FATE'S CRUEL HAND WAS ALREADY IN A FIST.

The five-year-old boy awakened in the morning as if nothing happened. Only a vague sense of unease had lingered as he sat up in his bed and looked out his window. He forgot his anxiety in less than a day.

The memory of the dream loitered a little longer.

In his dream, a woman came out of the forest and wore a white nightgown. Her hair was black as coal and her lips were as red as cherries. If it weren't for the moon, the boy would have mistaken her eyes to be dark and empty. They were as dark as the night soil that was underneath her bare, pale feet.

The boy stared in awe as he looked out his bedroom window. The moon was the only source of light in the coat of night. He did not know why he woke up at exactly five minutes past one in the morning. He did not understand why he was ready for the arrival of the young woman who stood at the edge of the woods. What he did know was the woman wasn't who she appeared to be. A black cat took the place of where the woman was standing.

The boy continued to stare in awe. The cat ran toward the boy's window, but the boy knew not to be afraid. He had been expecting it. The black cat began to run up the maple tree that was near the boy's window. It perched on the thick branches.

The memory of the dream faded quicker than the boy's unease. His life continued as normal. It wasn't until six years later did the boy have a sense of vague dejá vú.

He was sitting at a park bench, where a maple tree stood firm beside him. He didn't know why, but a black cat perched above him. He glimpsed into its brown eyes before it climbed down and ran away. The boy's long-forgotten unease began to creep upon him. A trickle of sweat beaded his face. He knew it was not because of the setting sun.

The boy passed out from a flood of anxiety and confusion. The last thoughts in his mind were not his own.

When you awaken, I'll be waiting. For now, sleep my child. It's not time yet, so sleep.

The boy woke up and forgot once again.