There it is again, that young kid. I know their name, I know their fate. I feel dread seeping through my entire being as they stare at me, into my eyes, into my soul. How old was I when I looked like that? Nine? Twelve? My younger self's wide eyes make me want to look away. Why were they here? Why do they appear like this?
I don't say anything, I can't. I want to speak, but I can't even open my mouth, let alone control my breathing. My younger self doesn't say anything either. I hated this.
My younger self has eyes, wide with disappointment or horror at the...