The Seconds that Would Ruin the Years

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She sat motionless on the pale cream carpet of her bathroom floor and leaned her head against the sink's cupboard doors. It was silent, except for the white clock ticking, hanging over a shelf, which read, "1:47," and the water droplets dripping into the sink. The perfectly white walls seemed like they were enclosing on her, and she struggled to breathe normally. Tears were about to burst from her eyes, and she tried her hardest to hold them back. Without success, they silently came rolling down her pink cheeks and nose. She sobbed violently, gasping for air, and through her blinded eyes looked at the object, which she held with shaking hands. The object felt foreign to her, but she knew what it could do to her life.
She managed to lift herself from the floor and turned around to face the silvery mirror. She set the object down on the clean, white marble countertop and stared at herself in the mirror. Her dark brown, sparkling eyes were puffy and red, with traces of tears still streaming down. Her nose, small and cute, was red and couldn't draw in air. Her flawless, tanned skin was stained with tears. Her mocha brown hair was messy and ratted.
She looked into her own eyes and asked herself silently, “How did I get here?” A million thoughts ran through her mind. Mixed emotions flooded her heart; anger, depression, hopelessness, anguish, impatience, and she felt she had no one to trust. As long as she could remember, everyone had let her down; she couldn't recall one kept promise. She felt unloved and searched for a new hope in all the wrong places. She vividly remembered the time when one of the guys she met whispered to her, "No one has to know... And, we'll even use a condom." After that, she didn't want to remember anymore.
She attempted to erase all of her thoughts and glanced down at the strange object. She looked over at her makeup, which she had applied heavily every day and threw it all in a small white trash can. She glanced at her small Tampax box, which she might never use again for another nine months. She thought about this, and another round of tears came flooding down. She stared at her small pink razor for a few moments, and then picked it up warily. She considered committing suicide for a few brief seconds but decided she wasn’t strong enough to go through with it. Even though she was feeling alone, she considered all of the people she would affect, “Or would her death even matter to anyone?” she thought.
What would she do if this object predicted her whole life? Who would she go to? Not her parents. They were the type of people who lived perfectly white lives. They attended church every Sunday, never missed a spot cleaning, expected their children to succeed in everything they did, but they never knew how to love their very own child. She knew she was an offspring of her parents. She attended church every Wednesday and Sunday, was the top of her class and had a shot of becoming valedictorian, was the most outstanding one out of all of the girls in ballet, and was adored by her piano teacher. But, at one point in her life she decided she was bored with everything. She felt pressured to be perfect and had enough of it. She knew she couldn’t go to her friends. They were only friends; she never had someone to call, “best friend” in her whole life. She stopped mid-thought and glanced at the ticking white clock on the white wall as it read, "1:56." One more minute until the object could change her life and decisions forever.
She looked into the mirror one last time then down into the sink, ran cold water, and splashed it on her face. She felt that this could keep herself from going insane. She pondered on her options: she could keep, adopt, or give it to her parents. She glanced at the clock again, now it read, "1:57." She slowly picked up the foreign object with weak fingers and glanced at it for just a second, it read, "Negative."





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