Great Oak Gazette

By Pranidhaan Chincholikar

On a day like any other, there is a certain lingering feeling in the air. Similar to the feeling of the air before a volcanic eruption or an earthquake.

When I wake up, I am not in my bedroom. I am in my brother’s. I gasp in shock, wondering how this happened. My brother, an interesting character, wakes up shouting, wondering why he is suddenly in my bedroom.

He rushes into my room, still in his pajamas, “gnihtemoS deneppah, eht dlrow si gnidne!”

Now I’m a little bit on edge— either my brother has forgotten how to speak properly, or today is going to be weird.

A voice calls from downstairs. It’s a voice I instantly recognize, my mother’s. “emoC nwod rof tsafkaerb, avral!” she shouts. My brother rushes out of the room, moving backwards.

As I rush up the stairs, the downstairs becomes the upstairs, the roof becomes the floor, and time distorts beyond comprehension. I pass a room filled with clocks, which strikes me as odd, since they lack that distorted look the rest of reality has. Some clocks seem to be counting backward, while others count forward rapidly.

Upstairs, I walk into the kitchen, turn on the light, and find my mother serving breakfast to my brother and me. I take a bite. The neutrality of the meal echoes through my ears, as I become more and more distorted. Life suddenly becomes a blur of pictures as I look and try to remember better times. A smile of sadness crosses my face as I become more engrossed in the moment.

For the first time since waking up, I blink. I’m standing in front of the mirror, the exit to the house. I look back at my mother, and even though she is distorted beyond comprehension, I still see a smile in her eyes. “tahW era uoy gnitiaw rof?” she says in a tender voice. I look at the mirror, it’s calling my name.

With a hefty voice I say, “I wish for it again.” I walk through the mirror. A flash of light covers my eyes until I wake up once again. The same day and the same hour as before.

I’ve been doing this for 19 years.