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The Temporal Doormat: Exit Stage Right
"Perhaps we could all do with a little less rumination on what's to come, and a little more celebration of what's already here."
J.K. Rowling
🚪
A #WRITCO Concept
🪟
HERE
STANDING
AT THE
DOOR
⌛ ⏳
As I stumbled through the labyrinth of my cluttered mind, I often found myself standing before a mundane doorway, the kind you'd find in any old apartment complex. But this wasn't any ordinary doorframe. No, it was the gateway to my chaotic past, and the ever-elusive promise of a better future. You see, I had this peculiar ability to waltz through time, all with a simple thought and a nudge of my body through the wood and paint. It was a gift and a curse, wrapped up in the most confusing of packages.
My name isn't important, really. It's changed more times than I care to count. But let's call me the Temporal Doormat, because, well, that's what I felt like. Trampled over by the very fabric of existence, trying to hold onto the threads of my life. You'd think it would be easy, skipping through the annals of time like a cosmic stone across a pond. But let me tell you, it's not all tea parties with Cleopatra and moonwalks with Michael Jackson. Oh no, it's a tangled web of "what-ifs" and "why-the-hells."
I'd be lying if I said I didn't abuse my power. Who wouldn't want to change that one embarrassing moment in high school, or snatch back the lottery numbers I accidentally gave to my ex-best friend who's now living on her own private island? But every time I stepped through a doorway into the past, I brought back more than just memories. I brought back consequences, like a cosmic souvenir from a trip gone wrong. And let's not even get started on the wrinkles it was giving me.
The first time it happened, I was just trying to get to the bathroom in the middle of the night without waking my husband, Dave. Or was it Steve? Oh, right, that was the life before I accidentally turned him into a llama. Whoops. Anyway, I pushed the door open and found myself in my childhood bedroom, staring at my eight-year-old self,...
J.K. Rowling
🚪
A #WRITCO Concept
🪟
HERE
STANDING
AT THE
DOOR
⌛ ⏳
As I stumbled through the labyrinth of my cluttered mind, I often found myself standing before a mundane doorway, the kind you'd find in any old apartment complex. But this wasn't any ordinary doorframe. No, it was the gateway to my chaotic past, and the ever-elusive promise of a better future. You see, I had this peculiar ability to waltz through time, all with a simple thought and a nudge of my body through the wood and paint. It was a gift and a curse, wrapped up in the most confusing of packages.
My name isn't important, really. It's changed more times than I care to count. But let's call me the Temporal Doormat, because, well, that's what I felt like. Trampled over by the very fabric of existence, trying to hold onto the threads of my life. You'd think it would be easy, skipping through the annals of time like a cosmic stone across a pond. But let me tell you, it's not all tea parties with Cleopatra and moonwalks with Michael Jackson. Oh no, it's a tangled web of "what-ifs" and "why-the-hells."
I'd be lying if I said I didn't abuse my power. Who wouldn't want to change that one embarrassing moment in high school, or snatch back the lottery numbers I accidentally gave to my ex-best friend who's now living on her own private island? But every time I stepped through a doorway into the past, I brought back more than just memories. I brought back consequences, like a cosmic souvenir from a trip gone wrong. And let's not even get started on the wrinkles it was giving me.
The first time it happened, I was just trying to get to the bathroom in the middle of the night without waking my husband, Dave. Or was it Steve? Oh, right, that was the life before I accidentally turned him into a llama. Whoops. Anyway, I pushed the door open and found myself in my childhood bedroom, staring at my eight-year-old self,...
