Time Loop

• Sabrina Amin, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2022

3 …
2 …
1. And it’s New Years Eve. Today’s the day.

Most midnight's had passed by like a roiling reminder that it isn’t time yet to change your fate. Like a scratchy post-it note firmly stuck to the refrigerator door. But today I’ll get to tear it off, hopefully.

The blue light of my phone fades, and I toss the covers over my head. I should have a proper sleep in order to fulfill my plan. But as usual, my mind wanders, trekking through a desert of my thoughts. This year has to be the year … Well actually this time has to be the time. I’ve been stuck in 2022 for a little over 3 years now.

I only have one thing on my New Year’s resolutions: to change the messy fate you have written down for you. Almost like a fable. A story telling of ‘what not to do when saving your sister for the 7th time’.

Ever since your fireworks combusted too early, striking your clothes on fire right before midnight, I've been teleported back to a random point in 2022. The first time was Ma’s birthday and I’d made a mess of her red wine—regrettably staining the beige berber carpet and smacking my head face first into the bruschetta dishes. I was in a terrible amount of disbelief. You passed again the same way. The second time was during the moment you were hauling in that big order of clothes, I dropped the box while helping you. By the third time, I’d started articulating my plan to save you. Tweaking each to cover up the mistakes of the last.



And here I am now. 11 PM on New Years Eve. Time speeds yet feels slow to make a mockery of me, and my biggest mistake was underestimating it. I doubted how fast everything could crumble when the plan seemed perfect. It’s like death is attracted to you, leaving a bigger rose each time.

This is the 7th attempt.

But there you are, slumping on the couch, scrolling on your phone, counting minutes. Occasionally asking Ma if she needs any last minute decorations.

It’s the perfect time to mention I need an extra glow light for the New Years display up on the rooftop. You jump from your seat, stretching your legs. Catching car keys in your hand. I glance at the living room clock that intimidatingly showcases 11:39.

“We should be quick, 2023 is soon.” You remark. We drive to the nearest Kmart, and I am pleased because nothing has gone awry yet.

I stay next to you the whole way, pretending to search through almost empty shelves for glow sticks.

A blue flash on my phone indicates that it’s 11:59.

“Oh wait, we’re gonna miss New Years!” You panic that you’ve completely lost track of time. I count down seconds, holding my breath as you walk away.

Has it finally changed? I’ll find out if you live in …