Timeline

Mourning Memories

My eyes burn with the morning sun trying to penetrate through the closed eyelids.

Why in the world are the curtains drawn? What time is it?

I cover my face with my pillow and try to feel for my phone on my bedside table. My hand touched air. I move it back and forth and I still couldn’t find my phone, my lampshade nor the table. What the fuck?
I sit up, groaning. I hated mornings. It somehow made me feel extra grumpy.
I look to my left and find my bedside table missing. What in the world?
I look around frantically. Did someone steal it while I was asleep? Where’s my phone?

Oh god.

Briiing. Briiing.

An... Alarm?

The annoying sound comes from my right. I look that way and find my bedside table and on it my phone. My old phone.
I was wide awake now, and I take in my surrounding. This isn’t my room.

Why am I back in my old room? What’s going on?

I scramble to my feet, my legs getting caught in the sheets, and I trip and fall hard on the floor. Footsteps outside my room could be heard, and then the door is thrown open. Standing in just shorts was someone who wasn’t supposed to even be there in the first place.

“Peter?” My voice hoarse and frightened.

“Are you alright? Here, let me help you.” He untangles the sheets from my legs and helps me to my feet. “What are you doing first thing in the morning?” He sighs, shaking his head.

A habit he had whenever I made mistakes.

I stared at him, unable to comprehend what was happening. “Why are you here?”

“What do you mean why? I’m not supposed to be in my own house?” He asked me, baffled

No. You were not. Because you flew to the Middle east two years ago.

How could my brother be standing in front of me? And why does he look so young? Why am I still in my old room? And what’s with that annoying alarm!?

“Did you have a nightmare?” He asked, genuinely worried. I just shook my head. He sighed relieved. “Okay so get your ass downstairs for breakfast. If you don’t hurry you’ll be late for school.” With that he left my room.

School? Why must I go to school? I had graduated from high school five years ago.

Something doesn’t feel right.

I take slow steps to my mirror, afraid to see myself. Yet I was curious.
Standing in front of my dresser mirror, I find large grey eyes staring back at me. It was me. The old me. The me from my highschool days.

I felt the world swirling around me. I held onto the dresser to stop myself from falling. I felt nauseous. What was happening? Is this all a dream?

“Christina hurry up!” My mother yelled from the kitchen. She always did that back in the days.
I don’t answer back. I sit back on my bed clutching my throbbing head trying to figure out what was happening. I look at the tiny calender on my study table. 26th June 2014.

A dreaded year for me.

Why am I back to being a 17-year-old? When I slept last night I’m positive I was the 23-year-old me.

“Are you sure you're alright? You're sweating profusely.” My brother had appeared once more, now dressed in his school uniform .
That’s right. My brother must be eighteen and a senior in school.
He doesn’t say anything else and leaves, giving me my space. He has always been the considerate brother. And he still is.
I couldn’t possibly put a finger as to what was happening but my mother’s constant yelling was giving me a headache and so I got dressed in my uniform and stared at the mirror once more.