The Creative Competitor

1st Prize: £500 Danielle Smith
2nd Prize:£200 Mark Harris
3rd Prize: £100 Kate Lester
4th Prize: £50 each – Joe Carter, Emma Hunter, Patrick Smith, G. Tapper

The Visionary

by Danielle Smith

Chapter One

The visions were becoming unsettling. They appeared in a blinding flash of colours, lights and images and then vanished as quickly as they came, leaving behind an impending sense of doom..this time the vision had been crystal clear, it spelled out death.

Rain poured from the gathering clouds, intense in their blackness causing those below to scurry through the rain-drench city centre, ant-like from above.Miranda sat in her usual spot inside the Cosy Book Dweller, a café with an unusual array of well-flicked through books, steamy windows and piping hot coffee. Instinctively, Miranda had felt safe here, the heady aroma of coffee beans and inane senseless chatter helping her to retain a sense of normality against the odd direction her life had taken. A student studying psychology, she would have felt more intrigued by the potential of visions if it had happened to anyone else other than her, might even have enjoyed pondering on the repercussions such a gift or curse would have on the human psyche. But these were a painful intrusion into an otherwise orderly life, one that had been planned out for years supported by her now aging parents, both with a no – nonsense background. If she told her mother about them, she would merely say that it was a migraine caused through over-studying, her practical suggestion would have been calming, shining a light of hope at the end of a very dark tunnel, but she would have been wrong. She was nothing more than a lab rat in her own complex world and she didn’t like it.

Miranda rubbed her temples, her dark, lank hair dangling over the half empty coffee cup as she leaned forward trying to fathom just what was happening to her. Dark shadows under her eyes told other visitors to the coffee shop a great deal about her lack of sleep. She looked ill and isolated curled up in the corner of the café, the window to the outside world by her side, misted up.

Miranda knew that the visions had been getting steadily worse or infinitely more powerful depending on how you looked at it, they started usually with a dull ache which heralded their presence and then presented her with a myriad of colours, a kaleidoscope of flashing lights and images that had never made much sense until the previous night. She tried to pinpoint when they had started but her head was so fogged up and blurred, that she couldn’t focus properly. In fact, there was a nagging sense of lethargy hanging over her like a shroud, perhaps someone had smeared her eyeballs with Vaseline overnight as both her perception and vision was glazed.

She tried to replay the vision in her mind, shivering as she did so, the ending frozen in her minds eye, a flickering screen that haunted. Her broken body lying crumpled at the foot of the stairwell, neck twisted in an ungainly fashion, eyes staring but with no hint of life behind them. Miranda closed her eyes, shuddering, most people never had a clue about how they were going to die but hers was on show, a memory that was hard to control and store. Maybe the vision was simply a warning and not a prediction. Clutching at straws Miranda sat bolt upright, it that were true, all she had to do was stay away from any stairs and the prediction wouldn’t come true. Could it be that simple? Hope sprang up inside her like a flower opening to the sun, maybe she could re-write the ending, live to tell the tale?It was a long shot and with no way of checking, but she had to have some hope. She padded softly over to the counter, choosing the largest, stickiest cake, carefully counting out the last of her precious pennies, there had been no timeline, no convenient date stamped upon the vision so that she knew the date of her demise, so eating just what she wanted, when she wanted, now seemed like a sensible thing to do…just in case.

The gateaux had the most intense taste and she pondered whether the visions had managed to increase the capacity of her taste buds and had heightened her senses. Certainly she was more aware of the sickly sweet aromas from the cake stand than she had been before and the sound of the child crying in the corner, resonated within her ear drums. Miranda stopped eating and became aware, alert, looking around her, something intangible was happening to her, she couldn’t explain it, couldn’t fathom out why or what was changing, but she had never been so aware of her surroundings, so acutely alive in a sensory way. She could feel the moisture in the air, the cool breeze that flowed across her skin as the door opened and the door bell, jangled in her ears, causing her to wince, so loud, so loud that it hurt her eardrums. Although every sense seemed to be coming alive, her eyes still felt heavy, eyelids drooping and she fought hard against her eyelids closing, terrified that the memory would be a visual picture behind her closed eyelids. Something was very wrong, she could hardly see, blackness invaded the corners of her world and a roaring noise permeated her ears, dizziness beckoned and with a brief glimpse of clarity, Miranda knew, a vision, raw, intense and vibrant was coming, stronger than before, bright lights broke the cloak of darkness over her eyes, and the lights danced around and in her central vision, although she couldn’t identify what was hiding behind the mass of colours.

Collapsing to the floor, sobbing, chair hurtling to one side, Miranda clutched her eyes, trying to blot out the light. ‘I don’t want it, I don’t want it’, she begged silently. ‘Please’.
Her inner cries unheard to the crowd of onlookers, just mere whimpers as she rocked back and forth, desperate to drown out the forthcoming vision. A blinding flash of light cleared the images, like a theatre curtain being drawn back. Miranda saw herself, white face and dark eyes looking with horror at something unseen. She was stood on a corridor or landing, shadows swathed the way and she watched as the image of herself was backed into a corner. She narrowed the peripheral image, focusing only on herself and saw, a gentle curve to her stomach, fingers clasped on her abdomen for protection, before the visionary Miranda was hurtled backwards down a long spiral staircase where death was awaiting at the bottom.

As quickly as the vision had come, it cleared, like mists departing and she came too, mouth dry, head aching, disorientated and body bruised where she had fallen on the floor.

“Are you ok?” A strong, soft Italian accent broke into her conscious mind as she struggled to her feet “ I can get you a doctor?” the voice was kind, reassuring, patient, she thought it was the café owner but couldn’t be sure.
“No, no really, I just fainted, need to sit quietly “ The man, guided her to her chair before returning with a glass of iced water, she nodded weakly in thanks, resting her head in her arms on the table. Her mind felt like it was fractured into a million tiny pieces, a jigsaw puzzle of consciousness. The visions were getting stronger and more regular and seemingly showing her something new each time. Something relevant?

Miranda wept, soft hot tears that scalded her cheeks and dripped onto the table top, it was all so real and yet not, her memory felt fuzzy but the fear felt real and gripped her in an icy embrace. Sipping water, Miranda felt her senses returning to normal, she was able to open her eyes, view the room and was vaguely aware of the concerned looks from all. If she’d had the energy, she would have felt embarrassed, instead, the reality of her situation was too overwhelming for her to care about other people and what they thought. She retreated back into her thoughts, it was a scarier but necessary place to be. She tried to look at the vision from an entirely dispassionate point of view but this was not easy. How could she when the terrified woman was her, at a time in her life which was unknown as yet. Miranda knew that she needed to take as much note as possible about each and every vision from now on, she needed to think about the clothes that she was wearing, how old she looked, and try to identify the location. But most of all she needed to identify her attacker and somehow stay away from his or her clutches. Miranda allowed herself to drift back into the vision, there was no discerning jewellery to be identified, her clothes were dark and loose and she looked the same as she did now but terrified of course. There wasn’t even enough of the place to be able to identify it, it was just a landing in a house or an upstairs corridor but everything was swathed in shadows with no paintings or door numbers to give her a clue. There had to be something that could help her out and then she realised…
In her vision, just before she had been brutally pushed down the stairs, just for a moment, she had clasped her stomach, tenderly and with care, Miranda inhaled, the realisation sending waves through her,. Oh god, in her vision, that small curve in the clothes that she had been able to focus on, she had definitely been protecting something, and she was pretty sure that she must have been pregnant at the time of her murder.

She felt sick to the core, this last vision had revealed something so terrible and she couldn’t quite believe it, at some point in the future, someone would force her to fall down the stairs, killing both her and her unborn child.

Miranda felt completely out of her depth, this was just something that didn’t happen to normal people, or anyone. She couldn’t have inherited this from her parents, it wasn’t some sort of family gift, some hushed up secret that they would have been waiting for. Her parents were the most down to earth people that could ever hope to exist. She remembered walking to school with her mother and hopping from square to square on the paving stones, afraid something bad would happen if she touched the lines. Her mother had told her that being superstitious was silly and that there was no point believing in it. She had made her deliberately walk on the lines after that, at least until they got to the school gates. Miranda had cried thinking that something bad would happen to her but her mother had just left her at the school gates and told her to concentrate on her work and forget all that superstitious rubbish. She wondered what she would think now.

Feeling less shaky, Miranda left the coffee shop, the fresh air was a relief after the cloying warmness of the café and at least outside, there was no one to watch her suspiciously in case she passed out again. Walking through the myriad of tiny streets and lanes, Miranda wasn’t sure where she was going, but it felt good to be distracted for a short term, the wet pavements splashed the backs of her legs but she welcomed the sensation and the gentle drizzle made her feel alive once more. People scurried, faces down, jacket collars turned up against the rain. Everyone seemed miserable, Miranda sighed, if only they knew how their lives could turn around so quickly and without warning, it was only a week or so since the first vague visions had started and now within that short space of time, Miranda knew she was going to come to an untimely death if she couldn’t fathom out how to stop those premonitions from coming true. There was just a glimmer of sun, weak yet welcome against the dark clouds and Miranda turned her face up towards it. Gentle rays cast a faint glow across the streets and people instinctively stood up straighter, their expressions warmer.

The pharmacy was only a few doors away from where she stood, it’s large neon flashing sign beckoning her in. She hesitated in the doorway, unsure whether to go in. But the need to know where she was at in connection to her vision, was growing stronger and this seemed as good a place as any to start. She brought the pregnancy test and slipped it into her pocket, at least if she could eliminate any chance of her already being pregnant, then surely all she had to do was to avoid getting that way, no more romantic liasions, no more opportunity of falling in love. Miranda would stay away from any type of connection wondering if that would be a strong enough change to her predicted path? If there were enough changes then the event couldn’t actually happen and she would be safe. ‘Or a little voice said inside her head. You will simply make a different set of events but the result might be the same…death’
Back in her apartment, Miranda viewed the test with doubts, should she do it now? What if she was pregnanct? How would it help to know? This was a nightmare, her life wasn’t about taking risks or having dramas, her life was about order, she didn’t go out drinking heavily like the others, she didn’t socialise that much either , although she had been out on a date about a month ago. Not that she had ever seen him again. She could almost hear her mother’s voice, if you give in to0 easily Miranda, they will never respect you or wish to see you again. Miranda twirled the test around in her long fingers, she was right though. Lars hadn’t contacted her again even though he had promised he would. That night had been amazing, it had been beautiful being held in his arms and they had cried out in passion together. The coming days had been flat and grey by comparison.
The thing that scared her the most was not starting her journey into parenthood, the nappies, the sleepless nights and the extra responsibility, in any other circumstances, she would welcome someone to love, someone that belonged to her and who would love her in return. But at that moment all that she could think of was that a pregnancy meant that she was already close to the moments witnessed in her vision. Possibly weeks or even days away from her own death, Miranda breathed heavily, gripping the pregnancy test in hands that were shaking slightly with dread, there was really only one way to find out and face the consequences.