John the Revelator
He had visions. Since childhood, he would awake in cold sweats soaking through his sheets, screams still ringing in his ears. He saw tidal waves block out the sun while washing dishes. The sky burned with nuclear sequoias as he flipped burgers on Independence Day. Deluges of corpses floated past as he sat in traffic on rainy Monday mornings. He never told his wife and children, although the natural cataclysms and manmade disasters on the news every year tempted him to speak his premonitions. However, his visions never came to pass, and he questioned their meaning on his quiet deathbed.