She dreamed she was on a tightrope.
Ahead of her, her past, becoming clearer with every faux-confident, shaking step.
Glancing down, she saw her future far below, scattered like plane-crash debris. She saw every moment of her future, all her choices, all her outcomes.
But on a tightrope you cannot afford to look down. She jittered and swayed, this time a little too perilously. Head up, back straight, eyes on your target.
Stop. Breath. Restart. Step.
No one saw her when she fell.
She cried when she awoke because no one ever sees you falling in your dreams.