Isn't it funny how we, as humans, can live out our entire lives without thinking about what's around us, what's just beyond our knowledge and a matter of millimeters out of our reach? Most people go their entire lives, seventy, eighty, ninety years without knowing, while a small handful of others go a mere five, sixteen, thirty years before they discover what else is out there, and even then they're not entirely in the know. As far as humans know, we're all there is; there is nothing bigger than us, nothing more powerful, nothing and no one more cultured or enlightened than us people… but there's more out there than just what we think we know.

We are not the only worldly souls on this Earth. Some form of existences have been around since long before the conception of the idea of humans. There are living beings that know how and why us humans are here, there are some individuals living at the ages of something like five hundred and seventy-two with more centuries ahead of them, and they know that nothing is all-powerful, nothing is immortal, nothing and no one is more cultivated or educated than them… but there may be more out there than what they think. No one will ever know if there is a species of humanoids or human-like entities more advanced than their own kind, and that's where true power lies, in the ability to mask their existence, just as some around the globe have done for millennia. Why a select amount of these advanced, earlier beings choose to meddle in the lives of regular humans is unknown, perhaps even questionable, though this doesn't stop those that do. Maybe, some think, those that do change the mortal realities have an agenda, a plan, or perhaps even just the motivation to improve the short lives of those less fortunate as themselves. Who knows if their intentions are even good in the first place? No one, that's who.

It's dark in here. This isn't the kind of place the Phil would normally be, but when he saw it yesterday he couldn't help but feel attracted to it and immediately call and book an appointment for after school today. From the outside it looks like any other building on the street, but on the inside it's something entirely different from what Phil had expected. It wasn't like your average psychic's place of work, it looked like an old office in a library. Bookcases full of bound pages full of words full of meaning, many of the books looked older than the wise-looking gentleman in front of him. Phil couldn't help but be slightly taken aback by the fact that he hadn't been seated at a round tea table with a woman with a purple, sequinned scarf on her head and a crystal ball within arm's reach. Perhaps making an appointment with a psychic, especially this one, isn't the best idea Phil has ever had…

"You were six, weren't you?" the man asks once Phil is properly seated across the large ornate desk.

"I was six when- what?" Phil asks, a little startled,

"You were six years old when you met Dan."

"I don't know, I guess that's about right. Why?"

"He's why you're here, isn't he?"

"What? Because he's a complete and utter jerk? I'm not entirely positive about this," Phil rolls his eyes, "But I have this distinct feeling that maybe he's not the entire focus of my life. He's just a playground bully, in a few years I'm never going to have to see him again and I'll move on with my life to bigger and better things."

"Philip-"

"It's Phil."

"Alright, Phil. If he's not the focus of your entire life, then who, or what, is?"

"Me? Is it me? Is that the right answer?"

"There often isn't a wrong answer."

"Oh trust me, if there's a wrong answer I'm going to be the one to find it."

"It doesn't seem like you have much confidence in yourself, not in a positive light at least."

"Yeah, I guess so. This is all a little strange, I don't even know why I'm here…"

"You're here because you need help, a kind of help that very few beings can offer. Luckily for you, I'm one of them."

Phil straightens himself up in his seat, the red of the plush on the base of the chair shifting beneath his dark grey school trousers. During the amount of time he's been here, precisely eleven minutes and fifteen seconds, this is the first time he's moved from his slouched and disinterested position in Mr Wilder's office. The white-bearded man stands from the cider armchair behind his desk, the black haired boy's eyes following each him with every movement. Wilder stops abruptly. The boy wants to speak, but alas, he cannot. What is there to say? What, of the million questions running through his mind, could he possibly ask?

Running his fingers along the tall, dark pine bookshelf, tracing the bottom of each spine as he proceeds, Mr Wilder takes one footstep per second as he makes his way behind Phil. Each movement in perfect time with the ticking of the cuckoo clock perched just below one of the ceiling beams in the centre of the back wall. As he makes his way behind Phil, the teen aged boy's head turns, neck craning to keep his eyes on his strange psychic. It's their first session, trust has not yet been built. There is no rapport, only an uncomfortable, awkward feeling radiating from Phil; this is a social situation of which he is not yet familiar.

"Phil," Mr Wilder says after their brief silence, "Do you remember that day?"

"What day?" he asks, forgetting the opening of their conversation. Mr Wilder has to admit, he's somewhat shocked that Phil hasn't questioned how he knows what he knows about Phil. If anything, he's a little disappointed that his client hasn't given him the stunned reaction he's grown accustomed to. For a bright young boy Phil's surprisingly oblivious, he thinks.

"That day when you were six, Philip. The day when you met Dan."

"The day I met Dan Howell? Of course, it was my first day of school," he nods, "God, it was scary."

"Tell me about it."

"Dad woke me up and reminded me that it was my first day of 'big school', I was nervous but still very excited. He told me to have a good day and that he'd see me after work, then me and mum had breakfast with my brother before she dropped us off at school. Martyn went straight to his friends, but I begged mum to come with me," Phil recounts with an embarrassed chuckle. Mr Wilder pulls a single book from one of the large bookcases and makes his way back to the desk in front of Phil, "Of course she came with me to meet my teacher and make sure I was okay, I was so relieved when everyone else had their parents with them too," Phil continued.

"That first day of school is a prime example of a time when a child needs their parent, wouldn't you agree?"

"God, yes!" he smiles, "I'm so glad that my mum was there to hold my hand…"

"When did Dan come into the picture?" Mr Wilder asks him; Phil ponders for a moment,

"At recess. All the parents had gone home and we were all outside playing, sort of. Everyone else was playing, I was sitting on those long, silver seats that were built all over the school…" the blue eyed boy looks sad for second before sucking in a short breath of air and continuing after the psychic's signal to keep going, "Dan walked up to me and asked why I had no friends."

"How did that make you feel?" Mr Wilder asks, adopting a line more typical to a psychiatrist than a psychic.

"I don't know… I felt like he was just mean, it hurt my feelings. He just walked up to me and pointed out that I was by myself and didn't have anyone to play with. I mean, it's not the worst thing he's ever done to me, but we had literally just met."

"And what did you say in response to him?"

"Nothing. I stood up, stepped over the little, silver bench-seat-thing, turned around and sat back down facing away from him. I'm not exactly good at confrontation or arguing…"

"What would you have done differently if you had seen the whole picture?"

"The whole picture? What do you mean? That's all the happened, there was nothing else," he insists, "What is there to do differently? I don't think I should have argued, I did the right thing."

"Under the circumstances, I agree," Wilder nods, "But Philip, there are always two sides to every story."