[Password Protected: Henry Hannigan]23/07 - Winter, poss. early December as Christmas decor present. "Hyvää Joulua!" researched phrase, it's Finnish so geographic placement. Goat was present in background, symbolic? Arguing couple -two men, one early 20s the other 27 exactly- but speaking Finnish(?) so no idea what was said. Argument ended with tearful embrace, 27yo's brother entered unexpectedly holding a sausage.
24/07 - Summer (Winter? S. hemisphere) very clear so happening soon. Boy with dreadlocks [saw him at pool party, need positive ID] and curly-haired boy, physical altercation. Curlyhair used his powers - some kind of radioactivity? Probably wouldn't have known that outside the confines of the dream. Unpleasant, anyway. Very unpleasant.
Consider the Prime Directive. More good than harm if interfere. Might only hasten confrontation? Consider vision: in the future, only boy w/ dreadlocks is affected. What if interference puts more people in danger? One in definite peril or potentially risk the lives of more? Terrible calculus of premonition.
Feck it.
[/Private]I'd like to share something very special to me:
this watch. I was given it, when they first told me what I was. It was meant to cheer me up, and I suppose in a way it did. In Doctor Who, the Time Lords can store their consciousness in a receptacle -it looks like a pocket watch, like the one I own- and then a device overwrites every single cell in their body. It changes them completely, lets them hide from the most dangerous foes the galaxy has to offer. At the time I thought being given it was a joke, but now...I'm not so sure.
I'm a precognitive. I don't run faster, don't train harder. I can't hold my breath for three weeks, and I can't punch through a truck. I don't have the ability to turn your brain into custard with my eyes. In fact, except for the 'gift' that a few times a week I see a quick glimpse of the future, I'm of comparable fitness to any other seventeen-year-old boy who spends too much time indoors and engages in less than regular exercise. The fact that I'm now expected to engage in military-level physical training is...well, it's fecking ridiculous. I don't care who reads it. I hope they read it. Half of you spent the first two weeks here telling us we were exaggerating, that it wasn't all bad. That you were sick of us whining. Now we're children, being trained by soldiers, being forced to exercise like they did to Winston in
1984. What's next, the Two Minutes Hate? Soylent Green is Vols?
I might be a nutty conspiracy theorist to most of you, but the one thing history's taught us is that nobody ever worried about anything until it was too late.
Speaking of which, there's a boy with dreadlocks here somewhere. I need to speak to you about a dream I've had.