I wake up, my vision blurry and my head pounding. My body aches all over, from my toes to my head. What kind of dream did I have last night? Unexpectedly, though, I hear muffled noises around me. I try to rub my eyes, but I can barely even move my arms. I blink repeatedly, hoping my vision will clear. And then, slowly, it does.
When I finally can see, I want to scream—but I can't even talk. Where the hell am I? I say to myself in my mind, my heart pounding harder as panic sets in. There are old women, men, and a young girl surrounding me. They look worried and scared, but somehow, I feel like I know these people. But then again, I don't. Who are they, and why are they trying to speak to me?
I look around and see I'm in a hospital bed with a cast on my arm, but this place feels so old—like it hasn't been updated in years. The walls are cracked, and the faint smell of antiseptic lingers in the air. It feels like something out of the past, like a place that's been forgotten. I hear people calling my name, "Susan? Susan?" asking if I'm alright. But that's not my name. My name is Liv.
I finally manage to croak out, "What happened?" The words feel foreign in my mouth, like they belong to someone else.
One of the women, a frail-looking older woman with graying hair, leans over and says, "Susan, don't you remember? You tried to kill yourself. You jumped off the bridge, but thankfully, we got you back to Spring Hospital just in time."
Spring Hospital? That hospital closed down almost ten years ago. "Don't worry, though," the man beside her says, his voice a little calmer. "A young man jumped in and saved you. The doctors operated quickly. They said you lost some of your memory, but with time, it'll come back."
How long have I been out? I manage to ask, my voice sounding weak and distant.
"About ten days, sweetie."
Ten days? What the hell? I remember jumping from my apartment building, feeling the air rush past me as my mother's death anniversary haunted my mind. I remember that dark, overwhelming urge to end it all. I remember the pain, the terror, and then... nothing. Now I'm here, in this strange place with these strange people calling me "Susan."
I need a moment to myself. I can't breathe in here. Everything feels wrong. The noise, the confusion—it's all too much. I ask if I can go to the restroom, and the young girl helps me into a wheelchair. She says she'll wait outside in case I need help, and I nod, still too overwhelmed to say much more.
As soon as I get into the bathroom, I lock the door behind me. I rush to the sink, my heart racing as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I take a deep breath and try to steady myself. But when I look at my face, my body freezes.
It's me… but it isn't.
The girl in the mirror looks younger—her face softer, her features more delicate than mine. Her nose is small, cute, and her eyes are large and a bright shade of green. Her skin is fair, almost glowing, and there's a faint bruise on her cheek, but her lips are full, soft—completely different from mine. I blink a few times, desperately trying to make sense of what I'm seeing, but the reflection doesn't change.
I raise my hand to my face, touching the soft skin in front of me. This isn't my face. I swear I can feel my heart beating faster as I run my fingers over my cheeks, feeling the difference. The mirror, though, keeps reflecting the same girl. I wave my arms wildly, hoping to see something familiar, something that will show me this is a trick. But the reflection mimics everything I do.
No. This can't be real. I step back, nearly stumbling as my legs shake. The mirror mocks me, showing a face that isn't mine, and yet, it feels like I'm trapped inside it.
"Who are you?" I whisper to myself, my voice cracking. "Who is this?"
I don't know if I'm losing my mind or if this is some sick joke. I feel my throat close up as tears well in my eyes. The girl in the mirror doesn't even look like someone who could have gone through what I have.
I start pacing in the small bathroom, my mind spinning in confusion and fear. This isn't real. It can't be real. This isn't my life. This girl isn't me.
The sound of knocking at the door brings me back to reality, and I quickly cover my mouth to hold back a scream. The young girl from earlier calls out, "What's wrong? Did something happen?"
I stare at my reflection one last time, taking in the impossible image of this other person wearing my confusion. "No," I say, voice shaking, "No, I'm okay. Just a mishap."
I unlock the door and step out, my legs trembling as I try to play it cool, but my mind is racing. I need to get out of here. I need to get away from these people, this place, and figure out what the hell is happening.
The girl looks at me with a concerned expression and helps me back to the hospital room. I barely hear her words as I'm consumed by panic. I need to get out. I need to run.
I push her aside, pretending to lose my balance, and make my way toward the hallway. My heart pounds in my chest as I look over my shoulder, but no one seems to notice. I start running, my legs shaking, barely holding me up, but I keep moving, driven by a need to escape.
People stare at me as I rush down the hallway, some calling after me, others looking at me like I'm crazy. I can hear a nurse's voice shouting, "Stop! Stop!" but I don't listen. I can't.
I run until I push open the doors and spill out onto the streets, gasping for air. The city is bustling with people, but everything feels wrong—strange, and outdated. The billboards, the people walking by, the cars, everything feels like a time capsule, something from another era.
I don't know where I'm going, but I keep running, lost in the crowd of people.
I see posters everywhere. Obama vs. McCain? What the hell? That election happened sixteen years ago. Why is this up now?
"Where am I?" I mutter to myself.
I rush up to a young man, grabbing his arm desperately, asking, "What year is it? What year is it right now?"
He looks at me, terrified, and yells, "It's 2008! Jesus, let me go!" He pulls away, his eyes wide with fear, and I watch him flee.
I stand frozen in the middle of the sidewalk, unable to process what I've just heard. My heart races, my mind spins, and the world starts to blur. My legs give out beneath me, and I collapse onto the cold concrete.