Between Two Worlds

The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here.

I look around the dimly lit space, the walls covered in black and red graffiti, wondering where I am. I stare at an old, rusty grandfather clock that appears to be staring back at me, casting an eerie shadow across the room. Its hands make a creaking noise as they turn—like the sound of an old tractor.

I scan the room, searching desperately for a clue - something I recognize - but to no avail. Fear slowly creeps in as I struggle to make sense of my surroundings. My heart beats rapidly, pounding against my chest, like a prisoner desperate to break free. It echoes as loudly as the old clock. Clang, clang, clang! My stomach twists into a thousand knots—the same feeling you get when you’re on a rollercoaster, anticipating the drop.

I look down and notice old white sneakers soiled with dried, bloody stains. How did the stains get there? I push my hair away from my eyes to get a better glimpse at my sneakers when a loud booming noise suddenly fills the room.

Frightened by the noise, I look up at the ceiling and see flashes of light emerging from the small opening in the skylight, revealing the dark midnight sky. Were those helicopters? Am I on some battlefield?

I stare at my hands, pale and filled with deep cracks protruding like roots from underneath the ground. Still puzzled, I wonder how I got here. Where am I?

Disoriented, I try to stand up from the old leather chair I was sitting on, but weak and confused, I fall back down as though invisible chains are forcing me down.

Suddenly, I hear the sound of keys dangling, and a large shadow emerges. A thick, stocky man opens the door and walks toward me.

I cringe and try to focus my eyes, attempting to look up at the face staring down at me, but the light is too bright to see.

"Hey, you! Get up. It’s time to go. We must hurry! We don’t have much time."

Confused, I muster up the little strength I have and finally manage to get up. A cold, rough hand grabs my arm, leading me down a long, winding corridor. It feels like an eternity, but only seconds have gone by.

I wonder where I am being led, but I’m terrified to ask.

As we finally stop, the smell of horse manure fills my nostrils. I hear muffled sounds in the distance but can’t quite make out anything.

"I’ll be back in a few hours," the stranger says in his deep and husky voice.

I am thrust into a glass elevator, and in what seems like seconds, it begins its ascent, only to come to a sudden halt.

Still dizzy from the ride, I step out, and to my amazement, I see a large, open field. The scent of sweet magnolia fills the air, unlike the stale air and dinginess of the room I awoke in. For the first time in a while, I can finally relax and breathe.

The air is fresh, and I inhale deeply, closing my eyes to soak in the sun's warmth. I don’t know where I am, but I feel strangely at home.

I walk through the fields, my feet lightly grazing the freshly cut grass. Everywhere I look, I see people—hundreds, maybe thousands—working in the fields, pulling out weeds. Some are using tools, constructing what seems like the foundation of a house. Tap, tap, tap—I hear the hammer striking rusty nails.

I turn around and see others spray-painting red and black graffiti on what appears like an enormous wooden canvas.

Just as I am about to take my next step, I turn my head and stare in shock. How could this be?

I rub my eyes as if trying to wake up from a dream—as if rubbing them will bring me back to a familiar reality.

I reach for my old pair of glasses, hoping to correct my vision and get a better look at what is in front of me, but nothing changes.

I am face-to-face with myself—only I look a few years younger. My skin is smooth and silky, my eyes free of the deep, dark circles that have become all too familiar.

"Hello. Welcome to your past. I see you have aged gracefully."

Speechless, I want to say something. I have a thousand questions, but the words seem stuck in my throat. I want to yank them out and scream, but all I can do is utter a weak groan.

I look down at my calloused hands and realize they are evidence of my work in this field; it all makes sense now.

I take a step closer and try to touch the shoulder of my younger self. I must be dreaming. This has to be a dream. I reach out, but instantly, a cold, gel-like substance engulfs my hand. I pull back quickly, retreating in alarm.

Strange—there are no walls between us, yet it feels like a thick mucus-like substance is between our two realities. It is as though an invisible wall separates us. I rub my fingers together, feeling a cool sensation run down my arms, sending a chill down my body.

"I know you are in shock," says my former self. "But this was the choice you made. The choice we have to live with.”

As I look closer at my former self, I notice the same sneakers I wear—except they are clean and unstained.

Confused, I ask, "What do you mean? What choices? Where am I?" Nothing makes sense.

"Look around. What do you see?"

I turn my head and see many more familiar faces—friends, family, others I haven’t seen in years. I am perplexed and wonder what all this could mean.

"This is the life you left behind. You chose to leave. You have been brought here to glimpse what you left behind, and maybe, just maybe, you can change the present."

"The present? But how can—"

Before I finish my sentence, I’m back in the elevator, as though I never really left.

Dazed and confused, I wonder— did I imagine all this? Nothing makes sense.

I hold onto the cold handrails of the elevator as it speeds downward as fast as lightning.

I barely have my bearings when the doors open. The stench of manure once again fills my nostrils, musty, like that of an old barn.

The same husky voice greets me."Let’s go—it’s only a few minutes before darkness sets in. Then it’ll be too late."

Too late for what? I wonder.

I open my mouth to say something, but I’m too weak. Nothing comes out. It’s as though I have lost the ability to speak.

Once again, I’m led through the long, winding corridor.

"I’ll be back again tomorrow," says the husky voice.

I can barely make out his features except to see a balding figure.

The door shuts behind me. Thud!

I hold onto the wall, feeling its smooth ridges, hoping to be somewhere I recognize. But I don’t recognize anything.

I hear a creaking sound and turn to stare at an old, rusty grandfather clock. Its shadow looms over me like a towering building.

I wonder why it looks so oddly comforting and so familiar. Where have I seen it before?

A sense of déjà vu fills my heart, but still, so many questions linger.

I shut my eyes, hoping to wake up to a different reality—one I recognize—but to my disappointment, nothing changes.

The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here.