The City is a place where everything resets after the lights have gone out: relationships, conversations, memories. Everything is inside an irreversible loop and no one knows it. All except for one girl.
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Jule, a resident of the City...
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It's all the same.
I sat up in bed, frowning at the baby blue walls. Yesterday's attempt of repainting the walls didn't hold up, taking my progress along with it. The half-consumed can of lavender paint was gone, along with the mess of newspapers I used to protect the floor from stains. The brushes I bought on the way home probably flew back to their shelves as soon as the sun rose.
Why?
Because my life was messed up. I couldn't even paint a damn wall because of it.
I swung my legs off the bed, throwing the covers away. I left it that way as I stood up and slapped my cheeks without holding back. Time to remember, I told myself, my face stinging.
I shoved my fingers into my hair and messed it up. I walked away from the bed without fixing it. It's not like someone would barge into my room and see it. It's not like there was someone in the house with me to tell me to do it.
I didn't care. I didn't care about a lot of things anymore.
I glanced at the wall again and kicked the bedpost, skewing the bed a few millimeters. Stupid wall. Stupid life. Stupid loop.
I sighed, tramping towards my dresser pushed to a corner to the bed's right. Yesterday, I swashed paint over it as it was in my way in painting the west wall. I figured I didn't have time to re-position the dresser since I didn't have much time left last night. The reset was bound to happen as soon as the neighborhood lights all turn off.
I knew how it would turn up the moment I opened my eyes and saw my bland white ceiling. I knew that the world around me had gone back to the way it was and would be proceeding the way it does, every single time.
Sometimes, I try staying up until the actual reset happens but I never actually got to see it. I haven't seen people walking backwards or the sun backtracking in the sky in reverse projectile motion. All I saw were the stars blinking back at me, the night sky's way of laughing at me for believing that there was a way out of this.
I slammed the door to the closet, tossing a gray hoodie and a black track pants into my bed. Like clockwork, I stomped to the bathroom in front of my room and past the stairs that led down.
I went in without much ceremony, stripped my bed clothes that I always found myself wearing every morning I woke up on my bed, and tossed them into a pile on the dry floor. The water was cold as it touched my skin.
I ran my hands on the droplets snaking on the glass shower divider as it misted. Some stayed put on their little places while some dared snaking down the glass like a disfigured worm.
I sympathized with the droplets, finding myself somehow just like them. One moment, I was like those droplets that stayed put, following the course of the day like a dimwit. But time went on, I found myself relating more to the adventurous droplets, exploring the glass it was in with such vigor. Sadly and realistically, I seemed to be going in one direction—down.
