Fractured Fate

Darkness.

It stretched endlessly, blanketing everything in an abyss of nothingness. No sense of self, no grasp of time – just the slow, steady pull of something unknown. She drifted, weightless and formless, caught in a limbo where emotions flickered but never took shape. She existed, yet she did not. She felt, yet she understood nothing.

Warmth.

It pierced the void like a single spark in the abyss, sudden and jarring, a contrast so sharp it sent a shudder through her fragile awareness. It was the first sensation in an eternity, or maybe only a moment – time had no meaning here. The warmth wrapped around her, pulling her toward something unseen.

Lub-dub.

A rhythmic sound, deep and steady. A cadence similar to a clock. No…more like a heartbeat.

It surrounded her, a constant presence in the void. She could not see, could not move, but the pulse anchored her, filling the silence with its steady drum. It was everything.

And with the heartbeat, she began to exist. Awareness flickered at the edges of her consciousness, tentative and uncertain. The warmth pressed in, enveloping her like a cocoon, and within its embrace, she could feel something – herself. A body. Small, fragile, unfamiliar. She shifted barely a twitch, but the movement sent a ripple through her newly formed existence, solidifying her presence. She had limbs, though they felt weak. She had a body, though it was entirely unfamiliar. For the first time, she was more than just floating awareness – she was something tangible.

Something changed. A force stronger than the warmth pulled at her, dragging her from the warm embrace. The pulse that had once been a steady rhythm now roared like a rushing tide, and she felt herself being torn away. Sensations exploded into being – pressure, movement, an unbearable weight she had never known.

Pain.

A violent force wrenched her from the comforting warmth, tearing her away from the only existence she had known. Her tiny body convulsed before she even understood what it meant to move. The pain seemed to go on forever. Never ending convulsions. Suddenly, the warmth vanished, replaced by searing cold that clawed at her exposed skin. Noise crashed into her, a chaotic storm of shouting, screaming – far too much, far too loud.

A wail.

A cry split the air. The first sound she had heard since the rhythmic heartbeat stopped pulsing through her body only moments ago. Another wail followed, sharp and piercing. It was noise, overwhelming, suffocating. It took time – seconds, or perhaps longer – for realization to dawn. The sound was coming from her.

She was crying.

She was alive.

The realization crawled through her sluggish mind, buried under layers of fog. Hands lifted her, holding her gently. A flash of red. The world around her was nothing but a blur of light and sound. She could not comprehend the shapes, the figures that loomed over her, nor the words they spoke. Everything was distant, hazy.

PAIN.

Hot, blinding pain. The violent push and pull from before was excruciating but this was different. It wasn’t just suffering. It was something deeper, something that reached into the very core of her being. Her mind reeled as images flashed through her head. Memories flickered – fragmented, disjointed.

A classroom, the weight of textbooks heavy in her hands. The sterile scent of a laboratory, white coats and bright lights. A laugh – soft and familiar. A young girl with jet black hair and forest green eyes. A pair of small hands tugging at her sleeve – a young girl’s voice calling her name. A boy’s excited chatter – a young boy grinning up at her as they ran through a field. Dark blue eyes staring back at her, a young woman with light brown hair, a mirror – it was her. At least it was the her from before.

Then they were gone. Slipping through her grasp like sand through her fingers. She struggled to hold onto them, to piece together who she had been, but they remained hazy, indistinct. The more she reached, the more they faded, leaving an emptiness in their wake.

Then – silence. The world blurred and faded. Darkness took her once more.

Time fractured. Moments slipped through her grasp, moving in erratic blurs of sensation and confusion. She woke, but not fully. Shadows shifted, voices murmured, but she understood none of it. Hands cradled her, lifted her, but their owners remained strangers. Some voices whispered gently, carrying tender words she could not yet make out. Other times, there was only emptiness.

Days passed. Or maybe months. She was fed, she slept, she woke. A cycle repeated over and over, a haze of existence with no clear meaning. But something stirred within her, faint at first – fragmented images, slipping just beyond her reach. Faces she did not know. Words in a language foreign, yet familiar. Names – echoes of something lost, whispers that sent a shiver down her spine.

There was warmth – different from before. Arms held her close, a deep voice murmuring in a soothing tone. A face came into focus, framed by white hair, with eyes watching her intently. Another voice, softer, sweeter. A woman with red hair and gentle eyes cradled her, humming under her breath.

Her parents she concluded. If only for the love that filled their gazes once their eyes met hers.

Her father’s voice was deep and steady, filled with quiet strength. His white hair framed his sharp features marked by lines along his chin and cheeks. His deep red eyes, always observant, softened when they rested on her. He would hold her carefully, cradling her against his chest as he spoke, his voice a steady comfort. His voice a deep rumble as he spoke about things she could not yet understand.

Her mother, in contrast, was warmth incarnate. She had vibrant red hair that cascaded down her back, and bright violet eyes that glowed with an unyielding kindness. Her mother would often run her fingers through her wisps of hair, humming lullabies that soothed her to sleep. Her hands were gentle, but firm – capable and strong.

They quickly became her world.

As weeks passed, she grew accustomed to their touches, their voices, their presence. Her mother’s affectionate laughter, her father’s steady reassurances, the way they moved about the house, the warmth they surrounded her with. She learned the rhythm of their days. Her mother a constant presence and her fathers’ occasional absences. He would leave for days and sometimes weeks at a time. Always returning looking more haggard and weary.

Despite this, her memories from before still escaped her grasp.

A hospital. A graduation cap. A faint dream of helping others. A life before this one, one she could no longer fully remember. They came and went, dissolving before she could grasp them. the more she tried to hold onto them, the faster they slipped away, leaving an ache of something lost. It was maddening – like a puzzle missing too many pieces, teasing her with glimpses of a truth just out of reach.

Then, one day, she woke – truly woke.

The fog lifted. The haze receded. Clarity flooded in.

Her limbs were small, her fingers barely able to curl into a fist. The room around her was dimly lit and unfamiliar. Her mother held her and spoke in soft tones, the words slowly came to have meaning.

Despite her new found understanding of her mother she was not able to concentrate on the story being recounted to her. The missing pieces of the puzzle that was her memory suddenly snapped into place. Her mind was flooded with memories belonging to the before her. To Lizzy.

Elizabeth Clarke was a young woman of 22, set to graduate only 1 week from what she remembered. Memories of her family, partying with friends, and sleepless nights spent studying overwhelmed her mind. The stress of preparing for medical school filled her anew. Her younger sister Emily’s smiling face flashed and was quickly replaced by Emily’s twin Ethan stuffing his face with chocolate cake at their 13th birthday party.

Sorrow quickly overtook Lizzy and she began to sob. Her cries of anguish alerted her mother. The older woman responded quickly, attempting to comfort the grieving child by rocking her but to no avail. Lizzy’s family may have been her anchor but it was Noel, her best friend since grade school, that was the one who had always stood by her side. Noel with her silky black hair and forest green eyes had always been a constant source of support and now she was gone. It was these thoughts that sent Lizzy into a spiral. Uncontrollable sobs racked her tiny body as the insurmountable loneliness took hold.

With these memories came another, much darker and one she wished had never resurfaced.

The night was cool, the city alive with laughter and distant music. The faint buzz of alcohol warmed her veins, though she wasn’t drunk – just light, just happy. Her friends were all gathered on the narrow sidewalk, just having left the bar. They were celebrating – one last Thursday night trivia at the local bar before graduation. As luck would have it, one of the girls had forgotten their jacket. Which one, Lizzy was not certain anymore. Lizzy, always one to help, had volunteered to run back and get it. She had waited for the offending red hand to turn to the bright white of the walking person before starting across. The pavement was cool beneath her heels as she jogged across the intersection.

Then there was a light. Too bright and too fast to avoid. A car. A blur of motion, the screech of tires, and finally the sickening crunch of impact. The pain was sharp and sudden. The world flipped, weightless for a terrifying moment before darkness engulfed her.

She had died, yet here she was.

The memories continued to assault her mind as time passed. Minutes? Hours? She could no longer tell. Despite this, her mother continued in her attempts to soothe her. Rocking her back and forth, whispering comforting words. Her crying eventually subsided and exhaustion overtook her. The darkness enveloped her as she stared into her mothers tired eyes.