Becky blinked once, twice but not three times. Her eyes trying to filter her vision. Respective sight indeed. Three blinks were never, ever needed.

People would try to shuffle from her when they recognized her.

The title of being different in unkind words, unspoken words. Friends, co-workers even kin were not in comfort within her presence.

She could envision the future. She could find the old. She could see both. But she also declined to submit to their curiosity. She used her gift to benefit those in her concern.

Now she sensed in some distress the demise of the most precious person in her life. Her mother being elderly would welcome the good-bye. Should Becky tell her or should she provide hints? Should she be silent?

The Gods/Goddesses blessed her with vision. But she must use it wisely. She must not instill tremors, nor doubts.

There were times like now when she cursed them for their gift. Let it be gone! Let it be from her. Let her be free. Let her die, not her mother. Let it be her choice.