, and your power will live on through you. You won't be forgotten." I met his eyes with the last sentence, and I saw something change within their depths. He leaned toward me, and I caught him, his head on my shoulder and my arms around him as his tears formed a damp patch on my shirt.

We sat on the unforgiving concrete floor of the locker room, and I knew his tears were not for himself. I still don't know what he was thinking that day, but I do know his tears were not shed in self-pity. He cried for his mother, left alone in her house, he cried for his friends who would never hear his last words. He cried for his family that would carry his coffin to its grave.

He was toying with a pin, a rainbow peace sign. "So she'll die?"

"Yes. A terrified act of an individual forced to do another's bidding. A shot to her heart. Ironic, isn't it?"

He looked at me with a blank stare. "Then why is it worth it?"

His question stopped me for a moment. "Because if she dies now, she'll be miserable."

Rage, bitter rage filled his features, contorting them. "She'll be miserable?! I'm miserable. I'll be dead!"

He stood up and started pacing angrily.

I pause for a while, thinking. "Have you ever loved someone, Ollie?" I quietly whisper. He looks at me with shock and sadness in his eyes. His reaction is enough of an answer. "She'll die without love, without knowing someone who will be very important to her."

He stood a ways away from me, looking at the intricacies in the wall. "But she'll die." It was a statement, not a question.

"We all do, in the end. But you can make her ending better."

He plopped down on the ground next to me, suddenly as tired and aged as an old man. The old man he never will be, I realize. No children, no grandchildren. No more smiles, no more laughter. I feel tears prick at the back of my eyes as I look at this stranger I only met a few short minutes ago.

"If I write a letter, can you deliver it for me? Not by post, by hand."

"Of course." I reach down and take his hand in mine, feeling his rough digits curl around my palm. We sat there for what seemed like an eternity.

The rest of the day was a blur. Ollie was happy, too happy. He hadn't had much practice putting up a facade, I could tell. His smile was too broad, his eyes not involved at all. Then the time came.

"He's focking crazy!" A man ran past, shoving people aside. A spear point of dread shot into my stomach, and I glanced at Ollie, panicked. He looked at me with the calm of an accepted fate, and we waited.

The shot rang out, sharp against the muffled silence of before. I looked down at Ollie, dead as I had Seen him this morning. I barely felt the tugging on my arm as Simon dragged me away. I didn't even notice my legs running after him, for my mind was a fog of his last look and the feel of his hand in mine.

It was an old house, it's white paint chipping, and the roses looking as if they hadn't bloomed in years. I glanced at the letter in my hand, looking so small and pristine to be carrying such a heavy burden. My chicken-scrawl covered the back.

Your son and I were close. He wrote this a while back in the event of his death. He wanted you to have it.

I gingerly placed the envelope on the porch, rang the echoing doorbell, and ran, like a messed up version Ding-Dong Ditch.

I ran until I couldn't anymore, and then ran some more. I stopped when Ollie's face struck the corner of my eye. I whirled so fast I nearly turned my ankle. Was I wrong? Had my Sight failed, is he alive?

Instead, I saw flowers gathered around a pole, and a picture of him taped above the roses. A memorial. I fell to my knees before him. No... his picture. The ink and paper wasn't Ollie, for Ollie was nowhere now. I pressed my forehead against his picture and I realized something...

I had never even told him my name.