Can You Trust the Vision?

I learned not to interfere with the visions- not to change the outcomes. Because it never worked out as Granmama would always tell me. But this one was different.

My adult,  bloodied,  daughter, Jay-Lynee, lay on the road. The knife-wielder  had brown-almost-black eyes and elfish ears. Connor.

Maybe it won’t come true-  my visions are never wrong. 

As I drove home, Conner chased his ball out into the road. He stopped.

I could have stopped; I had plenty of time to stop.

But...
the sun was in my eyes; I didn’t see him.

His five-year-old body broke under my tires.