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My grandmother has been severely ill my whole life. She has smoked cigarettes for over fifty years and is still a heavy smoker. She was diagnosed with a bad case of COPD at fairly young age before i was even born, but she never stopped smoking. I am a twenty year old man now and my grandma is still alive, even though she has suffered multiple heart attacks and strokes and been diagnosed with coronary artery disease and lung cancer.
I remember my mom explaining me, that grandma is very sick and will die soon when i was just a little kid. All my life she’s been either sitting in a wheelchair or on the couch, or walking extremely slowly with a rollator. Only times when she stands up during the day, are the moments when she goes to the balcony for a cigarette, or needs to use the bathroom. In both of these situations, she almost always needs some help from my grandfather too.
She’s often very grumpy and you rarely see her smiling. I’ve always liked to think that she’s grumpy and annoyed only because of her illnesses and i’ve never saw her as a mean or bad person. She had a habit of giving me and my siblings some pocket money every friday, on the condition that we had acted right and fulfilled our responsibilities like school and housework. We lived only a mile away from our grandparents, and my school was right next to their house. I could even see to their backyard on break time and sometimes my grandfather was there doing some yard work and waving at me.
I normally went on to pick up my weekly pocket money right after school on fridays, and the typical meeting was very quick and quiet. I knocked on the door and waited for my grandpa to come and slowly open the door. He always opened it just a little bit, softly said hello and pushed his hand through the door gap. I took the money, thanked, and at that point the door was already almost closed. Usually the visit was just that short, but sometimes grandma wanted to come see me quickly and walked very slowly to the door with her rollator.
I remember the typical situations where i only met my grandpa at the door and tried to view grandma from the little gap that was open. It always looked dark, shadowy and quiet inside and i thought that grandma is probably taking a nap. I liked the tradition of getting to meet my grandparents every friday and it was always nice start for my weekend. But then, one friday afternoon, when i was about thirteen or fourteen years old and going to pick up my money, something very weird happened and that sight still gives me chills and deep anxiety.
It was sunny autumn day and i got out of school a bit earlier than usual. I took my bicycle out of bike stand and headed to my grandparents house. Like i said, it was a little earlier than usual so they weren’t waiting for me yet. I went on to knock on their door, but no one came to open it. I waited for moment, but still no one came. I was about to leave and thought no one was home, until i heard some noises from the inside. I thought they just didn’t hear my first knocks, and knocked again, bit harder than last time.
It still took a while, but finally the door opened, even less than normally. It was dark, i could only see the fuzzy figure of my grandpa who didn’t even say hello this time. He just gave me the money, and whispered that grandma was sleeping because we were not expecting you to come yet. At this point, the door gap was a bit bigger so i could see to their living room where was some kind of dim light.
I was little ashamed about my sudden visit and decided to whisper back that i was sorry and my school just ended earlier today. Before i could say anything i heard intensifying footsteps coming out of the living room and immediately after saw my grandmother RUNNING through the living room in a weird, creepy and unnatural looking forward bent posture, not moving her arms at all. I looked there for probably half a second but i was so terrified it felt like a minute. Grandpa just slammed the door shut in front of my face and i stayed behind the door almost shaking from the fear and shock.
So many thoughts in my head. How can grandma move so fast? She is very ill and cant even walk without support. Why did grandpa lie about her nap and what the hell was that? As i started to walk away to get my bike and leave, i calmed down and thinked that maybe she wasn’t moving that fast or mom has exeggerated her bad condition. I didn’t even really believe those explanations, i just had to get some logical reason for that to calm down.
I walked over the grass to get my bike that was parked right under my grandparents bedroom. I hopped on it, and took a quick look on the window that was right next to my face. What i saw next still haunts me and even after all these years i find it hard to think and explain. My grandma, staring straight at me with big, wide open eyes and a deranged smile. She didn’t even look like my grandma, or she did but the expression was something my grandma would never do with her face. She looked similar to the Momo face that roamed internet couple of years ago. She seemed to be sitting or squatting on the floor cause her face was on the lower edge of the window.
335I’ve been with my husband for the better part of twenty years. We dated for ten of those and have been married for eight, two children accompanying us along the way. I still remember when we met on a field trip, during high school, to a zoo which sat outside of our city. He walked around with me for the entirety of the trip as we watched the silly monkeys swing from branch to branch and we laughed at the elephant taking a five minute pee right in front of us. I recall how beautiful the cotton candy skies of pinks and blues swirled above our heads on the bus ride home. It was perfect, much like the past eighteen years had been.
My husband never gave me any reasons to be suspicious of him, whether that be cheating or something more… sinister. No, as I said, the life we had built together was, for the most part, perfect. Of course it wasn’t without the usual relationship problems, like arguing and the occasional disagreements, but we always made it through.
Outside of bickering about who has to take the trash out, or why the electric bill got paid a day late, we’d never had any major ‘test’ of our relationship. At least, not until recently that is.
It was just another average day, a warm, Spring Wednesday, when I noticed the first cracks in my reality. I almost wish I hadn’t pulled up the old family pictures to reminisce, to take a stroll down memory lane. Even if my life, my children and my relationship were a lie, I still enjoyed every second of it.
I was sitting at the kitchen table, golden rays of sunlight pouring in from the garden window as they covered us in a blanket of warmth. I sifted through the pictures we’d taken from the Polaroid camera which still sat, somewhere, tucked away in the house.
My youngest daughter, Vira, sat next to me as she rummaged through the cardboard box labeled ‘Memories’, passing me the stacks of pictures we’d accumulated over the years.
“Sheesh Mommy, you used to be so skinny”, kids never fail to give you their most honest opinion… even if it’s a little too truthful.
I giggled, trying my best to conceal my distaste for her comment, “Yeah, yeah”, I replied, rolling my eyes and sticking my tongue out at her. She laughed.
As I flipped through the stack of pictures, most of them being random pictures of our old dog, Ranger, I came across one of my husband, Sam, and I leaning against an old fence. His long, black hair cascaded down over his shoulders in a curly mess. His arm was slung over my shoulder, a big grin on both of our faces. We were so young.
The front door squealed open as heavy boots pounded the floor on their way in. It was Sam. His clothes were flecked with dirt and doused with oil from another hard day at the autobody shop. His blonde hair was matted down like a pile of greasy straw. That’s when I noticed it for the first time.
There is .....something in my family. They were annoying before, but not dangerous. Now, though. My mother is a small woman. Barely five feet. Shorter still is my sister. My father is taller than me by a bit. Not much. I'm by far the healthiest, thought. It is a blessing. A few years ago, I got really into fitness. Not for any particular reason, just bored.
Anyway, I've never been very social, and after the coronavirus, just about sick of my family. So, when the travel restrictions lifted and my family made plans for a vacation, I said no thanks. After a week of bliss, they came back. They were different. My mother, whose bones were so weak that she called me to lift anything heavier than a kilo, was now completely able to do it herself. My father and my sister were doing great in work and school. I thought maybe it was just cause they were refreshed, freakin extroverts. But no.
I have, locked myself in my room. I go in and out by the window. Within months, my family was something else. They still go to parties and dinners and relatives and work and school, I know not how. Their skin is stretched and grey, their teeth have fallen off long ago. They have no eyes. Just sockets. They shamble around the home in a parody our regular schedule. They made food, and don't eat it. The plates just sit there until they wash them, there is spoiled food in the kitchen. They don't notice if I steal it, so that's how I eat. They don't talk. Not to me, not to anyone else, but people understand them somehow. I do not. I do not know if they're still alive. Maybe. If they are, I don't know wether to be relieved or horrified. I have tried to talk to people. From physical appearance to their behaviour, everything is apparently totally normal.
I'm not crazy. I know that. The mountain of spoiled food in the kitchens sink can attest to it. I have not slept in quite a while. I hear them throught the walls, turning on the tv and sitting dead eyed in front of it. They do not react to injury or heat, so if they turn hostile I do not know what to do except run. Every month, they go somewhere. For the whole day. I dont follow them. I see how they come back stronger. I see them in family photos, shared on the WhatsApp group. Corpses surrounded by smiling people.
My father goes to work everyday, but the bank account is still empty, somehow. My sister's notebooks have not been filled. Her report card comes back all A's. I'm running out of money. My father knocks on my door, it is time for our bi-monthly father-son drive. I don't wish to go. But I will. I miss my family. If I don't come back from this, at least, you will know that im not crazy.
Day 1:
I woke up from a coma today. At least that's what I'm told. My doctor wants me to write this. journal so I can help jog my memory. I don't know why my memory needs to be jogged. I remember most things just fine. There are some things that don't seem to line up.
Here are the things I know to be true. The world rotates constantly, the sky is blue, my name is Ashley Kent and I'm 24 years old. I'm from a small town in Texas called Shay Springs, or...at least I THOUGHT I was from a small town called Shay Springs. Now? I'm not so sure anymore.
I woke up in the hospital in San Francisco, California three days ago. I don't remember much, but apparently I've been in a coma for there months. The doctors tell me I was found unconscious on the Sid eof a deserted hiking path, but I don't remember ever coming to California in the first place. I've despised California for its high living price and pretentious hipster communities. But, who am I to judge, especially since I'm being told this has been my hoe since I was young.
"Where are my parents?" This question raised some eyebrows. Anytime I asked this question, the nurse would dodge the subject and tell me how my vitals were, or just leave the room. I was confused, homesick, and just wanted to talk to my family. For some reason, though, no one would tell me where they were.
As time goes on I begin to remember more and more about my life. The amnesia starts wearing off and I can remember things that don't line up with what the doctors are telling me.
For all of you, yesterday was...well, yesterday. For me, it was 1,052 days ago. I always thought this kind of thing was just science fiction. We've all seen the movies. Groundhog Day, Happy Death Day, Russian Doll, etc. All of those movies make it seem like repeating the same day over and over again is for a specific purpose, and you eventually solve whatever great riddle awaits you. Believe me, I've tried. For almost three years now.
The first day it happened, I thought it was a dream, or someone was playing a prank on me. The first stage of grief. Denial. Then, as I continued to repeat the same day, the other stages came.
It was easy to be angry. What did I do to deserve this? Did I accidentally piss off God? Why choose Thursday, March 31st, 2022 as the day I had to repeat? Why not a day that's actually fun? Why couldn't I repeat an amazing day where amazing things happened? Of all the fucking days, this one? The most ordinary, boring day of all?
As the anger passed, I entered the bargaining phase. I'd do anything to set things right. I just had to figure out what the fuck it was. It certainly didn't have anything to do with my job. The last day of the month is busy, but nothing special, and I work from home. I don't even see anyone. After a couple of weeks, I just gave up on work and started calling in every day. I stopped doing that for a while, but my boss would always call to check on me, so I just started sending the same text message every morning to call in sick and avoid it.
That gave me more time to focus on the rest of my life. I'm married. No kids. My parents passed away when I was young. There are no family issues to solve. My marriage is good, or it felt like it was 1,052 days ago. Now, it's just fucking boring. This is a busy day for my wife too. She has to work late. By the time she gets home, she wants to tell me about her day, eat dinner, and pass out on the couch. I've tried romantic things, but today just isn't the day for it. When I suggest we go out to eat, she gets excited...to do it Saturday night. Nothing is prying her off the couch after the day she's had, and there's no way for me to change that. I can't convince her to just skip work today, just like I couldn't convince her to do it any of the other times I tried over the course of these 1,052 days. I've sent flowers. I've surprised her at work with flowers. Those things brighten her day, but they don't change the trajectory. She always ends up passed out on the couch from exhaustion, or going to bed early if I wake her up. Bottom line, if there's a problem in my marriage, I can't find it. We're happy, but we're normal, busy people who make plans for special dates and intimacy on the weekend, when we don't have to deal with everything else in the world. Why couldn't I repeat one of those days? At least it would give me something to look forward to every day.
As the bargaining phase continued, I spent my evenings combing the news for stories that could need my attention. People I could save. Does an orphanage burn down in my town today or something? Does someone important fall off a cliff? Nothing that dramatic happens today. I've saved so many people I've lost count at this point. I've driven as far as I can. I booked flights and flew places. That was fun to try and explain to my wife. But nothing worked. I've been shot, stabbed, blown up, burned to death, and even tortured when one particular attempt got me tangled up with some dangerous people. I was happy to wake up the next morning after a few of those, and others, I was kind of disappointed, because I was simply tired of existing on Thursday, March 31st, 2022.
After reaching the end of the bargaining stage, and feeling content that there was absolutely nothing I could do that was important enough to progress my life, depression set in. I started waking up and drinking. I'd be shitfaced by eleven, and passed out on the couch by the time my wife got home. That didn't make my marriage any better. She'd be furious when she found out I just took the day off work and got drunk. By that point, I was just too depressed to care. I knew everything would reset, so what did it matter if she went to bed angry at me?
When your life falls apart, it generally does so one day at a time, but when everything repeats, there's only so much you can do to burn it all down around you. If I get drunk today, I won't wake up with a hangover, because 1,052 days ago, I didn't get drunk yesterday. My tolerance doesn't go up. I can't drink more than what it takes for me to pass out, and it's usually the same amount, give or take a drink, depending on the speed. My body doesn't become reliant on alcohol. I just get shitfaced like someone who rarely ever gets drunk, over and over. Eventually, even that lost it's thrill. I decided to try other drugs. Why not? I get a clean slate. I OD'd on heroin my first time. That wasn't fun. It was one of the few nights my wife didn't fall asleep on the couch, because she was by my side in the hospital until everything reset. I've been through the drug gauntlet now. Some are fun, some aren't. Some are simply too much of a hassle to get and the payoff isn't worth it. It's all temporary anyway, and I'll have to do it again tomorrow if I want to acquire them again.
About a year and a half into this nightmare, I entered the acceptance phase. That was a hard one. Work doesn't matter anymore. My life doesn't matter anymore. It doesn't seem like anyone else's life matters either. If there's someone I'm meant to save, I don't think I'll ever find them because I've stopped trying.
I'm sad to say that I eventually cheated on my wife. Despite us being intimate only a few days ago in her timeline, for me, it had been almost two years, and it really started to feel like it too. I started out in a seedy massage parlor where a little extra money would get a happy ending, then progressed to finding strangers that would let me go home with them at bars. I accepted that I was going to wake up on March 31st, 2022, and nothing I did would matter, even something as awful as violating my wedding vows. As more days passed, without actually passing, I just stopped caring.
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