As she returns home, each click of her heeled boots on the historic pavement makes her dream of settling in and watching a good movie. Living in New York City is overwhelming for a girl from rural Arkansas, but these first four months have been full of productivity. Under the awning outside her new flat, she twists her ever-important key into the door as a devouring fall breeze pushes her inside. After unloading her tote bag, tan coat, and bulky phone, she performs some dramatic stretches in her compact foyer and begins admiring her organized shoe collection near the stairs: a variety of heels, a necessary pair of Converse, a few pairs of unworn Air Jordan 1s, and a brand-new pair of Dr. Martens. 

A snap echoes inside her head, and she finds herself sitting on the nearby couch in an instant, staring at a blank flat-screen TV as her feet lie atop the coffee table. Layers of bundled clothing squeeze her body, providing an odd comfort. “What?” She mutters. “How did I...” 

Taking in the noticeable silence, she racks her mind and notices the pair of worn, snow-covered Dr. Martens enveloping her feet. She begins shifting her body, eliminating the silence with quiet ruffles as her mind races with useless thoughts. Then, her heart palpitates. In an instant, the scenery changes to her favorite coffee shop. Her friend, Aria, sits across from her and watches her usual expression suddenly become panicked as her eyes dart around the environment. The red leather booths, the mint green walls, and even the busy foot traffic outside the window are all ordinary. “What’s wrong……?” Aria asks as the name she intends to say garbles into static. 

“I... why can’t I... remem-” She squeezes out a few words as an immense pressure overwhelms her, placing her into a new scene. Her anxiety and heart rate spike uncontrollably as she finds herself in a moody speakeasy. Calm jazz plays in the background, but every drum hit and bass note feels like an attack on her soul. Then, overwhelming scents of leather and vanilla bring her back to her senses. She observes the beautiful red dress she’s wearing, then notices the other guests staring at her stature: an agape mouth, dazed eyes, and a severely sunken sitting posture. 

Her train of thought is a gazelle caught in an ocean of mud. Hopelessness ensues as she collapses onto the floor, and the sound of surrounding guests panicking fills her ears. Curling into a fetal position, she subconsciously covers her face and feels the many wrinkles that now define her identity. Her fingers trace the wrinkles down her neck, and, after several moments of hyperventilating, she begins to sob. As she feels bystanders loom over her, that same immense pressure ensues again before everything goes completely silent. After sobbing for a while longer with no interruptions, she reluctantly looks around. In a completely dark and empty space, all she can make out is a faint light in the distance. “Am I dead?” She utters with hope. 

Pushing herself up from the floor of the void, she walks toward the flickering light, ripping off the red heels intended to complement her dress. Walking sometimes turns into stumbling as emotions of confusion and despair dominate her mind. After ten minutes, she stands a few feet in front of a 1950s TV. On the grainy screen is a first-person view of somebody at their mother’s deathbed, holding their hand as those necessary moments fly by. It doesn’t take long for her to realize that’s her own mother. Eventually, she looks down and falls to her knees, her hair becoming disheveled in a way that veils most of her face. She feels two springs of warm water burst through the rough terrain of her face as her mouth slowly opens as she prepares to scream, but she’s cut off when the surrounding darkness strings together in front of the TV to form an arm seemingly made of tar. She watches, eyes wide and mouth agape, while a stuck scream tries to claw its way out of her throat, as the arm shifts to press a button on the TV, turning it off. 

After a few moments of awe, she reaches forward into the darkness, only to realize that the TV has disappeared. Her heart desperately urges for anything familiar, but she remains clueless—hopeless. In an instant, she finds herself in a baby’s crib. She inspects her pudgy, infant hands. She hears her own wail break the silence as the pressure builds again.