Everyday Phenomenon

Alright. I just want to say, I’m not the kind of ‘write it all out in a journal’ kind of guy. But, there really isn’t much to do anymore. I guess I’m just bored. There isn’t much to do anymore, especially in this rickety old house. If you were to see it, you’d probably think it was abandoned, which isn’t totally incorrect, but I live there now, if ‘now’ is even a concept that could be considered part of my reality. Well, now that I think of it, I guess it’s the only thing I can count on. There is only now. No tomorrow, No yesterday, No when or then, Nothing that could have mattered matters anymore. Ok, back on topic, I’m writing this really just out of boredom, as I’ve probably done everything else there is to do, which is surprisingly a lot.

I guess this all started about a year ago, when my grandfather’s antique pocket-watch broke. It was really cool to have with me after he’d died, just being able to keep a piece of him with me, a really awesome looking piece at that. From what my mother had told me, it’d been even more magnificent when it was still in his possession. Hanging out of his pocket, it had always complemented his bright, green eyes, small specs of gold in them making them look almost as rare and spectacular as the watch itself. He hadn’t known me well, nor I him, and yet, I was somehow the one who ended up with the shiny time piece.

My mother on the other hand, she inherited his whole house, a massive building he only used when he wasn’t out and about on his ‘adventures’. Selling antiques, digging up fossils, that was what he spent his whole time doing, ignoring my mother, my sister and I while he was away, not answering our calls, and treating us to fancy dinners when he came to visit us months later. I don’t know how I really felt about him, sometimes I hated him, others I looked up to him wholeheartedly, as some mythical beast whose world I could never see or understand.

All in all, I guess he didn’t do anything really important for the world in his life besides die and give us his stuff. Only a month after he did, we moved to his giant building, planning to set up our new lives there. We did what all families do when they move, shoving all of the boxes full of our stuff in one room, slowly pulling what we needed out, letting it all settle into the place it seemed to fit best. It was spread out really thinly, very little furniture in each of the echoing rooms. It was different there, hollow and quiet, unlike our apartment back in Manhattan, like all of the life and energy had been sucked out of the world.

It was nice while it lasted. My sis ignored me like any younger sibling, My mom doted over her like she was a blessing to this world, I sat in my room playing chess by myself, the internet not having been installed yet. As boring as it sounds, It was bliss compared to my life now. Life with a purpose. Life where there was something different happening every day. A life where I didn’t have to cry myself to sleep, hoping for something, anything to change.

Every day is the same, there’s no changing it. My watch broke, and ever since then, it was the same day, every day. They couldn’t tell, my mom and sister. They just said the same things, walked the same paths as the day before. At this point, they’re more closely related to weather than the people I loved. You may love the rain, but no matter how many times there’s a downpour in your neighborhood, the rain doesn’t remember you, or the thousands of times you’ve expressed your love for it in the past year. That’s them. Essentially empty shells of the beings they once were.

I guess I’m empty too. Not much of the person I used to be is left in here. Just a husk of a human, going through the cycles of my new world. As I’ve said, it wasn’t always like this, I thought I had gotten one of the greatest gifts a guy could have, a chance to do things over, a chance to make things better for myself. It only felt like that for the first week or so…

I woke up that day for the second time, hardly noticing the subtle things that should have clued me into what what was going on. Walked down the fancy, oaken stairs, greeted my mother, waited for breakfast to arrive in front of me as I messed around with the few offline games I had on my phone, and my sister with hers. Mom set it down in front of me. Hash browns… again…. That was weird, we tended to have a fairly simple weekly diet, frozen pancakes and waffles or french toast on monday, wednesday, and friday, hash browns on saturday and sunday, and cereal on tuesday and thursday.

“Um… Mom? Is this leftovers from yesterday? I’m pretty darn sure I ate the last of them yesterday.”

“Of course not! I just made them today! No way there’d be any left over with with you in the house anyway.” She laughed, handing a second plate to my sister. Now, I know what you’re thinking, I’m just some loser who makes their mom take care of them each and every day, but that’s not it. She loves…. loved what she does for us. She didn’t need to work anymore, with the money that my grandad left her along with the building, So she spent her time watching over us. No clue how she could have lived that way, I sure couldn’t. But she loved it. So, throughout the day, I noticed the things I’d missed earlier, the single vase I’d dusted had a thick layer of grey on the surface, the laundry that I’d washed was still in my room, in a messy pile on the floor, and as lame as it sounds to say, my level on a game I’d been playing the day before was lower than I’d left it.

You know that movie, Groundhog Day? That’s what I started thinking this was going to be like, having to make it the perfect day. The next day didn’t do anything but support my theory, hashbrowns again, cheap ramen for lunch, and a great turkey dinner to finish it off. I had to admit though, I was getting a little sick of them, the food I mean, not my family.

The third day of ‘resetting’, as I had dubbed it, I decided to try changing things a bit. Instead of sitting in my room, I helped out in the kitchen, making sure to keep my mother company, and to sway her into cooking something besides turkey. Pasta was a welcome taste to my buds, the tomato sauce an amazing contrast to the gravy of the past three days. But, each morning, I just kept resetting. No matter what I did, telling my family “I love you.”, or running myself ragged, making sure they’d have the best day of their lives, it just would go all of the way back to zero. No memory of what I had done, no lasting effect on them, no reciprocation to all of the love I’d given them.

After a while, I gave up. There was nothing I could do for them to make their day any better than it had been the day before. I just sat in my room, lay on my bed, sleeping the same day away, hoping to have my mother calling me down for waffles awaken me. That day still hasn’t come.

On my second week, I decided I should try something new. When my mother left for the kitchen, I bolted into her room and then her private bathroom, where she kept all of the medications. Despite my being in highschool, she still didn’t trust me to take the right pills in case of a headache. I swiped a bottle of acetaminophen, shoving it under my shirt. As long as I acted casually, she wouldn’t notice the bulge under my blue tank.

I took them all. They were nasty to taste, but I managed to swallow about 100 grams of the stuff, guaranteeing my liver’s failure. That day was the first time I died. It wasn’t painful, just… Longer than I expected. As I passed out, I felt time slowing, then I woke up. I was in bed, wearing the same clothes as the day before. I just kept going with the plan, changing it every way I could. I did the classics, toaster in the bath, out a window, over the stairwell, they all were quick and almost painless. But the same day always came, the same sun shining through the window I’d jumped out of to the concrete below. There was something about it though. It brought the next day, today, even faster, so maybe there was something to the idea. There was only one thing I hadn’t done. It’d be long and painful, but maybe it’d work.

That day, I hung myself. It was more painful than anyone could have imagined, feeling my lungs gasp for oxygen, my fingers and toes numbing slowly. Then it was over. I was back in bed, the pain that had been spread throughout my body was gone, only the lingering memory of the aching feeling still there. No way in hell was I going to do that again. Way too much pain.

I’d thought for weeks, months. Doing whatever I could to make things different. I got…. violent… Luckily… for myself and my family, I’m not all that strong, so they were able to restrain me. I don’t really want to talk about this much… but it needed saying. I doubt anyone will ever see this, it’ll probably be gone tomorrow. But if there is a chance, I’ll write this every single day, till I know this word for word, and keep on going. And if anyone sees this… make sure not to do anything I said I had done. I’m pretty sure it was the watch, but I don’t know. It’s not worth the risk. You could end up like me, clinging to the last bits of sanity that are left inside of my mind, and dreading the next time that you wake up, only to know that everything you ever do will matter to no one. Well, It’s not like my life before this mattered much. Hah. Classic comedy right there. I heard it was good to leave letters off on a lighter note, so here’s another joke.

“A baby’s laughter is the most beautiful sound you will ever hear. Unless it’s 3am. And you’re home alone. And you don’t have a baby.”