I remember every detail that occurred on December 24^th, 5012.

I was five years old running wildly through the house as I waited for my mom’s return.

She’d promised we’d open gifts early, and I was excited to drink hot chocolate and sit in my mother’s lap, drawing. I was Mom’s mini-me, her exact copy. I couldn’t wait to show her the drawing I made of us. Big me and little me – mother and daughter. It was an image that she would never get to see.

I sat at the top of the stairs; my kitty, Moonlight, pressed against my chest as we patiently waited. When I heard the loud knock on the hardwood door, I knew something was wrong. Maybe it was the feeling in the pit of my stomach that flipped and turned as my anxiety shot up – my nerves caused me to shiver in fear.

Auntie Nela, my mom’s best friend rushed to the door, opening it slowly. The storm outside blew in; snow whipped into our home, bringing along the windy chill. The cold only made my nerves grow; my little arms cuddled around Moonlight who purred quietly as if to calm my troubled soul.

A tall man entered our home; his black and blue uniform looked like the police officers I met once at the mall. He had bright green eyes, short, dark hair peeked out beneath his hat. He bowed to my Aunt; his eyes looked up to meet mine.

I saw the growing sadness that flickered within them – the emotion so prominent that I knew he was the bringer of bad news. My Auntie escorted him to the living room and sat down on our cream, suede sofa. I silently walked down the stairs; Moonlight remained in my arms while I peeked into the living room. The fire burned; the last pieces of firewood crumbled in the fireplace, crackling lowly in the quiet living room.

I could smell the fresh scent of the pine; our Christmas tree was decorated from top to bottom. The lights flickered on and off in different patterns, making the ornaments glisten beneath the low lights. I especially loved the gold glitter on each red orb, matching the tinsel that wrapped around the prickly branches. The decorative presents sat neatly beneath at the base of the tree, ready to be opened and reveal gifts from Mommy, Auntie and Uncle Kendrick.

I knew there was nothing from Daddy, but Mommy always said maybe this year he’d surprise me. I was glad he was asleep from his daily dose of alcohol – the fluid that made him do horrible things. It was the same liquid that caused him to hit Mommy ever so often.

Mommy had always said he didn’t mean it, that the liquid caused him to get angry. I didn’t think that was an excuse, even back then. If the liquid made him angry, I didn’t see the reason for drinking it in the first place. Maybe if I’d voiced my thoughts, my mommy wouldn’t have gone out that day.

“I’m sorry. She was found by a jogger who was passing by. She was already gone by the time the paramedics got there.” The police officer disclosed.

I was confused by his words. Gone? Who was gone? Why would the police officer wear a sad expression? Was someone dear to him gone?

I walked into the room, unable to stay hidden in the shadows of the hallway. The police officer turned his gaze to me, that sad expression grew even sadder. I didn’t understand why he looked like he was about to cry. Did he need a hug?

“What’s your name?” He asked, his voice soft and friendly.

“Scarlet. This is my kitty Moonlight. He doesn’t like when I leave him alone for long. He’s keeping me company until mommy comes home.”

“Meow.” Moonlight jumped out of my grasp, sitting next to my bare feet.

I could see the tears form in the man’s eyes as he turned away from me. I tilted my head in confusion, unable to stop my hand from reaching out and holding onto his.

“Don’t cry, officer. Why are you sad?” I questioned.

I didn’t know I’d see the events flash by me with such accuracy that his words would mean nothing.

Snow. Lots and lots of snow fell from the sky, like rain on a rainy day. It was cold, so very cold, as the officer walked into the knee-deep snow. I could sense the dread; agony coursed through him as he approached.

His green eyes looked at the female jogger, her head in her hands as she cried, being comforted by the second officer. He walked forward; his eyes needed to see for himself – to confirm the report of a dead body found in the snow. My body came to stop - my sight followed him as if I was there, his feelings meshed with mine as our eyes landed on the victim.

He knew this woman. Who didn't know her for the art she created – the masterpieces that hung on display at sold-out shows and galleries. He remembered seeing her beautiful, brown hair, curled to suit her oval face. From her tanned complexion, blushed rosy cheeks and those red lips, she was a sight to see. What was most beautiful about her were her eyes. Those blue-green eyes sometimes made me question what her background was. Whatever it was, they'd blessed this woman with the gift of art and beauty.

But now, she was gone – her once tanned complexion, pale white. Her brown locks were drenched in blood, those rosy cheeks ravaged by claw marks, and the eyes many adored were dull and lifeless.

I blinked out of the vision; my aunt stood next to me with tears in her eyes.

"Scarlet? Please don't tell me..." She trailed off, not able to say the next words. I turned back to the police officer; those emerald eyes glowed on and off. It should have scared me, but what was more frightening: glowing eyes or seeing your mommy’s dead body?

I should have cried or screamed, but I stood there in silence. Maybe I was trying to figure out if the vision was real. Maybe I assumed it was the near future and I could prevent what I foresaw?

I let go of his hand, turned and walked towards the drawing board in the opposite corner of the room. I felt Moonlight sit next to my feet, not wanting to leave my side. I think his presence gave me comfort, as I flipped the large drawing paper to a clean sheet.

The image I was about to draw deserved every inch of white paper. It needed to be as detailed as possible – maybe it would convince me of the truth I begged to ignore.

I picked up the pencil, looking at its sharp tip. No, the pencil would fade, and this image could never be erased. I returned the pencil to its place, picking up a thin ink pen mom would use to sketch her art. I would draw this to perfection and show her when she came home. My mom would probably not like the gruesome image but at least she'd see it for herself.

Then, when I asked her to stay home instead of going out in a cold like today, she'd listen.

Her body was displaced; her right arm was dislocated, twisted in a sickly manner. Her legs were spread out, bruises and claw marks all over. Her neck had finger marks, making it quite obvious she’d been strangled to death once her murderer was done with her. Her dull, bluish green eyes stared up at the sky as it began to snow; tears stained her clawed cheeks and blood poured down the side of her mouth.

I allowed my hand to begin its task – stroke by stroke, line by line, creating the image that lingered in my mind. I wished the vivid image would fade like all my other visions, but I had a hunch this would stay with me – would haunt me for many years to come.

I could hear Auntie talking in the background; probably telling the cop what she told anyone who witnessed my gift – my ability to see the past, present or near future with a simple touch of my palm.

That's why I was so different. Grandma on Daddy’s side said it ran in the family. I just wished I got to meet them, so I knew I wasn't the only different person in this world. As the image came to life, I could hear light sobs. Poor Auntie, I wanted to cry too. But Mommy didn't like it when I cried. Bad things happened when I cried or became mad.

Were my previous cries for my mom not to leave the reason why she wasn't home? Was she mad at me for not listening to her words? Mommy, I'm sorry, come back home. I won't cry or get mad anymore.

My hand stilled at the last stroke, dropping back to my side. I stepped back, Moonlight still at my feet, glancing at the final image – the replica of what the police officer saw – my mommy in the snow in a pool of blood. Her lifeless eyes stared back at me, as dull as the black pen could portray.

If only those who saw the image could feel how the officer felt. I could feel his sadness; the sorrow so deep as if it was his mother in the snow. But no one could feel mine. The pain that harbored in my heart as the image began to fade and exhaustion took over.

It had always been like this, to be struck by an image as clear as day and within minutes it would be gone like it had never occurred. The images I drew were what remained, along with the exhaustion that tore through me. It left me sleepy and my eyes heavy, but if I slept I wouldn't be able to open gifts with my mom.

The darkness clawed at my vision; black spots took over – dot by dot, taking over the image before me as if it wanted to rid me of the screams and cries that threatened to escape me.

I needed to stay awake, to fight against the darkness. I needed to stay awake, so I could tell her what was going to happen. Or even worse; this all could be reality and mom was never coming home.

The darkness won; my body fell back into someone's arms.