ꪖ ꪗꫀꪖ᥅ ꫀ᥅ꪖᦓꫀᦔ (A Year Erased)

ꪖ ꪗꫀꪖ᥅ ꫀ᥅ꪖᦓꫀᦔ (A Year Erased)

𝓣he sharp shrill of thunder outside boomed, jolting me awake. Everything felt so numb. Where am I?

My hand fumbles a bit before reaching across the small nightstand, knocking over a glass of water before finding the source of the noise. Silence returned, but my heart hammered against my ribs. Something felt… Wrong. I slowly sat up, observing my surroundings. This bedroom looked the same as before -- gray walls, a cluttered desk with papers, a night lamp, and a worn leather jacket hung over the chair.

But there was a weight in the air, a heaviness I couldn’t place.

It wasn’t until I swung my legs over the side of the bed that I noticed it.

A note.

A small piece of paper rested on the nightstand, written in hurried, slanted handwriting:

"Don't trust anyone -- not even yourself."

The words sent a quiet chill in my spine. What did those even mean? Was this a prank? The closer I look at it, the more I realize I don't recognize this handwriting.

I grabbed the note and turned it over, hoping for some clue, but the back was blank. Swallowing hard, I tried to piece together the events of the night before.

Nothing was there.

No fragments of a party, no blurry memories of too many drinks, not even a sense of how I got home. I checked my phone for answers, scrolling through my messages and call logs, but there was nothing recent -- just a blank stretch of time that made my stomach twist.

Then I saw the date.

[ March 15th, 2019. ]

My phone fell and clattered with the floor on impact. The last date I remembered was March 15th -- of last year.

I let myself scramble out of bed, nearly tripping over the pile of clothes on the floor, and ran to the mirror. My reflection stared back, familiar yet different. My hair was longer than I remembered, my face thinner. A faint scar curved along my jawline, one I didn't recognize.

Panic surged in my chest and took over my mind. I then tore through my closet, rifling through clothes that weren't mine -- jackets I'd never bought, shoes I didn't recognize. Even the books on my shelf were unfamiliar, their spines worn as if I'd read them a hundred times.

What the hell had happened to me?

The sound of a door creaking open made me freeze. I turned slowly, the note already crumpled in my fist.

"H-Hello?" I called, my voice shaking.

No answer.

I stepped into the hallway, my bare feet cold against the hardwood floor. The sterile apartment was eerily quiet, every creak and groan of the old building increased in the silence.

When I reached the kitchen, I stopped.

There, on the counter, was another note.

"It's not safe here. They're watching."

I feel a lump form in my throat as I stared at the message, my composure being already shaken. My hands trembled as I picked it up, my hands felt clammy.

"Who's watching?" I whispered.