AHA! THE MUSE IS BACK!!! Haha, 'tis a very temperamental beast, my muse is. It generally only strikes when I have no access to a computer. This time, though, it couldn't resist. The threat of the imminent finale has kicked us both into hyper drive.

So this is the result. Short, yes. Give me a break. I work two jobs and go to school. Thank God for vacations. No, really, thank you God. Anywho, on with the lovelies!

I would never claim to be as brilliant, or as completely idiotic, as those who brought us ELI STONE. I mean, seriously, CANCLED?!

He was a vortex, constantly capturing and compressing others as he spun in a seemingly aimless and destructive pattern. He had no ability to stop the route forced upon him, no power to change directions and repair the damage that he had caused to countless lives. The damage he had taken himself. It was predestination, and it was curse as much as blessing.

The visualizations had been entertaining at one point. The singing, the dancing . . . They had provided a distraction from the mundane of success. But entertaining had gradually progressed to annoying, then on to disruptive. These glimpses into a future time (given in convenient pop-star form) began to influence his perceptions and even his decisions. He no longer viewed them as amusing; they foretold a reality that ranged from delightful to horrifying. Seeing the people he cared about depicted in such settings appalled him. But there was nothing he could do.

Over time, the visions took on a distinctive form. They pointed to a gift, a special calling. This enthralled him. Messenger to a higher power? Who could bear such a title? A Stone! But with the excitement came fear. The life of a prophet is not an easy one in any age, and this secular time was unlikely to accept the gift. He was apprehensive; he could bear it no longer.

As he gazed down at the sleeping child who had become the focal point of his whirlpool life, Aaron Stone felt only pity. He took another swig of beer, attempting to drown the feeling. Eli was going to do great things, was supposed to help a lot of people. He was special. He wouldn't fall into the trap that his father did.

Another bottle of alcohol, finished. Aaron felt self-loathing. He knew the pain he was causing his wife and two boys. He couldn't help it, though. Prescience had made him a hunter, hungry for a consistency and a simplicity that was constantly denied. He was a vortex, spinning as he fed on others. He could only pray that his son would be better.

It will do. Not completely satisfied, though. I must fall back into the author framework, especially in this fandom. I tread on paths lain by writing geniuses.

Suggestions and comments are shamelessly solicited. Peace out!