hadn’t avoided death, she just stored it away, and would eventually have to accept it. From the other things she said, I supposed she could at least postpone events for five years. She seemed to see through my thoughts and interrupted. “Just so you know, I could only postpone the cut on my palm by five years because it was a light, non-threatening wound. How long it can be prolonged depends on the strength of my desire and the size of the event. A stronger desire extends the time, and a bigger event shortens it.” “So then how long can you postpone tonight’s accident?” “...Going off intuition, I’m guessing ten days at the most.” Ten days. Once that time had passed, she would die, and I would be a murderer. It didn’t feel real to me. For one thing, the victim of my crime was here talking to me at this moment, and I couldn’t let go of the faint hope that this was all a bad dream. I’d had tens, hundreds of dreams like this where my mistakes had caused irreparable harm to others, so I wondered if that could be all this was. For the time being, I apologized. “I’m sorry. I really don’t know how to make it up to you...” “Fine by me. Apologizing won’t bring me back, nor will it absolve your crime,” she shot at me. “For now, just take me back home.” “...Sure.” “And please drive safely. I won’t stand for you running over someone else.” I drove carefully, as she instructed. The sound of the engine, usually ignored, seemed unusually loud in my ears. The taste of blood in my mouth never leaving, I swallowed my spit repeatedly. ---------- She told me she became aware of her strange power when she was eight.