Only after his third horrible encounter with the neighbors’ dog he realized that those weird daydreams he was having were actually memories of the future. The visions were vivid, but faded quickly. Hours later he could remember only the sense of urgency and, sometimes, the love or the terror. That day, after sloppily applying a bandage to his swollen ankle, he purchased a notebook and some pens. He then embarked upon a terrible, terrible effort to remember what those memories of the future were about. It amounted to nothing whatsoever. Come midnight he succumbed to his exhaustion, slept with the empty notebook in his lap, sat up in bed a bit after sunrise, groggily wrote something in the notebook, dropped it on the floor, fell asleep again, and finally, late in the afternoon, woke up.
He spent the evening avoiding the notebook, sensing – was that, too, a memory of the future? – that he’s not going to like what’s in there.
Eventually, indeed he didn’t.
Will fall in love -> have wonderful child -> crippled by child -> wife and child take care of handicapped in wheelchair till dead.
No bloody way, he thought. I’m not spending the rest of my life in a fucking medical contraption.
It took him a few seconds to become absolutely determined never to love a woman. It took the universe a few more seconds to collapse.