Judith is walking briskly down the sidewalk, an abomination of a dress folded over her arm, when she sees the man about to destroy the world and the man about to save it.

People would say that Judith can see the future. She’d laugh if she heard it (to hear it, she’d have to tell them), because it’s not like that at all. She’s yet to find a future that’s come true a hundred percent no has she seen something that’s unstoppable.

They’re like threads. Hundreds and thousands of pale, fragile threads arcing out of people towards future destinations, future mistakes, future successes. Some are thicker than others but that doesn’t mean they’re more likely. Instead it means that there’ll be more people involved, a party, a get together, something like that. Maybe they’ll hire ten more people at work or maybe they’ll be going to a funeral soon.

She’s gotten so used to the spiderweb of futures she sees, she barely registers them anymore. She just walks down the street registering baby shower, shoe repair, flat tire, anniversary, trips on way to school, breaks a dish, etc.

She’s doing that today, in fact, right now in the present. She’s going dress shopping for her sister’s wedding (not the bridesmaid, she dodged that one). The colors are grey and silver and hardly any shop sells a dress like that so she’s had to go into the city.

Judith is walking briskly down the sidewalk, an abomination of a dress folded over her arm, when she sees the man about to destroy the world and the man about to save it.