People don't always tell you things. Sometimes, people tell you nothing. It can sometimes lead to being helpful, as some things should best be forgotten, not to be shared. But sometimes, that information must be known, otherwise it could lead to uninformed failure. Sometimes, if it is crucial enough, the result of not being informed could lead to catastrophic results. That is why people tell you things, as it could quite possibly save a life. That is why people share information. Now, sometimes, miscommunications do happen, and when that happens, then there is really nothing we can do. It is done. There is no way to change the past.
Greg was a timid boy. He didn't have too many friends, as he found that being a social butterfly was too much of a chore. He would much rather spend his days alone, working and researching on his main passion: time. He found time as a whole completely fascinating. He would study, day after day, looking up any facts to help his hypothesis and theories. It may have been August of 2018, but he still had very limited technology there in Lincoln Hollow. Computers from the 2000's were his most up-to-date things. That's how his habit of poking his head in the Lincoln Hollow Library was started. He would pop in so frequently that, to the old librarian, was like that one grandchild who always ended up being dumped off at the grandparents house. It was a good thing she enjoyed Greg's company. They had a strange relationship, that's for sure.
It was 7:00pm, August 20th, 2018. Greg was working on his makeshift-telescope, since his parents couldn't afford a normal one. Humming a tune, he finished up working on it for the night, and collapsed in his bed, exhausted. "Good lord, why do I work myself down to the bone?" He questioned to his faded wallpaper. Why did he work himself to the bone? He knew it would have a bad affect on him the next day. With the light of the sun slipping away with dusk on it's tail.
Ugh, great. Another empty dream, thought Greg as he opened his eyes to the paradox of his mind. He was asleep, but his mind was exhausted to the point of being blank,
no thoughts or ideas passed through the barren land.
But the room wasn't completely empty. There was something... no... someONE was there, sitting in the corner, their face buried in their knees. "Um, hello?" Greg called out to the sobbing figure, reaching his hand out. Why was a complete stranger in his dream? He only had to wonder...
As Greg got closer, he began to make out the details; it was a tall girl, taller then Greg. She wore a small beanie, too small to cover her large ponytail. Her hair was a rich velvet, almost red, almost crimson. She was like a perfect balance between redhead and crimson. The only part of her that didn't fit in was her clothes. She was head-to-toe in torn, punk clothing. "Hello?" Greg called again.
"Hello." The girl lifted her head up. "I'm Grace, the girl from the storm that's about to kill you all."