Weekend Fiction - Introduction to Oracle

This is chapter 1 of my science fiction serial, Oracle.  As always I greatly appreciate any feedback.  Thanks!

Chapter 1; Introduction to Oracle

I am alone.  It is only here, in my home where I can have any peace.  My radio is tuned to static, turned to a thundering volume.  A few strategically placed strobes flash sporadically, at random intervals.  They keep me distracted, so I don’t have to listen to the voices.

I waste so much time searching for things I lose, I really should clean up; but if I don’t keep myself busy, I won’t be able to function.  Free time is my enemy.  In my quiet times, there is nothing but noise.  Images of suffering, of death, bombard me constantly.  I find no peace in quiet, only struggle.

My ability has made me rich; I have everything I could ever buy.  I’ve traveled the entire world and lived a life that other people only dream of.  I have more money than I could ever spend in my lifetime.  I don’t even care about the money though; all I need is enough to keep filled with food and noise.

People tell me that they love me; they tell me that they envy me.  Other people tell me that I am demon possessed, that I am cursed.   Others brand me as a prophet, as the anti-Christ or as the devil himself, taken on human form.  For many years now, my greatest wish has been that I could give my ability away, that someone else could bear my burden, even for a day.

My business cards say simply ‘Oracle’.  No one really seems to care about my name; Oracle is plenty of information for my clients and I don’t have any friends.

I predict the future.  Other people may claim to predict the future, but I do.  I am the only person I know that is never wrong; 100% of the things that I predict actually happen. I predict the future, and I solve problems.  I have solved every problem ever given to me.  It’s almost frighteningly easy for me; I simply look ahead for the solution and steal the answer from the future.

I have never been wrong.  I predict stock prices, the weather, anything at all.  I make predictions for corporations and they pay ridiculous sums of money for the service.  Politicians hire me to advise campaigns.  I give them a single word of advice; yes or no, and they are desperate to pay me.  I regularly meet with military clients; we discuss tactics, new weapon systems, and outcomes of wars that haven’t happened yet.

I should have been happy, earning absurdly large amounts of money to do the simplest tasks, but I was miserable.  Then it somehow got much worse.  I was hired by a wealthy gentleman who wanted to know the exact circumstances of his own death.  I had never thought about predicting a death before; now I see death constantly.  I have to fight to keep death out of my mind.  That is where the noise comes in.  I try to drown out the noise inside my head with noise outside.  Static, flashing lights; these are my sources of comfort.  Sometimes they work better than others.

I had a name once.  I was a child once.  My ability used to be fun.  I always knew where everybody was when we played hide and seek.  I was always the winner at Easter egg hunts.  In school, I could see my teachers grading tests and copy the correct answers.

In my twenties, life started getting worse.  Nothing was ever challenging.  I could never meet new people, new places were intimately familiar.  And everywhere I went there were more and more people.  I became fixated on the endless suffering and death!  I was struck by the idea that every person I ever saw was going to die, and I was burdened with knowing the exact time and circumstances of their death.  I tried everything I could to find peace, but the more I struggled, the worse I felt.

Slowly, my friends disappeared.  I had plenty of people that claimed to enjoy my company, but the fact that I helped them make billions of dollars contributed to that.  I was flooded with marriage proposals, but romance was impossible for me.  ‘Til death do us part’ seems to lose meaning when you know exactly how long that is.  If anyone had any ulterior motive in befriending me (and everyone did), I saw it.  After asking me to tell them the most intimate details of the future, they would act as if they cared about me and somehow believe that I wouldn’t see through them.

I tried everything I could think of to be rid of my power.  I knew that I would be happy if I could just be rid of it; I could be normal, like everyone else.

I dreamed of having a normal life.  I dreamed of having a wife; having children and growing old.  In my dreams, friends were never far away.  I had true friends that didn’t like me for what I could do for them, but just because they were my friends.  I saw myself at peace, napping quietly in my hammock while the children played.

My future however was the one thing I wasn’t sure about.  I could read the future for everyone else, but my own future remained a mystery.  I don’t know why I am not allowed to see my future, but it is possibly my greatest blessing, and my greatest curse.  Perhaps my life would be more bearable if I knew that something would change soon, or even if I knew I didn’t have much longer to live.  On the other hand though; I wasn’t sure how the knowledge of my own death would affect me.  It’s nearly more than I can bear to see the death of others, I don’t know if I could handle seeing my own.  For all I know, I might be immortal.  That could be the most horrible future of all.

The greatest gift I could receive would be surprise.  I’ve never been surprised by anything.  I’ve never had a surprise party, I’ve never been surprised by a plot twist in a book or a movie.  Living the life that others dream of held no excitement for me, only prolonged torture away from my noise.

What is my greatest hope?  I wish I could hope.  People tell me to trust in god; they tell me that god is my only hope.  How can I of all people put my trust in something I can’t see?  I’ve never seen anything outside of the physical realm.  I’ve seen the deaths of millions of people, and I’ve never seen a death that didn’t lead to somebone suffering.  If I could see any reason for hope; I could live happily.  The only thing that I have to hope in is my own ability.  I know that my ability will always be there for me, always provide for me.  If I can’t have joy, romance, excitement or hope, at least I will have security.

I have a full schedule today; I have a meeting with a high profile client.  After my paying clients, I do several hours of charity each day.  I don’t advertise, but there are always people waiting at my door, wanting to know this or that bit of their future.  They always ask the simple things; will I have a healthy baby, will I win the lottery, will she say ‘yes’…  I answer their questions until I can’t take any more; then it is back to my room, back to my noise and the semblance of peace it brings me.

Thankfully, I don’t dream anymore.