The day started with Stephanie waking up in a panic. It was barely dawn and the sky was lightening in color from its dark slumber. It was Stephanie's third vision that night but of course it was just another cat stuck in a tree, and at this point Stephanie assumed someone already helped it because she was useless.
Since the day she turned nineteen, Stephanie Lovett was psychic. She wasn't crazy. At least, she didn't think she was. Every time she had a vision, two seconds later said vision would come to life. No time to help; not enough time to warn anyone. Splat: the cat is dead. Boom: the branch falls on her car. She was constantly under attack by judgmental glares and hushed whispers of her town, worsened by her extreme sleep-deprivation. All of this for a useless "power" she couldn't get rid of; Stephanie felt her prospects were bleak.
"God damn it," Stephanie grumbled as she shuffled out of bed into her slippers, scratching the black mop that was her head. The clock read 3:47am.
Parched, she made her way slowly across the apartment to the kitchen where she grabbed a glass from the chipping wood cabinet above the sink and turned on the tap. Brown water again- gross.
Stephanie, still half asleep and fully aware of the top-notch amenities of the Foxberry, surrendered to her exhaustion and got back in bed.
She lay in bed fighting sleep by staring at the water stains on the ceiling, hoping that if she didn't fall asleep, maybe she could help someone before it was too late.
At exactly 5:52 Stephanie woke up again, this time screaming.
It was Mr. Evans.
