The First Time I Talked to my Six Month Self When I think back to when I first met my “six-month self” it was when I was nineteen years old. I had been dating a girl throughout high school. June and I were connected at the hip, and I really thought we may become one of those stories of “high school sweethearts” who get married, have kids and never look back with regret. Of course, friends and family always said that it would be passing thing and that college would change everything. But although June was a year younger than me, and was finishing her senior year as I was struggling through my Freshman experience – we made it work. I had no regrets attending prom with her, even though I was now a college man. It was just a one-year difference, and I knew in the scheme of things this meant nothing in the long run. But when June was accepted into UC Berkeley – during the summer session - it meant we wouldn’t have that summer to ourselves to plan the rest of our lives. I was perfectly fine driving back the two hours to Berkeley - but as you can probably suspect, things changed. We went days without talking, and plans for her to visit would be cancelled last minute. I was dropped like a hot potato when June fell in love with the Teacher’s Assistant from one of her summer classes. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I was living day in and day out in absolute misery. I know that songwriters have made millions off of the “breakup” songs that bombard the radio airwaves, but I felt like each song was speaking directly to me, and that I was the only one in the world to feel like everything was crumbling. But I was nineteen can you blame me? I had never experienced the love for someone else, nor had I ever known what it was like for that reciprocated love to suddenly switch off like a light. I felt as if I were stumbling around a dark room, stubbing my toe wherever I stepped. I would have fantasies about jumping in front of a train that always passed by my school – or getting hit by a car and having June race down to find me in the hospital. She would pledge the error of her ways, and we would be united while I remained in a body cast. Again, I was nineteen – and although confessing these immature fantasies are very embarrassing, I cannot blame myself for my youth and naïveté – it’s just, sometimes hard to swallow. It was on one of those afternoons, of self-imposed isolation, crying in bed, looking up at the ceiling – when, I felt the most peculiar thing. Although I heard it, I felt it – I felt a knocking from inside my brain. A knock, much like you rap your knuckles on a door. The sound was not terribly loud, nor was the feeling painful or surprising. It was very, very quiet and calm, and my ever-flowing tears were able to cease. There was one more round of polite, quiet knocking, and then I heard it so distinctly, as if he were right next to my ear. He was I – or rather, the person in my brain was myself. I shut my eyes and saw myself in front of a mirror in a candle lit bathroom. I was wearing a sweater that I did not own, and my hair was buzzed. At the time, I had shoulder length long hair – hair that June had thought was so striking. I saw him (me) look at me in the mirror and say, “You can’t be sad anymore. Life is too good to be sad.” And he smiled, or rather, I smiled. And I was pretty sure I was hallucinating. In fact, I was certain of it. I felt that with my emotions having run amok, I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. But then he said, as if he heard what I was thinking: “June will come crawling back to you after Dennis dumps her. But by then you’ll have moved on.” Then he, or rather I, gave a “thumbs up” in the mirror and vanished. It was as if I had been injected by a drug - as if my emotions for June and the terrible heartache that went with it finally started to dissipate. Who was that? Was I going crazy? And who the hell was Dennis? I didn’t know the name of the man June had been seeing. She told me there was someone, that he was a TA, but she didn’t want to go into it – and of course, I didn’t want to hear it. Dennis. Dennis? Did I just make that up? It was five days later, still feeling sorry for myself, but not as sorry as I had been, that I was pushing myself to go on bike ride every day, go and get groceries, make friends with some of the people in my apartment building, when I checked Facebook. And what I learned startled me to the core. It was a picture of a mutual friend who had tagged a photo with June and Dennis Mohrlang. Dennis had his arms around June - the two of them looked happy and sufficiently in love. But where I should have felt crushed, I felt…I don’t know to describe it – elated? Vindicated? Confident? Now the bigger questions were now flowing through me: How did I know this? How was this possible? Had I somehow learned a brief trick in time-travel? Was it possible to send messages back to one’s own self? I surmised that if I were deeply connected to myself, why couldn’t I send back messages from another time? Just as long as I made sure to send back those messages when it was right. And that’s how I was introduced to my “six-month self,” though I didn’t know what to call him at the time. The name came to me when it was six months later, and I was browsing a thrift shop and came across a sweater. A great sweater – I sweater I had seen before. It was purchased for fewer than ten dollars, and feeling the momentum that I was about to come full circle with my message – a message that saved me. I headed straight to the barber and authorized that he buzz off all of my “striking” shoulder length hair. Walking out into the sunshine with my head freshly buzzed and the sweater in hand, I knew that tonight was the night. And as if on cue, my cell phone buzzed. I knew who it was before I even glanced at the phone. I didn’t even have to look at the caller ID - I answered with, “What’s going on, June?” And although it seems like an abrupt way to say hello, it was quite friendly and easy going, as if no time had passed and we continued to talk every day. “Um, hi?” June said, “How are you?” And I knew she had been crying. “What’s up?” I asked. Just as I thought, no just as I told myself, June spilled her guts in a two-minute monologue. She and Dennis fell in love, and it burned hot and fast. They moved in together, they met each other’s parents, they talked about marriage, and there was a pregnancy scare - which almost walked them down the aisle. There were issues with jealousy, with finances, with an ex-girlfriend who was obsessed with Dennis. And then they were growing apart, June had moved out. They tried to reconcile and it looked like things were going to work out, but out of the blue, Dennis dumped her and got engaged to his ex. I was proud that I didn’t console her at that moment, nor offer to come see her – but she was practically climbing into her car to head south to see me. I knew how this would go, I would be the rebound and she would never know what it was like to be single. But to be honest, I was really more fascinated with the feeling of my hand on my head. After spending most of my teen years with long hair – to feel it so closely cropped, so clean and sharp – I didn’t quite pay attention to her when she said, “Okay, I’ll be there in two hours… “ “Wait, what?” I asked. This was not part of the plan, yes she would be crawling back to me, but this was not to be allowed. “I’m coming down right now,” she said. “Like hell you are! I have a date tonight!” I lied, “No way are you coming down! You made your bed, June. Goodbye!” And that is how I was able to let go of June. It felt good, so good, that I kept rubbing the palm of my hand over my hair. I felt so sharp, clean, and clear. It was time - time to send the message six months back in the past. But there was one thing nagging me: The bathroom I had seen myself in - it wasn’t my own. It was someone else’s candle lit sanctum – and I felt confidence cascade through ever fiber in my body. I would find that bathroom and I would knock on the mirror to complete the circle. The bathroom belonged to Stephanie, and although I didn’t know her before that day, she would become a very important (albeit small) part of my life. Stephanie was my rebound as she was a mutual friend with my buddy, Scott. He had been invited over to her place earlier in the week. I didn’t know about it till I showed up at his place, ready to hit the town (as college guys feel a want to do), and he mentioned it “oh so” casually. “Let’s drop by, have a beer and then we’ll move on…” And that’s when I knew I was going to meet my “six month self” in full bloom. Stephanie was cute – very cute – a lot prettier than June. A full head taller than my ex, she had auburn hair and piercing green eyes. She had the fullest set of lips I have ever kissed. And most importantly, she was new. I don’t think we had known each for more than twenty minutes before we were making out on her bed. Without going into the dirty details, it was a good night. I woke up in Stephanie’s bed around 6AM. I had to get home and take a shower before heading to my part-time gig. I gave her a kiss, and briefly woke her to make plans for later that night. I threw on my sweater, and man did I feel good. Ever since breaking up with June, I had felt out of sorts with my body – as if my soul were always dragging two steps behind. But now I was electric. My arms felt lean and muscular, my legs strong and centered, and it was time to pass this message back to myself. I entered Stephanie’s bathroom, took a match and lit the candle directly underneath the mirror. And I stared at myself – and it was just how I pictured it six months before. I was now the Me I had seen on that sorry depressing day. I swear, although it was very faint – I saw myself in the mirror lying on the bed and crying my eyes out. I knocked and knocked again. When I knew I had gotten my attention, I said, “You can’t be sad anymore. Life is too good to be sad. “ And I smiled. “June will come crawling back to you after Dennis dumps her. But by then you’ll have moved on.” I gave a thumbs up – although looking back at that now – it was pretty cheesy. But again, this was me I was talking to and I doubt very much that I had felt it was cheesy when I first saw it. Stephanie and I ran our course. We dated for a few months, but ultimately, we weren’t compatible, and I had my eyes set on someone new. Such is college, you know. I didn’t hear from my “six month self” until a few weeks after college graduation – but by then, I had chalked up the situation as a very smart way for the subconscious to release itself from my self-imposed sadness. But this time, my six-month self saved my life – and it wasn’t about going full circle, but rather starting life on an entirely new path. To put it plainly, I should have been horribly injured in a car accident around the fourth of July. I had planned on going with my friends down to Newport Beach, which is the maddest city on the west coast when it comes to Lady Liberty’s Birthday. We had done it the year before and it was one of the best nights of my life. I had been looking forward to it all throughout the school year. It was the carrot to keep my grades up, to focus on graduating to the best of my ability and to leave the party for the summer. But the night before I was to leave, I couldn’t sleep, because I kept hearing this sound in my head. I don’t know how to describe the sound; it was this rumbling noise…like air that was being spun through a heavy tube. I sat up in bed and looked around my room for the sound, and when I couldn’t find it, I walked around the apartment and still could not locate the culprit. But the sound kept growing louder. I went outside, and knocked on my neighbor’s door. She didn’t hear it, and was less than enthused that I had woken her up. She asked me if I was on acid, but I assured her I was not. I walked back up the stairs and sat in the living room, covering my ears to block out the noise. It had grown so loud that it was starting to make me nauseous. I screamed out loud, “What is it?” Then, much like that day when I was nineteen, I heard my voice coming from some far off tunnel. “Don’t go to Newport,” is what I said, “You can’t...You can’t!” I can only describe that seeing what was in my mind’s vision was much like looking through darkened glass. I could see myself, but it was a horrifying experience. My face had a giant scar. It ran down my face in a jagged jigsaw line. My left eye was gone, as I was covered in bandages. “You can’t go...” Both the vision and the sound of flowing air vanished. You can bet that I called my friends and told them I wouldn’t be joining them on the trip, and I told them it may be best to stick around town. Traffic would be horrible, I said, and with rising gas prices, it would be the cheaper alternative. But I didn’t push very hard – I knew this, because I had been thinking a lot about time travel, and although I could change my future, I knew that I couldn’t change theirs. I came close to telling my friend what had occurred, but I knew it would not be accepted or believed, and instead, I politely urged them to stay in town. Yet I knew the outcome – I knew they wouldn’t listen. And when my friend hung up the phone, I was certain that that would be the last time I ever spoke to him. And once again, my “six month self” was right. On the way down to Newport, the car they were traveling in was struck head- on by a pickup truck while traveling on the 154 highway leading into Santa Barbara. They never knew what hit them, because their car burst into flames. The passenger in the backseat, a friend’s friend who had probably taken my place, was thrown out of the vehicle. He survived, but not without massive external and internal injuries, and I hear he is just learning how to walk. I was on a new path, and that scared me like no other. The future was open and unwritten, and I knew that I had somehow sent my message back in time, but there was no circle to complete. This was a completely new world, and I wondered if my six-month self in the past would still get that message. And I made damn sure it did. Although I call this phenomenon my “six-month self,” it doesn’t fall six months on the dot. It could be four months or two years for all I knew, but just like it happened all those years ago with June and Stephanie, a feeling overcame me. I had moved into my first apartment in San Jose, California. I had accepted a job with a press-release distribution company that although paid a very dismal wage, promised the opportunity to climb the corporate ladder and grant me my first official work-experience post college. I can’t describe the feeling, because it is so unique to myself. It’s much like the feeling of having to go to the bathroom. It’s inside of you and there are mechanisms that are telling you its time to go. It’s a very basic, primal feeling and being that I had woken a little bit earlier in that day, I had very little time to do what needed to be done. I carried a fan into my bathroom, a fan that sounded very much like that noise I had heard on July 3rd. I found some gauze and wrapped the left side of my head with it, covering my eye. I drew that jagged scar on my face with a grease pen. I looked ridiculous – and I have never been so thankful to live alone. Yet, I needed to recreate the moment. I had to complete the circle, even though I was on a new path. I turned the fan on the highest setting, and with my makeup and head wrapping secure, I looked into the mirror. I tried to remember what I was doing at that time, and knew that I was having trouble falling asleep. I stared into the mirror, looking underneath the glass rather than at it, and in my mind’s eye, I saw myself in bed, staring at the ceiling. The fan was loud, it made me restless, and I saw that I was getting up, looking throughout the apartment, and going downstairs to ask my neighbor, and then coming back up. Then I heard it, I heard it in my mind, just as I said it back then. “What is it?” I yelled. “Don’t go to Newport,” I said, “You can’t...You can’t!” Once again, the circle was complete. I was safe, and so was I, five months in the past. The following weeks felt like a blur. Work was rewarding, but it wasn’t paying enough. I found that I would often go nights without dinner, because I had to stretch my dollar as far as I could. I was determined not to go back to my parent’s hat in hand. I had to make this life for myself, and I began to wonder if my “six-month self” could help lead me to a better financial world. It became an obsession. I had a talent, an ability to change my future. I wondered if I could give myself lottery numbers, or stock suggestions. A lot could change in six- months. I had succeeded beating the harrowing side effect of love, and the potential disaster of a car accident. Why couldn’t I financially strengthen my life? Well, to answer that I question, I could and did. But that’s where everything started to go south. After the embarrassment of not having enough money in my bank account to even buy a taco, I knew something had to be done. Tech stocks were doing extremely well, but picking the right one was a crapshoot. Being that I was in San Jose, which was near the tech stronghold of Silicon Valley, I had numerous friends who had bet on one company or another, and had made an incredible amount of money. They didn’t have a crystal ball, just a very astute understanding of the market place, and as well, enough seed money from their parents to get them started. One of my friend’s friends, which in real-speak, is just some dude that some other dude knows, made a killing on a stock that gave him enough to retire. I found myself thinking again and again, how could I finally live without starving, live without sacrificing, live with means that could allow me to be as free as I could possibly want? The answer, I knew was that I did have a crystal ball, and I did have an insight into the future that no one in the world had. And if I played my cards right, I could start relaying the messages back to myself. But it would have to be quicker than six months. It was three days until my paycheck, and I had nothing left in my bank account. I found myself hanging out at a bar with some friends, and finding leftover appetizer plates that no one wanted to eat. It was almost no different than scrounging in the garbage. And I decided that I would begin researching these stocks and sending messages back to myself. And this was not an easy task. After I would return home from work, I would scour the financial websites for the biggest gains of the day, and then the biggest gains of the year. I was looking for patterns, and I was looking for that big kill. I decided it was best to swallow my pride and go back to my parents and beg them for some cash. Since my parents were public school teachers, they were not swimming in wealth, but I promised myself that if this worked, I would take care of them first. I visited them on the weekend, and they told me how proud they were that I was working and moving full steam ahead. They did wish that I would settle down with someone, but they knew that being only 24, I had many, many years to find the right girl. I told them that I wanted to invest for my retirement, but didn’t have the ability to do anything since I was making such a small wage. And that’s when they reminded me that I had a series of savings bonds from my grandparents that had gone untouched in a bank deposit box that I had forgotten about. It was only $6000, but this was enough to get me started. I wasn’t going to use the money to upgrade my car, or to buy new clothes, or to do anything that seemed even halfway responsible. I would take all $6000 and invest it in the market. And I continued with my process, I would scour the net for those stocks, and I began writing the big winners of the day on a 3x5 card with a sharpie. The message had to be big and bold enough to see, it had to be short and memorable – I knew that if I could relay the message back to myself, I would only have it for a few seconds before it went away. I would do this every other day – as the day off would be solely for receiving messages. It was on a Monday that I began standing in front of the mirror with the big gains of the day on the 3x5 card and I would just stand there. I would look underneath the mirror’s reflection and I would wait. I forced myself to stand there for 20 minutes, until the message was sent. But so far, no messages had come back to me on the days I stood in front of the mirror to receive. I was beginning to think this wouldn’t work. And then one night, I decided to give it a go, I was going to receive a message whether I liked it or not. I stood in the bathroom for over two hours, almost falling asleep at times, but then there would be a flicker, just a small flicker in the reflection – I would see the outline of a card. I knew that I could have been imagining it, but I believed, I had to believe that this would work. And I continued to stare underneath the glass, and watch the outline of the card grow brighter. Then it appeared. My God, it appeared as clear as day, the card with the stock ticker symbol, ASPX and a big arrow next to it. I quickly wrote it down and headed back to my desk. ASPX was trading at $3.05 – it was a pharmaceutical company with little to no fanfare. Yet there was word on a message board, that they were about to release a study on cancer treatment. I bet everything on ASPX – all $6000 and 1967 shares of stock. I hit submit to buy at the opening bell, and went to bed. I didn’t think about the next couple of days, partially because I was superstitious, and also because I was scared. This stock, as small as it was, could plummet into nothing, and my nest egg would be gone. But as I had some downtime at work, I opened up my E-Trade account, and what do you know? The study had been released, and it was huge. The stock had jumped from three dollars and five cents to eleven dollars and fifteen cents! That was an increase of $15,000 dollars. After returning home from work, I wrote the stock ticker symbol down on the card and held it in front of the mirror. But that itself was slow going. I wasn’t seeing my past self in the reflection – and it dawned on me that I needed to be there at the same time of the night. I chose the same time, every other night – 11:45PM. Once that was established, I was beginning to get messages from just a day head. Messages that told me how to invest and what to sell, and before long, I was rolling in cash. The upgrade in my life was pretty swift. I put a down payment on a townhome in downtown San Jose – which itself was no easy feat. And I decided to quit my job as my wealth grew. I won’t get into it – but as you can imagine, my life had become one of those montages you see in movies, where a person is able to purchase whatever they want. I bought a Mercedes, a boat, a seventy-inch flat screen TV, and enough clothes to fit any number of my “six-month self’s.” That part was fun, and I would give it up for anything in the world. But I should tell you where things started to go wrong. And it didn’t have to do with my finances, because every once in a while, I would send messages to myself that had nothing to do with stocks. I would say, “Attend Amir’s party,” or “Don’t go on the boat today,” and I would always follow with what I wrote. But it became hard for me to remember what I told myself, and that’s when I realized how precarious a path I was walking, because if I didn’t complete the circle, things would begin to unravel. It was a simple message, really. A message that I followed as suggested, but I didn’t remind my past self to do the following day. Up until then, I had been extremely diligent about making sure to fulfill the messages – even as innocuous as they may have seemed. I didn’t have the ability to fully converse with myself – since I was communicating with cards, I wasn’t hearing my voice anymore, I was simply writing it down to make sure to show it myself later. Every time I got a message, I would have a blank 3x5 card with me in the bathroom, and I would right it down exactly as I saw it. But keep in mind, what I was seeing was backwards – being that it was in a mirror’s reflection, so it was sometimes hard to decipher. But making sure that I wrote it down, I would then show myself the following day. It was easy – the easiest thing in the world, but with all things time-travel that I have read and learned, you must follow the rules. Little did I know the disaster that would await me when I forgot to follow that little bitty step. The message was, “Call Mom first thing in the morning.” That was it. And I think because my parents had never been a part of the correspondence with my “six- month self” it scared me. I called my mother as soon as I woke, and everything was fine. We chatted for about thirty minutes, and then she said she was on her way to get groceries. Deep down inside, I knew that by talking to my mother, as we conversed for half an hour, I was delaying her from her day. And I knew that it must have been a good thing. I called her later on, and she was talking a mile a minute, “Oh my! I went to the grocery store and there was this huge accident. They are doing construction on the new movie theater next door, and a crane toppled over! People were crushed.” But I didn’t hear the rest. I had saved my mother’s life. I shook my head in disbelief; there was no limit to how far I could go in changing the future. If she had gone to the grocery store on time, she very well could have been crushed along with those other innocent lives. It was my ego that got to me – I felt like God at that moment, and that was the problem. I had been given such a special ability that I could foresee the disasters that my family and friends could avoid. My hubris took over, and I went out to celebrate with my friends. I didn’t tell them what I was celebrating, but that I was in the mood to blow off steam. And we hit the town – and I must have had too much, because I found myself in bed the following morning. And instantly, something seemed off. My phone was ringing, and it wouldn’t stop. I tried to ignore it, but it just kept ringing and ringing. Whoever was calling was getting my voicemail but ignoring it and continued to call. I finally crawled out of bed and grabbed the phone – it was my Dad. “There you are!” He said, “I thought I lost you too!” “What’s up, Dad?” I asked. “We need to go and meet with the funeral director, but I can’t do it alone,” he said. “Funeral director?” There was silence on the phone. “Yeah, for your Mom. I can’t do it alone.” Everything started to spin – my vision was taking a roller coaster ride from the ceiling to the carpet and back again. “What are you talking about?” I shouted. “The accident, son! At the grocery store, I know, I forgot when I woke up this morning, but when she wasn’t in bed next to me, it all came back. Please, can you come with me to the Funeral-“ I hung up and instantly was sick to my stomach. I ran back to the bathroom – I looked for the 3x5 card where I had written, “Call Mom first thing in the morning,“ but it was gone. It had never happened – because I had not completed the circle. The rest of that day was a blur – I went with my father and met the dour, sorry- sounding funeral director. We selected a casket and I was beside myself. My father didn’t know that my tears weren’t just from my mother’s death, but from the fact that I was completely responsible. My mother’s funeral came and went, and I had not stood in the mirror to learn anything from my “six-month self.” I felt that my skill had become dangerous, unpredictable, and the guilt of losing my mother was just too much to handle. But like all junkies, you always come back to the drug you love. And my drug called me again and again. My skills as a day trader weren’t very good without the help I had received, and my net worth fell by three-quarters in a single day. I still had enough to get by, but I wouldn’t be able to live without working. I knew that if I got myself a couple of really good picks, I could stop seeing my “six- month self” for good. I started the process again, and by 11:45 that night, I stood in front of the mirror and looked into the glass. I focused beneath the reflection, and soon, the outline of a card came into view. The card read, “Kill yourself.” I stepped back in a panic. Why would I write that? I would never write that. Then the card disappeared, and another card took its place. The card has the ticker symbol of a tech company that I knew. My mind was playing tricks on me, I supposed, and I wrote down the ticker symbol and went to bed for the night. My sleep was filled with vivid, horrible dreams – nightmares about waking up and having both of my arms on one side of my body, or that my nose was now on my knee. Every dream was about being a deformed monstrosity, and I awoke screaming a number of times. I was dead-tired the next morning, but I made my trade on the ticker symbol I had read, and of course, made a killing on the day. Though that night, when I sent the message back to myself, I had to throw away a number of cards, for I had written, “kill yourself” without knowing. Each time I intended to write the ticker symbol, and instead it was that awful mantra I had seen two days prior. I knew that with the death of my mother and the stress of the situation, I was really starting to lose it. But I also felt it dawning on me that I was not on the correct path. The next night I received a message, the card said, “You don’t deserve to live.” And that’s all I got for the rest of the night, I was too scared to see any other messages. I slept through the next morning and never looked at my computer. I wrote my card the night before, and just like before, I had to fight the urge to write the awful new mantra. Instead, I wrote, “You are loved.” But as I held it up to the mirror, I began to have an awful headache, and my nose started to bleed. In the mirror’s reflection, I looked as if I were to about to burst at the seams. My head was swollen; my skin was beat red, and my nose continued to bleed on and off. To top it all off, I kept hearing this awful creaking sound – as if the fibers of rope were being burned by wood. It creaks and creaks and swings and swings. And yet, I continued to receive the messages in the mirror – and they just kept getting worse. “You are damned!” “She could have lived if you weren’t so selfish.” And the kicker, “You won’t live past Friday.” It was Monday night when I got that message. I was feverish, and my skin was beginning to break down and bleed. I can’t eat, I can’t drink – I’m pretty sure my hands are slowly fading while I type this on my laptop. But there it is all again – five fingers here, five no four…there. I’m going mad. I had not completed the circle, and am therefore living in a future that I do not belong. There are other things too – I hear myself in my own apartment. Not from noises I make, but from noises “he” makes. He being me…oh I am falling down this rabbit hole. Why didn’t I complete the circle? How could I be so selfish? Could there be another version of me out there? That is moving along this life, this plane of existence – in the multiverse - without ever knowing anything different? I have come to the realization that I am the reflection – a mere clone and I wonder if it is I who is the one trapped in the mirror? A mirror that is now shattering on its own. I need to take a break – my mouth is chattering. ......... I tried to call my Dad, but he couldn’t hear me on the phone. I tried to drive to our home, but after growing up in that house, I can’t remember where it is. I have lost another tooth; they are falling out of my head like apples during a fall harvest. Another finger has disappeared – this time it’s the ring finger on my left hand – I guess marriage is out of the equation, and I’ve lost one of my toes. It’s the one that had roast beef, not the one that went “wee-wee-wee” all the way home. One by one, I am being erased from this plane of existence, and yet the sound of swinging overhead continues – and I’m afraid I know what it means and what it wants me to do. There isn’t much time now. I just looked into the mirror while I was typing this and it is filled with 3x5 cards – and all of them read, “Goodbye,” and I guess that’s it, then. But something strange is happening as I type - Is everything supposed to backwards here?
Posted on: Thu, 14 Aug 2014 02:44:33 +0000
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