Reality

1

Getting ready for the day is quite a hassle, isn't it? Even if I wasn't so female, I imagine mornings would end up being just as rough, although the amount of time it takes for me to be presentable would likely drop considerably.

Shower. Clothes. Makeup. Hair. Perfume. A last once-over in the mirror, fix any mistakes, and then off I go to eat breakfast. How I make it to where I must go without being horrendously late is a skill I've been required to fine-tune. It's gotten easier as years pass.

About an hour into my routine, I glance at the wall behind me to check the clock. 7:30, not bad. I'll probably make it out of here right on time. Even though my schedule never changes, there are certain days where I do things differently just to see how it goes.

Today I'm experimenting with eyeshadow.

A loud thud from above almost ruins my eyeliner. My eyes flit upwards, feelings of fear dissipating as annoyance and curiousness swirl inside my head. What could be going on?

My imagination conjures up several fantastic scenarios, from burglary and assault to supervillain takedown. I shake my head—as if that would banish the thoughts—silently noting that maybe fewer crime-centered TV shows and superhero movies would do me good. I've always had a flair for the dramatic, and that hasn't diminished despite time's insistence I grow older. A final spritz of vanilla perfume in the hopes that the overpowering scent will last, and my time in the bathroom draws to a close.

I look at the clock's reflection in the mirror and watch as the minute hand ticks closer to the 12. Almost 8 now, better get a move on.

I meander out of the bathroom and into my bedroom. I take in the small space, noticing almost immediately that the light blue comforter has a few wrinkles, so I move to smooth it out.

The closet door is firmly shut, the bed neat, myself all made up and ready to begin the day...am I forgetting anything? A faint click turns my attention to the door that leads out of the bedroom.

I suppose that means I'm good to go.

The soft carpet beneath my bare feet changes to smooth hardwood as I step into the long hallway. While the bathroom and bedroom were relatively warm after my admittedly long shower, out here it was comfortably cooler.

A few of the doors that lead to the many other bedrooms are open, but most are closed. Another thud from upstairs causes me to jump a bit. Images of masked men wielding swords flash in my brain. My silly thoughts seem to have a mind of their own sometimes.

After a few minutes of walking, I duck through a slightly-too-low doorframe. There's no one in the kitchen. The pan I used to fry my eggs the morning before is still laying on the counter where I left it to dry.

A paper towel quickly soaks up the spots of excess water, and then I get to work cracking two eggs into a bowl and heating up the pan. Bread pops out of the toaster just as I finish scooping the eggs onto a paper plate. I smile at the bread, congratulating myself on near-perfect timing.

After pouring myself a glass of milk, I carefully carry my breakfast into the attached living room. A black cushy couch invites me to sit down, and I give up my food to the glass table in front of me. The remote for the mounted TV is still sitting on the arm of the couch where I'd left it the night before.

Time to see if there is anything good on. Hopefully infomercials are minimal, because they're quite boring and just get in the way of the exciting shows.

Hours go by, and no one joins me in the room to watch TV. I wonder if the boy is okay. How long has it been, maybe a week? Days fly by so quickly.

His eyes were brown. His arm had a mark on it. He'd called it a scar, I think. So strange. So long since I'd seen anyone that I almost hadn't noticed he had gone by the time I came back from the bathroom.

I had noticed that the channel was switched, and I did not appreciate that. We had been watching a woman who could soar in the sky. I wanted so badly to soar in the sky, too, but my mind tells me that it's impossible.

If there was a way for me to make the impossible possible, then I would. Me in the sky and men in black masks with swords and supervillains making menacing thuds.

Something is going on. Yelling. I can hear yelling.

Who is yelling?

Through the doorway someone runs in. They close the door and l hear the click that means you can't get out anymore. Is it the boy?

The person turns around. No, it is a girl. She has green eyes. She doesn't have a scar on her arm like the boy did.

"You need to come with me," the girl says. She moves towards me and grabs my hand. "I need to get you out of here."

I shake my head and nod towards the TV. The girl looks over and sees what I am watching, but I don't think she likes it.

"Stop watching these shows. I need you to follow me." She tugs on my arm, which hurts a little, but it's okay. I don't think she wants to hurt me.

Thuds on the door are loud, drowning out the actors' voices. I stand up to open it, but the girl is pulling on my arm and leading me away from the door. We're in the bathroom, and she closes the door.

Another click. I didn't know the bathroom door could click, too.

"We don't have much time."

I don't understand. Time is all I have. I always have enough time.

But then she punches the wall, and it falls apart, and a secret hallway is revealed. Someone is waiting.

That someone is also a girl. No, older, a woman.

She steps into the bathroom and I feel like I'm falling.

It's me.

It can't be me.

She has no makeup on, and her clothes are different, but she looks like me. Her eyes are blue. My eyes are blue. She has a scar on her right wrist. I look at my wrist. It almost looks like there's a scar in the same spot, but it's so hard to focus on. I don't know if it's really there.

"Please," the woman who looks like me says, reaching out her hand. The girl still has my arm and lifts it up. It looks like we are going to shake hands.

Click.