Had this sitting on my computer. Enough of it is written that I feel fine posting it now. Hope you enjoy!

I never truly understood why I was so odd growing up. Why I would get these feelings before something horrible happened. They didn't really hit me until middle school. One day, walking home from school, I could hear this metal creaking sound, like the chains from the swings swinging. I could also hear choking sounds. But when I looked, there was no one on the swings in the first place. I told my parents, but they just said my brain filled in the silence from a deserted park. But I couldn't help but notice this odd look on my mom's face when I told her.

By the time I got off school the next day, it was all over the news that a toddler got tangled up in the swing's chains and was strangled to death. As tragic as it was, I was always more consumed with how that poor boy's death must have sounded exactly like what I heard.

I would kind of get a foreboding feeling here and there, but nothing like that little boy for a long time. The funny things was, when I got one of the most important ones in my life, I had no idea until it was too late.

My parents had left early that morning. They were rushing off to meet my mother's ill Aunt, who wasn't doing too well. Other than my Uncle Tommy in White Plains, Aunt Miriam was the only family we really had nearby. Luckily, school was walking distance. I was just making myself some toaster waffles for breakfast and turned on the TV. My dad must've watched the news late that night, because it was still on Channel 11.

"Authorities are now calling the North Bay bridge collapse a freak act of nature. Citing a highway improvement project that may have weakened the super structure." My mouth dropped to the floor when I saw the rubble of the North Bay bridge where it had crumbled into the water. "There has yet to be any reports on any survivors."

I was about to call my parents, to see if they needed help finding another way since the bridge was on their route. But it was then I noticed something on the lower thirds that struck me as odd. It said the eleven o'clock news on Channel 11. But when I checked the clocks in the house, they all said that it was still 7:30. It was only then I got that horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I carried on calling my dad, but his phone went to voicemail. I called my mom, and hers did too. I called their car phone – because they had one for work, and it went to voicemail as well. I even called their work, just in case they went to work for something before getting on the road. But both buildings said that they never came in.

I kept on calling and calling, leaving voicemail after voicemail. But I never reached them. I didn't bother going to school. I knew what was going to happen. And then there was breaking news at eight about the North Bay bridge collapse. I could barely see the same images I saw before through my tears. It was then the house phone rang, and I knew it was my school. Someone from the administration's office was calling to see why I wasn't at school. When I told them what happened, she reassured me that I didn't need to do anything. She would call my Uncle for me, and then he would take care of what needed taking care of. Within twenty minutes, I got a call from Uncle Tommy. He said he was already on his way, that he couldn't get a hold of my parents either. But I knew we would never be hearing from them again.

Uncle Tommy being a cop seemed to help the situation. He could get a hold of the authorities at the site and confirm that my parents' car was seen getting on the bridge just before it collapsed. I scoured the news for the real eleven o'clock news story. The one I saw before the bridge collapse. But while Channel 11 was still reporting, all the reports were vague and had no real answers or anything definitive. When Uncle Tommy had a break in calling and informing the people he needed to, he came to my room to see how I was doing. I couldn't tell him anything reassuring.

"I'm not ready for this, Tommy. I'm supposed to be finishing up my first year of High School. I'm not supposed to be attending some memorial service for my parents."

"I know," he said softly, remaining straight faced. I knew he was grieving too. It was his big brother that died. My mom was like a sister to him too. Aunt Miriam would die in a matter of weeks. We were all the other had in the way of family. "Don't worry, I took care of the arrangements. All you have to do is show up."

"And then what?" I asked him, scared. "What happens next?"

"You're coming to live with me," he assured me. "I'll take care of you."

"Thank you, Uncle Tommy," I whispered.

The morning of the memorial service, I got dressed in the only black thing I owned. A black dress with white flowers all over it. It still didn't feel appropriate. One of my mom's coworkers came over to do my hair for me but left my face alone. Any makeup I would have worn would have been washed away by the inevitable tears. I sighed when left to my own devices before we were to leave and let myself be distracted by the news.

"Authorities are now calling the North Bay bridge collapse a freak act of nature. Citing a highway improvement project that may have weakened the super structure. Among the survivors were 8 employees of Presage Paper on their way to a business retreat. The other 17 employees were killed in the collapse. And although they've been branded the lucky 8, the surviving 8 employees now face an uncertain future."

And that time, my mouth dropped for a different reason. "There weren't supposed to be any survivors," I whispered to myself.

"What did you say?" my Uncle called from the other room.

"Um… there were survivors," I called back to him. But my mind wouldn't let it go.

It was a sea of black for the memorial. I didn't know how Uncle Tommy got it together. It didn't matter. He had picked some photos out from our house to set up at the burial site. I saw that people from their office's had brought photos and flowers as well. During the set up, I could see across the cemetery that there was a memorial plaque and service for the employees of Presage Paper that didn't make it off the bridge. Just off the scene by the street, I saw a lone man in all black with dark skin standing alone. At first, he was watching the service for Presage Paper. But as if he felt my eyes on him, he turned to lock eyes with me. Startled, I let out a gasp and turned away.

I didn't pay attention to what was said. Tommy got up to speak on my behalf for my parents. Some of their coworkers did too. But it all washed over me anyway until it was over, and Uncle Tommy started to lead me away. But we were intercepted by so many people who knew my parents wanting to extend their condolences. I ended up getting separated from my Uncle and bumping into a grown man. I fell, my knees under my black dress getting dirtied by the grass below.

"Oh, sorry. Here, let me help you up." A couple pairs of arms helped to my feet and then a dizzy spell washed over me. "You okay?"

I looked up to see two men, one tall and pale, the other slightly shorter and tanner. I vaguely recognized them from the news. "Yeah… it's just been a rough couple of days. Excuse me… but you were part of the survivors, weren't you? From that business retreat."

They exchanged an awkward look and slowly nodded. The nicer looking, pale one nodded, "Yeah, we were. Did you know someone who…"

I nodded, "Um, my parents. We're having their service over there."

"I'm so sorry," he told me. "What was your name?"

"Mara, Mara Burke," I told them blankly.

"I'm Sam Lawton," he introduced himself. Then he pointed to the other man, "This is Peter Friedkin."

"It's nice to meet you," I told them with a weak smile. "And I really do mean that. I know it doesn't make much sense, but I was really glad to hear that there were some survivors." Even as I said these words, they felt hollow. Because staring at these men, I felt like somehow, they hadn't really survived.

Sam slowly nodded along to my words but seemed concerned. "Um, are you here with someone? Can we help you find them?"

"Mara!" I heard my name being called and turned to see Uncle Tommy making his way towards me in the crowd.

"That's my Uncle there," I assured them. "But thanks. Goodbye Sam. Goodbye Peter."

"Bye Mara," Sam said softly as he and Peter left.

"Hey, there you are," Uncle Tommy said as he reached her. "Are you ready to get home?"

"I'm ready to pack," I told him, taking his arm and following him through the crowd to where he'd parked the car. But then a new wave of dizziness hit me, and I had to stop walking, leaning heavily into Tommy as I did. His words, asking me if I was okay, felt like he was speaking to me at the bottom of the pool. I saw flashes of images behind my eyes when I closed them. Sam getting onto a plane. The number 180. An explosion in the sky.

"Mara!" Uncle Tommy's voice brought me back to reality. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Where'd he go?" I asked, peering through the haze of people, looking for Sam.

"Who?" he asked me.

"The man I was talking to," I told him. "Sam – he was on the bridge. He's gonna die."

"What? What are you talking about?" I didn't answer. I just kept looking for Sam and Peter, trying to break out of Tommy's arms to find them. I had to warn Sam that he wasn't safe. But I couldn't get through the throng of people and Tommy was still holding me. The images flashed before my eyes again. Everything felt distant.

"What's wrong?"

"I think she's having a panic attack or something."

"Help me get her to the car." And then everything went black.

When I woke up, I was in an Urgent Care room with a doctor and my Uncle Tommy who explained that I had a panic attack and passed out, but I would be fine. The doctor said it wasn't uncommon for someone suffering such a tragic loss as I had, to have panic attacks, and gave me a rescue inhaler just in case, along with a pamphlet for me and my uncle on how to deal with them if they happen again. When I was cleared to leave, Uncle Tommy checked me out and took me home. He arranged for his partner at work, Frank, to come meet us and help us with packing. He also arranged for my mom's best friend and coworker, Daisy, to finish any packing we couldn't get done quickly for things I didn't personally need. Then she'd help me sell affects I didn't want to keep or put the others in a storage unit she had.

I didn't tell Uncle Tommy about the things I saw when I had the panic attack. I knew that he wouldn't believe me. Honestly, I didn't believe myself. What if I had imagined that I saw that news report before the bridge collapsed; just in my grief? What if I concocted some fantastical airplane explosion to distract myself from the tragedy that stole my parents? It was possible.

I distracted myself from it all with the packing and unpacking at Uncle Tommy's bachelor pad. It was small, but big enough for the two of us. There was a guest bedroom that was now mine to use. Uncle Tommy mused finding a bigger place so I could be more comfortable, but I promised him that it didn't matter. I just wanted to be with the only family I had left.

Frank was around all the time before they started a shift or after they finished one. He really was another Uncle for me. He and Tommy helped me settle into my new room and prepare to finish off Freshman year at a new school. It was barely over a couple weeks later, May 14, 2000, when I saw my nightmare play out on the television.

When I woke up that Sunday morning, I walked into the living room to see Uncle Tommy on the couch, watching the news. When he saw me, he quickly muted the TV. But I had still seen the images. Wreckage of a plane was floating in the water – seat cushions, luggage, loose items. All being sifted through by crewmen on ships. I read the lower third.

FLIGHT 108 DISASTER

"What happened?" I asked, quietly.

Uncle Tommy heaved a sigh and explained, "A plane headed to Paris exploded after takeoff. They're not releasing any names of those on board until they're finished notifying all next of kin."

I sank onto the couch next to him. "I think I know who died on that plane."

"What?" he asked me.

I was going to tell him everything. I was. But I knew how it would sound. I would sound crazy. "Um, nothing. I guess I just… didn't expect to see another tragic news story so soon."

He let out a long sigh and put his arm around my shoulder. "I know. It's awful."

I sighed too, putting my head on his shoulder, "I miss them."

"Me too," he said quietly.

I kept my eye on all the news having to do with Flight 180, while doing more research into the Lucky Eight. It didn't surprise me to learn that they had all died in some freak accident. I'm sure if I met any of the others outside of Sam and Peter, I would have known. It was a few weeks later that the full list of who had died on the plane and the group that had gotten off the plane just before the accident was release. I wasn't surprised to see Sam and Molly's pictures on the screen. I wasn't all that surprised to find out that the last survivor, a man named Nathan, had been killed by falling debris from the plane. But it just seemed to confirm my oddity. And I had to tell my Uncle. I couldn't deal with this alone anymore. Even if he thought I was crazy.

The next moment I knew I had time to talk to him, I quickly got his attention by beginning with, "Uncle Tommy, we have to talk about North Bay and Flight 180."

Uncle Tommy gave me a confused look. "What do you mean?"

I took a deep breath, "Um, remember at the memorial – I had a panic attack?"

"Yeah," he said slowly, probably wondering why I was bringing that up now.

"I had just met one of the survivors of the bridge collapse. He and a bunch of his friends and coworkers got off the bridge just before it fell," I explained.

"The Lucky Eight, I remember," he followed along.

"Sam Lawton, I bumped into him at the service," I told him. "He was nice – but gave me a weird feeling. The same kind of feeling I had the morning the bridge collapsed. And when we were leaving, I started seeing these visions – Sam, the number 180, and a plane exploding."

He stared at me for a bit. I could tell that he was trying to make sense of what I was saying.

"So…" I sighed. "So, I saw that. And now this plane, called Flight 180, has exploded. I can't explain how I knew… but I just knew that Sam was on that flight. And I found out that the Lucky 8 weren't so lucky after North Bay bridge."

I could tell Uncle Tommy didn't believe me. But he wanted to. And he didn't want to hurt my feelings by calling me crazy or something. "Mara… you're not psychic or something. No one can see the future."

"That's not what I'm saying," I told him. "I'm not seeing lottery numbers or world series scores. I'm just seeing death."

"No, Mara, you're grieving," he insisted. "You couldn't have known about the bridge or the plane before they happened."

"I thought the grief was making me crazy too," I admitted. "I thought I convinced myself that I saw the news story about the bridge before it happened when I'd actually seen it when it originally broadcasted. As a way of blaming myself for not being able to prevent mom and dad dying. I thought my head was just spinning with a bunch of different tragic scenarios someone could die in horribly. And—and maybe I injected Sam into them after I met him because he and his friends survived, when mom and dad didn't!"

"All valid assumptions, and I'm sure, completely normal," Uncle Tommy assured him. "Look…"

"No," I cut him off. "I was right the first time. I saw the bridge collapse before it happened. I double checked my phone. I called mom and dad like forty times in half an hour before the bridge actually collapsed. Because I knew it was going to happen. And then at the service, I met Sam and his friend Peter. We were talking, I got this feeling like they weren't safe. And then as you and I were leaving, I started getting dizzy and I saw things. The explosion, the plane. Flight 180. I knew Sam was going to die on that flight." To punctuate my explanation, I gestured to the running news story about the crash on the television.

"Mara, what you're telling me is impossible," he said slowly.

"No, it's improbable," I corrected. "I know what I saw. I know it was before either the bridge or the plane happened. I also know that Sam Lawton pulled his girlfriend off their work bus. His friends followed. And they all escaped just as the bridge collapsed. It was like Sam knew that it would happen before it did and saved their lives. Now they're dead. Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth."

He gave me a look, "Really? You're using Star Trek against me?"

I rolled my eyes. "Sherlock Holmes." "Mara, I want to believe you, I do," he sighed. I knew he meant it.

"I understand that you can't yet," I told him. "I didn't understand what was happening before either. But there have been too many coincidences now. I knew when Aunt Miriam was gonna take a turn for the worse, I foretold a little kid's accidental death on the swing set the day before it happened, and I knew about North Bay and Flight 180. And I saw on the news yesterday that a kid on that flight had a panic attack – just like me – and told everyone that the plane was gonna blow up. It started a big scuffle that got him and six others off the flight before it took off and exploded just as he said it would. What if he's like me?"

"Even if all you're saying is true somehow," he said, his voice picking up a bit, as if he was starting to believe me given how certain I was. "What exactly do you wanna do about it? Are there any more predictions?"

I shrugged, "Not yet. There's a memorial service tomorrow for the students who died on the flight. I wanna go. I wanna see if I get any of the same feelings. If I do, maybe I can warn them. Maybe I can actually stop someone from dying."

"Mara, that's a lot of responsibility to take on yourself," my Uncle said. "You can't be blaming yourself for the bridge or the plane…"

"If either mom or dad had answered their phones that morning, maybe they'd still be here," I cut in, throat feeling tight. "Maybe if I'd found Sam and told him what I saw, he and his girlfriend wouldn't have gotten on that plane. Maybe if I can see something useful tomorrow, and tell the person, they'll live."

"And maybe they survived the plane crash just to get hit by a car tomorrow," he pointed out. "You can't just cheat death. Even if, somehow, you've gotten a sneak peek."

"What if I saw your death?" I asked him. "Wouldn't you want me to warn you?"

He was quiet for only a moment. "I wouldn't want you to have to deal with that on your own. But I also wouldn't want you to blame yourself for stuff out of your control. No one gets to choose when our number's up."

"What if I could?" I asked. "What if I get to see these things and know these things so I can save people from dying young and horribly?"

He didn't seem to know what to say anymore. I could tell that he didn't believe me, but he was in pain for me. He sighed as he stood from the couch. "We'll go to the memorial, okay? But you need to get some rest tonight."

I whispered, "Okay, Uncle Tommy," as he kissed my head and went upstairs himself.