The narrator finds himself in an unfamiliar life
I awoke on a dusty attic floor, old boxes surrounding me. The attic was otherwise barren, triangular with one opaque window across from me. I stood and opened the window to let some light in and a musty odor out.
Carefully, I stepped down a ladder into what looked like my bedroom. Suddenly, I felt drawn out of my bedroom as I swung open my door and walked downstairs.
I entered a giant dining hall festooned with rich silver carpet, tapestries, a piano, china, a table, and a plaque bearing my name—James Richardson. A painting that looked like me lay nearby, complete with my blond hair and blue eyes . . . even my single dimple. A carpet under my feet read “In Alia Vita” and a newspaper on the table noted the date of June 12, 1829.
My eyes searched for my parents, but all I found was an envelope on the piano. The envelope read “Last Will and Testament.” I opened it, and all the paper inside read was “I give all my belongings to my dearest son, Reginald “Reggie” Richardson.”
Who was this?
Scared and confused, I ran outside, only to find my mother holding the hand of some unfamiliar boy.
“I love you,” she told the boy. “You’re my favorite and only son.” I felt my heart shatter.
I wanted to run to my mother, but the more I tried to move, the farther away she walked, hand in hand with her “son.”
Mother and “son” started fading into the distance when, suddenly, the world around me slowed down. The birds were barely gliding in the sky. The falling leaves struggled to make it to the ground. A squirrel’s quick prance became a long motion full of effort. Was the Earth in a trance?
Every movement was in slow motion. The ground caved in.
I fell into a deep, black abyss.
I awoke drenched with sweat, screaming. Was it all just a dream?
Finally I rose and walked to the bathroom, in desperate need of a shower.
There, I looked in the mirror.
And Reggie looked back at me.
