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They say hindsight is twenty-twenty, but when you get far enough ahead, the past is blurry.  Details are forgotten, facts rewritten, wisdom discharged.  The eyes of the future are no different than our own eyes.  Given the eyes of the future this very day, what would a person do?  Some say if they knew how the future would turn out, they would change their ways.  Others would fall down, overwhelmed, unable to cope with what they've learned.  Then, throw in the science fiction theories of changing paths of time...oh, it's a mess.  Are the choices we make differently already calculated in the future we see?  Can we create a completely different universe (your choice isn't that important, or is it)?  Do quantum differences really create an infinite amount of multiverses?  Does the future we see even stem from our own universe?  It truly is too confusing for such a four dimensional being to comprehend.  The things we see through the eyes of the future could only amount to nothing more than the fog of a dream.  

But the mind is a crazy thing; the fog of dreams is all that's needed to change the world.

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(and to be honest, I hate that intro, but here's the next bit, its not tacky! YAY)

Nuun got up from his chair, taking his plate with him to the sink.  As he passed behind his mother still cooking for his sister, he thanked her and went on his way downstairs.  “You know where I’ll be if you need me, Mom.”

“Okay,” she replied.  “Call for your dad or me if you need us.”

He nodded and stepped down the stairs into the partly finished basement, walking through the room that had become a sort of play room.  It wasn’t the important thing, though.  Through the door to the other side of the basement, past the water heater and furnace, opposite of the washer and dryer, away from his dad’s workbench on the backside of the house…now that is what was important.  They moved a few couches from a yard sale and set up an old desk top computer and two old speakers from Dad’s stereo.  There was only concrete floor, painted over in flaking blue and spots of red: no carpet or hardwood.  There wasn’t much else they could do on military pay.

Mom was gracious, though, and let me throw up some of those colorful lights for the sake of partying, at least as much as a couple of fourteen and fifteen year olds could.  There was a table off to the side of one of the two couches with chips and unopened dip along with space for presents and cake.  He turned the computer on and turned queued up the music to make sure all the songs he wanted were on there.  Gotta make my party worth it.

Nuun’s father walked over and saw him, looked around at everything, then back to Nuun.  “Looks like you’re ready to go.”  They both smiled.  “Last day being fourteen,” he started.

“Yes!”  Again, they looked at each other for a second, and then in unison chimed a joking “whatever” in something of a New York schoolboy tone.  His father walked away and headed upstairs.  Nuun flipped the switch and watched the lights glow idly around the couches.  He pushed strands of his shaggy lavender hair out of his face and looked himself in his purple eyes reflected in the screen.  Before he headed on with his day and his chores, he twitched his whiskers and fluffed the fur on the side of his fox face before having a thought too slight to remember.

 

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