Bryant lay on his bed, his golden amber hawk like eyes would be locked on the ceiling, were they open. His arms were crossed above him, hands pillowed behind his head of dark auburn colored hair. The eighteen year old lay there, as he had ever since he'd arrived home. He'd walk past his seemingly ever happy, and slightly desperate mother when he reached the cheaply made house. He left the woman standing there with a frown on her face, feeling she'd failed her only son, as she felt every time they encountered each other. It wasn't her fault though, no one exactly knew why Bryant was the way he was. But he was infamously known as an antisocial ice prince.

He was a tall, lean young man, with dark red hair that hung slightly before his eyes. And some people were glad that his hair shaded his eyes, since his eerie, dark golden colored eyes were unnerving, falling in perfect unison with his always morbid, frowning expression. They were intense and quite easy to associate with a hawk's eyes. When a person my stare directly at them, it was easy to feel the same way a mouse did before a hawk came down on it. That was only a slim part of why he didn't have any friends. Most of it was his choice.

Bryant was a fairly handsome boy, despite his antisocial nature. He wasn't exactly pale, and he wasn't exactly tan, just the right in-between shade. He was lanky, though had finely toned muscles to make up for it. He wore a white flannel shirt, which in the beginning of the day looked very orderly, and now was quite wrinkled, his blue jeans following suit. It was too bad he was just silent angst wrapped in a pretty package.

Music blared from his stereo as he sank into his thought. The band Incubus strummed out the tune to "Beelzebub", filling the room with the bungee cord like sound

Nice watch! Man d'ya got the time?

There's never enough and it always goes too slow

Man you got your little world

Picture perfect it's a pearl

Now go and try to sleep in the bed you made

Bryant would have been driven into simplistic sleep if he hadn't been busy in his thoughts. Because even through his dark, morbid behavior, there was a reason. Bryant predicted deaths. He heaved in a deep breath, and entered the limitless world inside his mind. It felt like both flying and falling, and soon he lost touch of the world with his falsely happy mother and the bungee-cord sound of Beelzebub. All he could feel was just a warm, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Then it ended, the shock of impact rushing down his spin and shot through the nerves in his back. Now it was time.

His hawk like eyes snapped open, and there it was. The dark void that he had fallen into was gone, replaced by endless white. He simply laid there, staring intently upwards as he might have been outside the confines in his mind. Then, there it was.

A black dot among the white, slowly growing as it drew closer and more defined. Before long, there was a silhouette of a person, or something alike to it. And suddenly it was if air had suddenly become the ground, and he was standing instead of lying down. Bryant looked at the figure in front of him, watching it shift its weight from foot to foot. It reminded him of the Gumbas in the Super Mario Brothers movie, with an extremely small head and large, broad shoulders. Though it's form was more defined, long arms which ended where he suspected it's knees would be. They waved as it shifted, briefly displaying three fingered hands against the white. He breathed in, though he most likely was not breathing in air, or really needed to. Then it began to speak, as their routine of a few moments silence was completed.

"82. Blitzkrieg. San Francisco, California. TV Sitcom. Buy whirlpool refrigerators. 8th street and 19th." Then it ended. The silhouette moved forward, coming towards him. Bryant felt his throat tighten and his heart beat rapidly. No matter how many times it happened, this part always frightened him/ He became enveloped in the black of the silhouette, and he breathed outward as he felt like he was being pulled upward. Slowly, he let his eyes close. After a moment he let his eyes open. He was greeted by the white plaster ceiling above him. His comfortable bed was beneath him, and his stereo was playing. By now, the CD had looped over and was playing "Agoraphobia".

I read the news today

And everything they say

Just makes me want to stay inside and wait

Slowly, he rose from his bed and slipped his shoes on. Thirty minutes later, he was standing at the corner of eighth and nineteenth. People were bustling around the narrow street, pushing against his stoic form, but never making him move more then a waver. One man in a three-piece suit and carrying a brief case was walking by the edge of the sidewalk. Then a large, broad shouldered man bumped into the man roughly. The man in the suit stumbled into the street. When he regained his bearings, it was too late. The truck was screaming, trying to stop. But fifty grand SUV trucks don't stop so easily, and it was too late. The man's side was crushed in by the F250's grill, and his body flung over the car and into the bed like a piece of paper in the wind. People's jaws hung in horror, and the majority of surrounding traffic stopped.

And all the while, Bryant stood there, watching with emotionless hawk eyes.