The past

Harold was hiking in the woods when it happened. It wasn't a terribly uncommon occurrence - for him at least - but it was something that after years and years of it happening, he still wasn't entirely sure how or why it happened. But, like magic, before his eyes the current world vanished, and it was replaced by an almost grainy view of the past. He could see events which had already transpired, sometimes hundred's of years in the past, though if he was unfamiliar with the events, it was near impossible to say when exactly the scene was taking place. They always were, however, in the space that he was standing.

The trees that he had been standing in were largely unchanged, though their trunks were thinner, and their bark younger and fresher grown. One man came rushing past him to stop a dozen feet in from of him, drenched in sweat, his breathing hard and uneven. Harold recognized the desperate, crazed look in his eyes as the man's head whipped from one side to the other. It was a look that he had seen on more than one occasion when the past appeared before his eyes. It was the look of someone desperate to stay alive.

It didn't take long for the pursuer to arrive on the scene, knuckles white around the dagger in his hand, looking much more energized than his target. The murderer - for there was no question to Harold that that was what he was about to witness - slowed to a stop as he found that his target was finally cornered, unable to escape. Even if he had known where was going, the man simply did not have the energy to make another escape. He was cornered. He was as good as dead.

Harold had no choice but to watch as this crazed murderer advanced forward, raising his blade, and his prey staggered backwards, not paying attention and tripping over his own feet, sealing his doom. He watched him be torn apart apart. He watched the blood spill, soiling the earth beneath him. And then, just before his vision came to an end, the murderer turned to look directly at Harold, making eye contact with him, and pointed the tip at him. "You're next."

And then Harold was back in the present, holding his chest, finding it hard to breath. He didn't understand how that man had seen him. That had never happened before, and people had looked him over dozens of times, unseeing.

But even then, why should he feel so afraid? The difference in the size of the trees suggested that it had been tens, if not hundreds of years since that had taken place. The chances of that murderer even still being alive were abysmal, and even then, surely he would have been caught. And even in the tiny chance that he had not, he would be looking for a much older man. Not the same Harold that he had witnessed.

That was assuming that Harold had even been seen. Which was ridiculous to believe. He wasn't being transported through time, he knew that. He was just seeing what had been. Nothing more. He was sure of it.