The Requiem Plays Silently

I'm sure you're all familiar with the term Necrokinesis; it is used to describe the ability to manipulate death. On the most fundamental level, a necrokinect can both inflict and undo death. But there is so much more to it; why not remove your own death and make yourself immortal? Why not kill yourself for a certain amount of time, just to see how it's like? Why not use it to obtain unlimited power and influence, and all that you may desire?
Sounds like a pretty awesome ability, right?

Wrong.

I am telling this because not all powers can be controlled.

Try to picture this: you dream of a person dying, and within short time, that person will inevitably die, often in a manner that transpired in your dream. You cannot control it, you cannot change the outcome, you cannot stop that person from dying.

That is my curse.

The first dream happened when I was only 7 years old. I dreamed of my grandfather breaking his neck. Only days later, he slipped on frozen stairs. He survived, but he broke his right arm, and the paramedics that took him to the hospital said that it was a miracle he didn't break his neck.

Through years, the dreams went on. They were quite rare, mind you; only about one every 3-4 years. But unlike the first time, they were now infallible. None whose death I dreamed lived longer than two weeks afterwards. And their causes were always very similar to same to that in my dream. Heart attacks, illnesses, accidents. I was never wrong.

However, the worst was yet to come.

Three years ago, I was transferred to another school. I didn't like it, but my parents had the final word. Initially, I hated it. But over the time, I grew to like it. Mostly because of her. At first, she was just a colleague. Then a friend. And before I knew it, I was in love with her over the Ninth Heaven.

But fate wouldn't have it.

About a year and a half after I met her, I had a dream that will haunt me for as long as I live. In my dream, I woke up to a beautiful morning. Due to some strange habit of mine, I always sleep on the right edge of a bed, so there is plenty of room for at least two persons on the rest of it. But I digress. As, I was saying, I woke up, and when I turned to the left, I saw her, beautiful as ever, laying there, looking so serene... almost too serene. Suspicion got the best of me and I touched her. She was as cold as ice. The shock of it woke me up, this time for real, and the scenery that was there to greet me was the beautiful morning.

I felt uneasy on my trip to school. And when I got there, she wasn't there. At this point, uneasines passed to fear, and then instantly to panic, and for the first time in a long time, I broke into tears. And to top it all up, it started raining heavily, virtually out of nowhere.

Next day, she came to school, but I still felt like Hell, because I knew what would happen: she would die in her sleep, most likely before the fortnight has passed by. And there was nothing I could do. I could only sit there, as helpless as a child, and watch the only person I truly loved stride ever closer to the Reaper.

A week after that initial dream, I had another one. In this one, I was waiting for a bus. There were several other people on the station with me, and soon the bus arrived. It turned out it was not the one I was waiting, but several people got on. Among them was a man about my age, dressed in a black jumpsuit. As he got on, he dropped someting. I immediately rushed to pick it up and return it to him, but by the time I got there, the bus was already gone. I took a closer look at what he dropped. It turned out to be a wristwatch. Nothing special or unique; simple digital watch with rubber belt. But there was one detail I found slightly unnerving: the watch didn't work, it stopped at 12:12.

The day after, I had one final dream, and when I look back, it was the worst. I was at the train station. I was night, almost pitch black, save for  one street lamp, that revealed that I was in the waiting room, and that someone else was sitting opposite of me. I couldn't see their face was obscured in shadow, but they were dresses in black jumpsuit. Whoever, whatever that was, it spoke to me. I don't remember what it said, but I knew I had to make a choice, and that I would signify my choice ba raising either hand. At that moment, I felt a rush of panic, and immediately raised my left hand. After a few moments of silence, the person opposite of me buried its face in its palms and started to weep. It wept for several more minutes, before saying, in a voice that was as deep as earth, the only words I ever remember hearing from it:

"You poor, poor man..“

I felt eerie and uncomfortable that day. And at 12:12 that day, I recieved a phone call from my sister: a friend of mine from my former school was hit by a train. She died on spot.

From that day on, I never found true peace. The girl from my class still lives, but we are no longer friends. In fact, she resents me. Still, if only she knew what I did for her... I transferred death that was meant to her to another person, who could live long life and die of age, just so that she may live.

I'm not going to lie; sometimes, I feel like a murderer. But most of the times, I know that I am simply a tool. Death will have her share, and she isn't picky.