A day in the life of the man who predicted everything.

I've got tired of telling, 'I told you so.'

I've been arrested, jeered at, laughed at, fondled with, beaten up, beaten down, trodden on, and I'm still here. I know what you'll do in the next five hours of your life, and I'm safe and far enough to know that you can't kill me. Hopefully.

Morning - I've been put under house arrest, so let's go towards

Afternoon - A couple of Roman guards arrive and do a wee bit of stabbing. I told them a few weeks back that their empire's bound to end if they keep on being like this. It did. Not surprisingly, people are angry. I have a heavy lunch, not having much else to do.

Evening - Time for a little entertainment. I'm tied to four ropes, which have been tied to a particularly energetic horse. With them, rather reluctantly, I take a tour of my city state. People applaud and look with awe - at the horse, not at me. 

On the dais I somehow get the breath to stand and do a little talking. I say "Don't you get it? When you try to avoid my predictions, you actually meet the fate you're running away from. Stop! Don't think of my predictions consciously!"

"Don't you think you should adopt some other profession?", somebody shouts from the crowd, followed by laughter all around.

Perhaps I should. If I do, I know what profession I'll take. It's written. In my head.

Night - I talk to my grandchildren, tell them about things from the future that they'll find harmless. Things like Wikipedia, and Douglas Adams, and french fries. This is the happiest part of my day, because it's followed by

sleep. 

The End

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