"Ugh!"
Lucian grunted as pain ran through his body and his muscles flinched from soreness. His eyes snapped open with a sharp, unstable look, and he sat up quickly, breathing hard as he scanned the room.
He froze when he realized where he was.
The walls were familiar, the desk in the corner still worn, and the cracked mirror on the closet door hadn't changed. The fan under the window was there too, still broken just like he remembered.
He looked around slowly, trying to process it.
This was his childhood room.
But he remembered the chair. He remembered being tied down, hearing the gunshots, watching his sister fall, then his mother. He remembered the man standing in front of him and the flash of the muzzle.
"I died?" he muttered, his voice shaky.
He stood from the bed and took a few slow steps, still trying to make sense of it. His body was tense, and every part of him felt ready to run, but there was nowhere to go. He looked at the door, the corners of the room, the bed again—none of it gave him answers.
His mind was racing, but his breathing stayed rough and uneven.
He sat back down, elbows on his knees, trying to keep still.
Everything felt wrong, not because the room was strange, but because it wasn't. It was exactly how it used to be, down to the scuff marks near the door and the old blanket that had never quite fit the bed.
Lucian didn't speak nor did he move. His eyes stayed locked on the floor as he forced himself not to think about the bodies or the blood.
But no matter how much he tried to ground himself, he couldn't shake the question.
Why was he back here?
And what the hell was going on?
Lucian stood up and walked to the cracked mirror leaning against the wall.
As soon as he saw his reflection, he froze. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, like he was trying to speak but couldn't form a word.
He looked young, not just slightly younger, but years back, like someone had pulled him out of time and dropped him into an old shell.
He leaned closer.
Light brown skin, curly hair, and a round, plump face stared back at him. His body was soft, wide, and heavy.
He remembered this version of himself too well. There was no flattery in it. No denial. This was how he looked in high school, before everything got worse.
Back then, the weight wasn't just a physical thing, it was a target. People made jokes behind his back and to his face.
The one he remembered most was that his family was poor because he inhaled all the food before anyone else could eat. It was cruel, and it never stopped.
He kept staring at the mirror, not because he liked what he saw, but because it made no sense.
He had grown out of this. He remembered the changes, the years of struggle, and everything he'd become.
But now he was back to this?
His fingers slowly touched his face, then his sides. It felt real. The softness. The awkward shape. All of it.
Lucian backed away from the mirror and sat back down on the bed.
But before his mind could settle, the bedroom door burst open.
"Lucy! Mom's calling you!"
Lucian flinched and turned fast. Standing in the doorway was a small boy, maybe six or seven, wearing a loose T-shirt and socks that didn't match. His face was familiar. His voice was loud, but cheerful.
Lucian stepped back, his face trembling. His legs felt weak, and tears started to build in his eyes.
That was impossible.
The boy stood there with a frown, clearly confused by the reaction. Lucian kept staring at him, not saying a word.
This wasn't some small detail his brain had mixed up. It wasn't a stranger his mind tried to explain. He knew exactly who that was.
His little brother.
A child who had died years ago from cancer. A boy who never made it to ten.
The sickness had come fast, and the hospital visits even faster. Treatment was an option, but only on paper. The money wasn't there, and the loans his mother took weren't enough.
The ones they could get weren't safe. Banks didn't want to lend to people like them. Not people that already looked broken.
By the time they got the full amount together, it was too late.
Lucian hadn't seen this face in years. Not even in dreams.
He took another step back, still silent. His chest was tight, and he couldn't tell if he was breathing right. The boy raised an eyebrow and tilted his head.
"You okay?"
Lucian nodded slowly, unsure of what else to do. He didn't trust his voice. His brother waited another second, then shrugged and ran off, yelling something down the hall.
Lucian sat on the bed again, hands shaking.
None of this made sense.
Not the room.
Not the weight.
Not his brother.
And if he was being honest with himself…
He didn't want answers right now. He just wanted to hold onto that voice for a little longer.
Lucian started looking around for his phone. He checked under the pillow, the drawer, then finally the corner of the desk. He found it, an old black-and-grey model with rubber buttons and a small cracked screen.
It wasn't that he had been sent decades back, but he had never owned a smartphone. Even in his teens, money was tight, and these basic button phones were all he had.
He pressed the power button, and the screen lit up.
[2019, June 11th]
[12:45 PM]
Lucian stared at it without blinking.
His mind raced. That date meant something. He knew it too well. This was the same year he started college.
Did that mean… everyone who died was still alive?
He tried to think. Tried to count back. He ran through the timeline in his head, trying to piece together every detail. His breathing picked up slightly, but his body stayed still.
"LUCY!!"
His mother's voice echoed from down the hallway, loud and irritated.
Lucian jumped and was pulled out of his thoughts. He tucked the phone in his pocket and stepped out of the room with his head low, his mind still turning over what all of this could mean.
He didn't know how he was here.
But he was.