Can someone write me a story! It has to have drama, big problems, and conflict. The story has to be at least a Full page and a half. I am giving the brainiest to a person with the best answer. Anyone else that asks a question and gets the points will be reported! Ask questions in the question area under the question. Thank you!

I’m not normal.

I wish I was, but I’m not. I have the ability to predict people's deaths. My first awareness of this “Gift” came when I was nine years old. It was a good year for me. My grades were good, and I was very popular. A friend of mine, Sandra, invited me over to her birthday party. I was ecstatic. I bought her a wonderful art set, 25 colours, 4 different types of brushes, and 3 canvases. It was a gift I could be proud of. The day came finally. At Sandra's house it was full and vibrant. Streamers were tied elegantly to a big “HAPPY BIRTHDAY SANDRA!”

It turned out to be a lovely day, we played games, ate cake, and played more games. It was dark when Sandra’s grandparents came, they were loaded with presents. I grabbed another piece of cake and sat at the couch to watch Sandra open her gifts. After about the tenth doll Sandra had received I began to get quite bored. My eyes lingered around the room to find something else to stare at. I watched Sandra’s grandparents. For a while everything seemed to be normal. Then images flashed through my mind. Images of sandra’s grandparents swerving through a dirt road, then suddenly they were thrown out of the car. I stared at them in horror. Suddenly, without thinking. I threw myself at them, tears strolled my cheeks.

“What is it, dear?”

I couldn't make out words so I huffed, “Don’t...go...home!”

The old lady looked quite confused, “Well, why not Dear?”

“B-because you-you’ll die!”

This time Sandra’s grandpa spoke. He said in a harsh voice, “That’s the biggest load of rubbish I’ve ever heard!” I slumped away dejectedly, wondering if I had really seen a vision or not.

I had.

Sandra's grandparents died in a car crash the next day. It scared me so badly that I couldn't eat or sleep. I went to their funeral, I couldn't help but feel responsible. Over the next few years, other incidents occurred. One of them happened to my best friend when I was sixteen. I told her not to go to a certain party with a certain someone. She didn't listen to me. She was accidentally pushed off a bridge and died. After her death I began to wonder why I could do what I do. I began to get nightmares. Random people I saw on the street would have all kinds of horrible fate in my dreams. The worst part was, I knew it was going to come true. I searched for three years looking for someone to help me. Finally one lady said she knew of a psychiatrist who deals with problems like this. She gave me the lady's phone number, and the address of the building where she worked. I was excited and immediately made an appointment to see her tomorrow morning. On closer observation of the building where she supposedly worked, I noticed it looked very dilapidated and run down. It gave me small chills, but I brushed it off and walked in. The inside looked just as depressed as the outside. But again I ignored the voice inside me that told me to turn around. I registered into the system and waited in the waiting area for the lady to call my name. Finally she did. I went into the psychiatrist's office. The lady waiting for me was thin and frail. She asked my name. I asked hers. Then I began to explain everything, starting from the incident at Sandra’s party, to the death of my friend. She was very interested. When I was finished she eagerly asked me if I could tell when she would die. I stared at her nervously. Something was off. Nevertheless I knew the answer; yes. I told her she would die of a heart attack. Then she began scarily interested. She walked in circles around me, and asked me all kinds of intrusive and pretty personal questions. It made me incredibly uncomfortable. So I decided to leave. I thanked her quickly and made my way towards the door. But she was faster. She ran to the door and locked it quickly, “Are not going anywhere” she hissed “You’re going to be very useful to me.”

“H-how?!” I was going white. She ran up to a nearby drawer and pulled out an orange knife and slowly walked towards me. I screamed and ran towards the door, banging and screaming. But it was too late. She stabbed me. I fainted. When I slowly awoke I felt different. I ran out of the building and into my house I quickly grabbed a hand mirror to inspect my wounds. But I had none. Instead my entire body was different. I had turned into the psychiatrist! Which gave me the awful feeling that she had turned into me. Which made me wonder why. Then I remembered that she had been extremely interested in me. She couldn't probably make a lot of money as a fortune-teller. Needless to say I wanted my body back! I've been spending years now searching all over the country looking for the lady to return her body back. So if you see a thin looking psychiatrist, who doesnt look like she knows what she's doing. You’ll know it’s me, still frantically searching for my body

source text: from the sketch here given it will be seen, that our good grandmothers differed considerably in their ideas of a fine figure, from their scantily dressed descendants of the present day. a fine lady, in those times, waddled under more clothes even on a fair summer's day, than would have clad the whole bevy of a modern ball room. nor were they the less admired by the gentlemen in consequence thereof. on the contrary, the greatness of a lover's passion seemed to increase in proportion to the magnitude of its object—and a voluminous damsel, arrayed in a dozen of petticoats, was declared by a low-dutch sonnetteer of the province, to be radiant as a sunflower, and luxuriant as a full blown cabbage. certain it is, that in those days, the heart of a lover could not contain more than one lady at a time; whereas the heart of a modern gallant has often room enough to accommodate half a dozen - - the reason of which i conclude to be, either that the hearts of the gentlemen have grown larger, or the persons of the ladies smaller — this however is a question for physiologists to determine. add punctuation to the following excerpt. writing under the name of diedrich knickerbocker washington irving aimed his potent satire at as diverse topics as political rivals such as thomas jefferson to the very ideal of looking back on the past affectionately: a fine lady, in those times, waddled under more clothes even on a fair summer's day, than would have clad the whole bevy of a modern ball room. a voluminous damsel, arrayed in a dozen of petticoats, was declared by a low-dutch sonnetteer of the province, to be radiant as a sunflower, and luxuriant as a full blown cabbage. in those days, the heart of a lover could not contain more than one lady at a time; whereas the heart of a modern gallant has often room enough to accommodate half a dozen

i could of w this question but i don't see a " passage " .

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sorry ! ):