Chapter 1
647words
"I come from ten years in the future, and I think I should tell you."
————————————————————
The scent of rust mingled with years-old dust hung in the air.
Sunlight filtered through the broken holes in the warehouse ceiling, casting irregular patches of light on the floor where countless dust particles danced in the beams.
I curled up in my makeshift “throne”—a desk with a broken leg and an armchair with exposed foam.
This is my secret hideout.
It is also my grave.
The fashion magazine in my hand had been thumbed through until the edges curled. The blonde model on the cover smiled with California sunshine brightness, completely out of place in this dismal corner.
Last night’s argument replayed in my head on an endless loop.
Mom’s sharp voice, piercing enough to shatter glass.
Dad’s alcohol-soaked roar, heavy enough to bring down the whole damn house.
Then came the sounds—things thrown, glass shattering. Crisp. Jarring. Familiar.
I covered my face with the magazine, hoping the smell of cheap ink might mask the stench of my memories.
As if that could somehow separate me from this world.
What’s the point of my existence anyway?
I’m just another weapon they use against each other in their endless war.
Hell, I don’t even qualify as a weapon.
Just an insignificant prop they can both ignore.
Just then, faint footsteps echoed from the warehouse entrance.
Creak.
The sound of someone stepping on decaying floorboards. Soft. Deliberate.
The discipline teacher?
That old-fashioned guy with the receding hairline who gets off on patrolling every corner of campus, hunting down “problem students” like me.
I held my breath, crouched down, and slipped behind a stack of old cabinets.
The cabinets reeked of mildew as I carefully peered through a crack.
The footsteps drew closer.
One step.
Then another.
These weren’t the shuffling steps of the discipline teacher’s worn leather shoes.
These were lighter, steadier, with a rhythm I couldn’t quite place.
The visitor stopped in a patch of light.
His entire figure bathed in sunlight, like someone who had stepped straight out of an old film.
A faded white shirt—not the baggy style everyone wears now, but fitted. Proper blue jeans with neatly rolled cuffs.
Impossibly clean.
So clean he seemed out of place with everything here. Including me.
He looked about my age, but his eyes lacked the restlessness of our generation. Something calm lived in them—a gentleness that comes only after seeing too much.
He didn’t look around or show any curiosity about trespassing in a forbidden place.
He just stood there, as if arriving for a long-arranged appointment.
My heart pounded, not from fear, but from the awkwardness of feeling completely transparent.
I shifted out from behind the cabinet. The floorboard beneath my feet let out a protesting creak.
He turned at the sound, his gaze landing precisely on me.
No surprise.
“Who are you?”
My voice came out dry and hoarse, carrying a wariness I hadn’t even realized I felt.
“My name is Jack Wilson.”
His voice, like his eyes, was clean and gentle.
“The new transfer student.”
Right, someone new had shown up in class this morning. I hadn’t bothered to pay attention.
“How did you know about this place?”
That was the real question. This place was mine—a kingdom that belonged only to me. My private tomb.
He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze drifted past me to the “throne” behind me.
That desk with the broken leg and the tattered chair—in his eyes, they weren’t garbage but artifacts worthy of remembrance.
A flicker of emotion I couldn’t decipher passed through his eyes—a complex mixture of sadness, nostalgia, and… was that a hint of joy?
Then he looked at me again, the emotions fading from his eyes, leaving only determined calmness.
“Because I’ve returned from a world ten years in the future.”
