Desolate

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How do I start explaining that once it’s 11:00 AM each morning, my front door would open and I will be in a desolate area, a place totally different from my apartment? The first day it happened, my front door opened, the vicinity of my apartment changed. I was standing in a lonely path and I was visibly shaking.

I noticed a little girl standing behind me with her back turned. She was weeping silently. I could sense she was in pain. Her dress was soiled with blood. I tried moving nearer to console her but I was immediately pushed back to my room.

Yesterday, the same thing happened. I found the girl again. I wanted to talk to her, to ask her why she was there alone and to tell me what was going on. But I was also pushed back to my room, I couldn’t see her face.

This morning I was determined to see the girl’s face. I was a little bit scared. I was ready to go in again. I set the alarm to 11:00 AM. The alarm startled me and my front door opened. I was standing in the lonely area again with the girl weeping there.

I immediately rushed towards her, grabbed her and turned her around with every energy in me. I was shocked at the figure standing before me. I stood transfixed.

“You’re me!” I screamed.

I stood looking at the little me. I was dumbfounded. “What the hell is happening?!” I screamed again. But something caught my attention. The dress, the blood, the bruises on her body. My mind went back. I could remember the day I had that dress on, the accident, the scream—my parents death. I began to cry.

She began to talk, the little me, with silent sobs interrupting her words.

“You’re inside your memory. You should stop blaming yourself for mother’s and father’s death. Yes, you wanted to go to the movies that day amidst the rainfall. But it wasn’t your fault. You should bury this memory and forgive yourself. That way, you won’t come here again.”

Slowly, she moved backwards. I wanted to talk, to ask questions. But I was immediately pushed back to my apartment.

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