[Warning: blood, violence, heavy subject matter.]

The entire course of my life changed greatly on the day of my 13^th birthday. My parents had been practicing giving me more independence and freedom, allowing me to travel a little further away from home each year since I was 10 and at 13, I knew I was going to be allowed to travel as far as the giant fountain that sat in the middle of town. I was elated.

Birthday tradition had me and my family enjoying a picnic-style lunch in our back yard around noon, which was always followed by cake. Eager to test my new freedom, I gobbled my meal as quickly as I could and then I batted my round, gleaming eyes at my parents awaiting their permission for my adventure. With a sigh and a smile, they granted it to me. Rain clouds began setting in, so my father encouraged me to slip on my yellow rubber boots and my red rain jacket before I trotted down our walkway that led to the sidewalk. I was filled with so much excitement that my legs seemed like they just couldn’t carry me fast enough! Half skipping and half sprinting, I shrieked and giggled with glee nearly the whole way, only to pause for a moment at the stopping point I had been given at 12. Both my feet planted at a halt at my old invisible line between the old grocery store and the store with all the picture frames in the windows, just at the very entrance of town. The fountain was in my sight! It always seemed so majestic to me and finally, I could visit it whenever I pleased. Well, until 7 o’clock, that was. With a shiver of delight, I stepped over the invisible line and marched towards the fountain with a grin on my face that nearly tickled my earlobes.

A disheveled old woman, draped in patches and tattered rags, was sitting at the fountain that day, feeding breadcrumbs that filled her wearing pockets to the birds. She glanced over at me and a smile drew on her face that carved the deepened lines in her cheeks into a new, rounded shape. She beckoned me nearer to her and a familiar kindness in her eyes told me I could trust her call. Carefully, I tip-toed closer to her and she cupped my small hand with her ten soft, wrinkly fingers. She placed three breadcrumbs in my palm and nodded to a pigeon perched nearby. Slowly, I bent over the stone ledge of the fountain, and delicately placed the largest crumb on a particularly flat, cold, grey rock. The pigeon’s head turned back and forth, robotic and quickly as the tiny, feathered friend inspected the food before eagerly clamping it in his beak and swallowing it whole. I clapped, unintentionally releasing the last bit of crumbs in my hands, and pleasantly chirped along with the bird before I turned to the old woman exposing to her all of my shiny white teeth.

“This should be yours,” the woman said to me as she again extended her hand towards mine. She uncurled her fingers revealing a golden watch that sat gently in the center of her hand.

My eyes squinted and my brows knitted as I inspected the glimmering jewellery.

Peculiar, I thought, as I said, “this watch has five hands!”

She placed the watch in my hand and closed my fingers over it, squeezing them gently after my fist was closed tight.

“Bring it to the man on 34^th and Sparrow, he’ll tell you all about it.” She whispered as if short of breath.

“I can not accept this,” I worried! The gift seemed too fantastic to receive from a perfect stranger.

“Be better with it than I,” she replied. With a closed mouth and shut eyes, she smiled. I knew she wouldn’t take it back from me. Confused and delighted, I backed away from her and turned back to the walkway ahead. 34^th and Sparrow was within the boundaries my folks had placed for me. I decided to go and learn about the watch.

I paced carefully along Sparrow until I reached 34^th and I discovered myself at a marvelous shop. The walls of the building were crimson brick and over the doorway, a loose-bolted sign of tarnished brass letters read, “Trevor’s Trinkets & Treasures.” Softly, I pushed open the heavy wooden door that rung tiny bells announcing my arrival. I glanced around the magnificent shop for only a moment or two, but long enough to absorb how wonderful it was. Hundreds of shelves reached as high as the ceiling, and each shelf held a dozen or so gizmos and nick-knacks, made of materials such as metals, ivory, gemstones, and petrified wood. I imagine that a person could spend a year in this shop and still never see all it had to offer.

I opened my mouth to speak, “hello” but before I could utter a sound, a booming voice bellowed, “Wait! Let me guess.”

I startled still and my eyes focused on the large, royal purple, velvet chair centered in the room and turned away from me from which the voice seemed to draw from.

“A young girl…” Said the voice, “perhaps twelve? No! – Thirteen. Matte, mousy brown hair… But I bet it glows auburn in the sunlight, doesn’t it?”

I gasped a short breath, about to speak again.

“Ah-ah, I’m not done!” The voice continued. “Greyish eyes, but with a greenish hue. Milky, airbrushed skin, and uh… Oh yes, clothed in hand-me-downs from your elder brother… Of course, underneath your rain gear, I suppose.”

“H-how did you know?” I asked.

“Why,” said the voice as the chair turned ‘round towards me. “Because I’m a psychic, of course!”

The man before me was tall and slender. He wore a crimped top hat and a suede tuxedo with an artificial burgundy rose tucked into the pocket. His shoulder-length chestnut hair was frazzled, and his magnificent moustache stretched out past his ears and curled many more times than the tail of a pig.

“I’m Trevor, dear girl. What’s your name?” He asked as he stood erect from his chair.

“I thought you were a psychic,” I smirked suspiciously.

“Well, that certainly does not mean I know all!” He laughed. “What an absurd expectation.”

“Odyla,” I said.

“Pardon?” He asked.

“My name is Odyla,” I repeated.

“Hmm..” Trevor hummed as he planted his hands firmly on the leather-bound walnut trunk between us. The trunk had clearly been repurposed as a desk, as it had scattered papers, colorful pens, and a large chalice – of which I assumed held his drinking water, or perhaps a sneaky whiskey, sitting atop it. Hinging at the hips, he leaned well over the trunk and craned his neck bringing his face uncomfortably close to mine. His eyes wandered from the top of my forehead, over the bridge of my nose, and down to the end of my chin and back up again. My eyes widened cautiously and curiously.

“Pretty name,” he finally said, abruptly thrusting himself back into his pillowed chair. “What brings you into my shop today?”

“Well,” I said, “I wish to know more about this watch.” I pulled my hand, still clutching the watch, out from its hiding place in my sleeve and placed the watch on the trunk between us. The watch created a muted clunk against the top of the trunk as Trevor hurriedly snatched it from the surface. He pulled the watch in close to his eye and I couldn’t tell whether he was inspecting or admiring it. Perhaps both.

“Where did you get this?” Trevor demanded.

“It was just given to me today,” I said worriedly, “by an old woman at the fountain!”

He gazed at me cautiously, searching my pupils for earnest intent. “This is a fantastic piece of jewellery you’ve acquired,” he said. “Priceless, in fact. You should treat it as such.” He slammed the watch back onto the trunk underneath his flattened palm and slid it back towards me. I partially picked it up again and after a moment’s hesitation, I placed it back down and nudged it again towards Trevor.

“Why does it have five hands?” I stammered.

“Well dear,” he smirked, “you’ll need all five if you intend to travel through time!”

My jaw muscles relaxed, and my lips parted in awe.

“Certainly, you’re not serious,” I said.

“Oh, but I am! Here, take a closer look.” Trevor quickly jumped up and scurried to a nook in the corner of the store from where he dragged an old wooden stool across the uneven floorboards and rested it beside his velvet chair. He patted the stool eagerly three times, urging me to sit atop it.

“Look here,” he said pointing to the rim of the watch. Just outside the numbers marked 1 through 12 laid another set of tinier numbers, 00 through 99 all around the watch’s edge.

“Those numbers represent the years,” Trevor explained as he leaned over me. “So you would set the first hand, the largest one – here, to whichever year you desired to travel.

For the second hand, you would pick your month; 1 through 12. 1, of course, being January, all the way through to December. Which, as you know, is 12.”

Suddenly, Trevor seemed eager to explain all that the watch entailed to me. His enthusiasm was represented dramatically through his expressive face and his grand hand gestures. He continued,

“The third hand, you would use to pick your day. You do this by selecting one of the ticks that on a regular watch, would represent seconds. You would pick one of the first 31 ticks, so up to the first tick after the 6, to pick out the day you wish to go back to.

Then, the fourth hand. That is used to choose the hour. Just like the second hand, you would choose a number between 1 and 12, such as a regular watch.” Trevor shrugged, paused, and with a grin, he lifted his pointer finger and carried on,

“Such as a regular watch, you would use the final hand, this tiny one here, to choose the minute you wish to return to.”

“Should there not be a way to go down to the very second you wish to return to?” I inquired. “A minute, albeit short, still seems like a long chunk of time to land in.”

Trevor smirked, “clever girl,” he declared. Then he stood up and began pacing, now using his whole body to emphasize his words. “In fact, it does seem like there should be a sixth hand, doesn’t it? But alas, there is a good reason why there is not. See, in order for the magic to ignite, you must use an eyelash in place of the final hand.”

“An eyelash?” I wondered.

“Yes indeed.” Trevor acted out his words as he said, “Plucked from your very own lid, and placed delicately and carefully to the precise second you desire to travel to. Then, and only then, will you be able to move through time.”

“So, let me get this straight,” I stated confidently. “With this little watch, I can travel anywhere I would like to in time? I could see my future, or relive my past, or… Or- I could go see what dinosaurs were like in person?!” My imagination caught hold of me quickly. I found myself at the edge of my seat and gazing deep into a world much different than the reality around me.

Trevor snuffed my spiralling thoughts when he said, “no, not exactly. This watch will only allow you to travel backward, and only within the boundaries of time of which you have already lived. Then, you would have to relive time again until you found yourself back in the present.”

“Only backward,” I nodded. “Got it.” My mind anxiously wandered through possibility.

“Something else you should know,” Trevor said, abruptly pulling me back into the moment, “the watch doesn’t take you to a ‘where,’ only to a ‘when.’ Meaning, you should already be at the location you wish to arrive in the past before you set the watch. Don’t forget this, as you will find this information very important.”

“Okay,” I replied with as serious an expression as I could muster, “I will be sure to remember you said that.”

“You should know, there’s a catch,” Trevor said.

“A catch?” I asked. A rush of worry crushed my spirit.

“Yes, dear Odyla. Haven’t you ever read a story before? All magic comes with a catch! The one with this watch, however, is particularly cruel… Time travel is fickle.” Trevor paused for a good long while.

“What do you think happens if you travel back in time?” His eyes expected a prompt answer.

“I, um… I don’t know. I’m not sure I understand… What do you mean?” I urged.

“Well,” Trevor explained, “this watch is not a rewind button. You exist as you are now, and you existed five minutes ago as you did then. If you travelled as you are now, to as you were five minutes ago, there would be two of you existing in that same space in that same time.”

“Cool!” I gleamed. I began imagining duplicates of me existing all over the world, all from different stages of my life.

“No, not cool.” Again, Trevor had to crush my dreams. “There can only ever be one of you. Once you have set the hands on the watch, and once you have travelled backwards, one by one – in thirty-second increments, the hands will return to 12. That’s all the time you have to…” Trevor’s eyes suddenly seemed far away. His expression was filled with concern and guilt.

“To what?” I pleaded.

“To kill yourself,” Trevor stated. The room went dark and cold. He continued, “Well, the past version of you.”

“What?!” I exclaimed horrified!

“Yes,” Trevor said, his voice was calm. “You have only until all hands return to 12. So, the longest possible time frame you would have if all five hands were first set to the 1, is about two and a half hours. Though I doubt you would ever find yourself in a situation where you would have that long. But… In whatever time you have granted yourself, you must kill the version of you from the past.”

“What happens if I don’t?” I wondered, terrified.

“Then…” Trevor started, “then you would simply cease to exist. Poof! No more.”

He turned to me and saw the apparent horror in my eyes. Trevor went on, “You would be remembered, though. Your parents would probably file a missing person report, begin a search party, the whole deal… But you, you would just vanish for all of time. That would be it.”

“I should need a very good reason to ever use this watch,” I said. I spoke softly and carefully to mask the quiver in my voice.

“You’re right,” Trevor agreed. “Ending your own life and watching it happen, well… it’s a feat I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. You’ll likely experience tremendous trauma as a result. But… I don’t make the rules. I’m just explaining them to you. Odyla, there’s still more you need to know about this watch. At least before you ever consider using it.”

“Go on…” I pleaded. I felt it important to know as much as I can.

“How you kill yourself determines how you experience time as a result. End your life by loss of breath, and you should return to the state you were in that original moment in time. End your life by loss of blood, however, and you should remain at whatever age you were whenever you decided to travel back. The world around you will know no different, only you and your memories will,” Trevor explained.

“So… Let me be sure I understand,” I said. “If right now, I travelled back to my twelfth birthday and say, I um… I choked myself, then, I would again be twelve years old. But… If I… Um… If I cut my stomach open, um… let’s say, then I would be thirteen, just… the world around me would be the same as it was when I was twelve?”

“Correct,” Trevor said back, obviously delighted I understood.

With my intrigue and worry continually increasing, my mind filled quickly with a trillion questions! I could barely grab onto one thought before another would consume the space in my head, and the storm of mysteries the watch brought made the questions more confusing and more difficult to untangle the further I dove into it. An urgent question struck me so suddenly that I wondered it aloud to Trevor;

“Wait… Couldn’t I just wind up caught in a loop? If I went back to where I was an hour or so again, by the time I got back here, wouldn’t the events just repeat? Wouldn’t I be then doomed to repeat the same hour of my life over and again?”

Trevor paused for a moment, as if struggling to find the proper way to answer my question, then he asked me, “have you ever played with an etch-a-sketch, Odyla?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Good, because that’s the only way I know how to explain this,” he laughed. “Say the way you live normally is you drawing on the etch-a-sketch. If that were so, then the moment you killed yourself from the past, well, that would be the equivalent to giving the etch-a-sketch a shake! Everything that existed in the frame before the shake just disappears, as if it has never been there at all…”

Trevor appeared lost in thought, staring out again for a moment before he continued, “Just the same as the watch’s effect, then, the only thing that would ever know of what existed on the etch-a-sketch beforehand is your memory. So, once you began drawing again, even if you were to draw precisely the identical image you had already before, once you got to where you stopped the first time, nothing then would happen to hinder you from continuing to draw. Once you kill your former self, even after you get to the point in your life again where you made the decision to, you won’t find yourself in a loop because that version of your life will have been wiped from the earth’s memory, and will only continue to live in your own.”

“So, once I go back in time, the watch just – erases what happened before?” I repeated, determined to be clear.

“No.” Trevor insisted, “again, only after the very moment you kill your former self does the world’s memory erase. This is crucial to understand.”

“Only after I kill my former self. Okay…” Then another abrupt question became loud in my head and I was urgently compelled to ask, “can the version of myself from the past kill the version of myself from the future?”

“Well,” began Trevor, “there’s still a great deal I should explain to you about this watch, but alas, it is time for me to close shop. Return tomorrow, and I’ll explain more of the watch’s rules to you. I promise.”

With that, Trevor tipped his hat to me and led me out the door. As I found myself back on the street, I turned my head towards the fountain. Part of me hoped that the old lady would still be sitting there, as part of me desired to return the dreadful watch to her, but she wasn’t there any longer. I returned home with a promise to myself that I would be back at 34^th and Sparrow the following morning.

I rose eagerly with the sun the next day and I rushed back into town. I traced down Sparrow as I did the day prior but when I reached 34^th, to my dismay, I found Trevor’s shop boarded up. Confused and admittedly frustrated, I tried the door anyway, and it was bolted shut. A mother passed by with her stroller and I decided to ask if she knew what had happened.

“That place was a scam,” the mother insisted. “Good riddance to that owner, Trevor. He was as slimy as they came. He tricked many townspeople here into spending their pennies on ridiculous things. We’ve been trying to put him out for years! Finally, I suppose, that day has come.” With that, the mother marched off. At 13 years old, it seemed as though Trevor had mysteriously vanished from my life as swiftly as he had appeared in it. I realized I would never get to know whatever else Trevor had to tell me about the watch. The magical man left my mind filled with wonder, but my heart with uncertainty and woe.

I didn’t use the watch for a good long time after having it, though sometimes I would pretend to. I would imagine all the possible outcomes if I had. When I was 14 years old, my parents announced their divorce due to an affair I suppose my mother had been having. The news broke my heart and tarnished my whimsical worldly outlook. I would sit in my room for hours clutching desperately to the watch, wondering when in time I could return to and what I could do then to mend my parent’s marriage. There were many variables that deterred me from trying. How far back should I go? I didn’t know when my mother’s affair had begun and so, I didn’t know which moment was best to return to if I was to prevent it from happening at all. Even if I had, what would I say? What would I do? Could I as a kid even create a ripple profound enough to change a grown adult’s course? Worst of all, would I even be strong enough to do what I needed to? Did I even have it in me to meet the watch’s demands? I didn’t have any answers or nearly enough certainty so instead, I would sit with my watch and imagine what might happen if I did.

The first time I used the watch, I used it for a reason far more foolish than the hope to rekindle my parent’s love. I didn’t know how to handle their split and as a result, I became rather disobedient and misbehaved. For the first couple of years, I distanced myself from my family and isolated myself in my bedroom. I fought long and loudly with my mother and my older brother, Owen. Our fights grew more frequent and consistent and eventually, it became my new normal. In my developing teenage years, I became selfish, stubborn, and rude. I never knew how or where to place my building anger.

One morning when I was 16, my alarm clock didn’t wake me for school. It was for the third time that month. I knew that once I showed up late, I would be ordered to attend detention. I knew that at the end of the first period, the school would call my parents and reveal my tardiness to them once again, and I knew that after that, my parents would ground me for a good long time. They had already been growing increasingly more disappointed in me and it put great weight on my shoulders.

I did all I could to prevent it naturally. I rushed to school still in my pajamas with evidence of toothpaste on my chin. I skipped breakfast and I didn’t even take the time to properly tie my shoelaces. Still, I did not make it in time. My teacher ordered my detention and I slunk defeatedly into my desk. I anxiously watched the clock on the wall counting down to the inevitable phone call home. Finally, surged with desperation, I excused myself to the bathroom and instead, I ran back home. I’ll use the watch to fix this, I thought. Of course, I didn’t know then whether it would work, but if it didn’t, I was already in trouble anyway, so I felt I had little to lose. I snatched the watch from under my socks in my dresser drawer and stood quietly in the far corner of my room. With shaking fingers and sweaty palms, I set the hands of the watch to bring me back in time to an hour before my alarm was to go off. I plucked an eyelash from my lid and hesitantly, I hovered it over the watch’s looming face. “This is it,” I whimpered nervously, and I allowed the eyelash to fall betwixt the hands. I gazed out the window at the far wall of my bedroom and watched as the sun dipped back below the horizon. Then, came a familiar sound. One I had heard a thousand times before, but this time, it haunted me. It chilled me to the very core.

Tick, tick, tick…

My eyes found the watch’s face again. The first hand was making its way to 12. My skin grew hot and nausea filled my stomach. I looked over at the bed and sure enough, there I laid, soundly asleep. A peculiar thing it is to see your own body in the absence of any mirror. Of course, I hadn’t much time at that moment to explore my feelings on such a thing. I crept up to the end of my bed and tears flooded my eyes as I watched my foot twitch from underneath the blankets. The task at hand suddenly became more sickening and dreadful as the realness of it all set in. I paused for a good long while. This time, I swear it was louder… The tick, tick, tick…

Quietly, carefully, scarcely breathing at all, I crawled onto my bed. I grabbed the pillow that wedged itself between the mattress and the wall and I hovered it over my own slumbered, peaceful face.

“Okay,” I thought. “One… Two…” snot dripped from my nose and landed on my sleeping body’s t-shirt. I sniffed once and closed my eyes tight, “Three.” Adrenaline overcame me and I shoved the pillow over my dreaming face. The dozed version of me startled awake and struggled to catch a breath. The fight was difficult as I didn’t anticipate the strength the older version of me would have. The fight was difficult as I could have never truly predicted how devastating and disturbing it would be. I gritted my teeth and winced in pain knowing I had to follow through. One by one, I took my knees and placed them on the pillow over top of my former face. The body below me thrashed erratically and my stomach grew thick with knots. I sobbed and screamed into the crook of my elbow as I felt the thrashes turn to a tremble, then to a twitch. Uncontrollably, I gulped and gasped in the air around me selfishly, as I knew the dead girl beneath me had needed it far more. A flood of tears streamed down my face and landed like raindrops on the feathery murder weapon. Ironically, I suppose, the next few moments felt out-of-body. My mind shut off completely and my limbs felt as though they were under the control of a puppeteer. Desperately, I grabbed my own, dead body and brought it close to mine in a long, tight hug. The pillow then fell off the bed and I gazed into my own raw, unblinking eyes. There is no more terrible feeling in the world than the one I felt that day. In a pleading whisper, I apologized to my own corpse over and over again.

The ticking came to a halt and suddenly, my alarm clock sounded, piercing a cold shiver straight through my spine. Fear and reflex prompted my fist to smash the top of the digital clock, ending my alarm in a hurry. I closed my eyes and held my breath for long moments, hoping the few seconds it did sound wouldn’t draw the attention of my family to my door. Eternal minutes went by before I allowed myself to calm again. Quietly, I slithered out of my bedroom and closed the door behind me with a soft and gentle click. I started to step away from my bedroom when my body jolted with a cold, flushing rush. The body, I thought. I need to get rid of it. Before I could wonder how I was going to go about that ordeal, I opened my bedroom door once again and found that the body had vanished. Somehow, that was far worse than it would have been had the body remained. The absence of the body I had just killed and then clung onto curdled my guts and froze my bones. It was an eraser I wasn’t yet ready for. The guilt growing in my core still needed the body to mourn.

From the top of the stairs, I could hear Owen speaking to my mother in the kitchen.

“Do you think Odyla will make it to school on time?” He wondered aloud. My mother’s scoff enraged me, and I stomped loudly down the flight of stairs. Not wanting to expose my tear-stained cheeks and my quivering chin, I pushed past Owen and mother briskly. I grabbed a fistful of cheerios from my baby brother Oliver’s highchair before dashing out the front door and slamming it behind me. I made it barely to the end of the walkway before the crushing torture of all I had just endured brought me to my knees. Thick, sticky sobs filled my lungs more quickly than I was able to release them from my throat. Erratically flipping from a sprint to a crawl, I focused intently on making my way to school. As I repeatedly jabbed three fingers into my chest, in a chant, I wailed “You. Are. Still Here. You. Are Still. Alive.” It was a desperate attempt to convince myself that none of what just happened was truly real. While I don’t remember that walk to school in full detail, as the memories are choppy and vague, I imagine from an outside perspective, I must have looked like a blabbering lunatic.

I made it to my desk before the bell, but the potential of detention and being grounded in those moments were far from my mind. My focus solely was on appearing normal and drawing little attention to myself as I struggled to cope with what I had undergone that morning. I opened my textbook and held it in front of my face, and I cried quietly throughout the entire class.

For a while, I was convinced that I would never touch that wretched watch again. The pain of it all was far too much for me to bear and the guilt gnawed at my spirit more and more each day. Eventually, I convinced myself that instead of ignoring the magic gifted to me, I could revitalize my soul by using its power for good. Sometimes, I would use it to fix problems for my friends at school. I would feel like a superhero lurking in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to restore somebody’s happiness. When I saw a peer at school being bullied, I would reverse time and reorganize the events that lead up to the terrible moment, ensuring that it would never exist. This of course was a thankless job as no one would ever have evidence of all that I had done, and that was an enormous test of my character. I learned quickly that back then, my character was weak as I starved for recognition for my good deeds before I gave up on the idea entirely.

As time went on, using the watch became easier. Numbness became my immunity and I started using the watch more recklessly, and more and more often. I would use it for trivial things, like retaking a test I had done poorly on or ensuring I wouldn’t be caught after sneaking out past curfew. One thing I didn’t consider beforehand though was how often I would be looking over my shoulder. I was in a constant state of terror, worried I would turn a corner and be met with the glare of a future version of myself, hungering to take over my spot. It is unfathomable and maddening to be so fearful of your own self. I developed recurring nightmares of being chased. I would be running in an exasperating panic and I would turn over my shoulder to see that the person I was running so fearfully from was myself. These nightmares caused me to scream through my sleep. I startled easily when tapped on the shoulder or addressed by a voice and insanity consumed me as I was always on edge. Catching a glimpse of my reflection in a mirror when I wasn’t expecting to pass one by would often send me into a full-blown panic attack that sometimes took hours to calm from. I’m still troubled to know how deeply disturbed I was at still, such a young age.

A time I regret using the watch the most was when I was 25. After high school, I went swiftly and promptly to University, and shortly after receiving my diploma, I was given an opportunity for an excellent career potential at the ripe age of 22. I had to first attend a meeting for the opportunity to become a real possibility for myself, but the problem was that that meeting happened to fall on the day of my father’s funeral. The first time around, of course, I attended the funeral, and I was glad by that choice I had made. However, over the next three years, I grew tormented by that choice. I struggled to find a secure and steady job and I was living only to find a way to scarcely make ends meet. So, at 25, I decided to go back and see what would happen if I had made the other choice. After all, I still did technically attend my father’s funeral. That memory would always be my own to keep and cherish.

By 22, I had moved to a small apartment in the big city. In my teenage years I promised myself that as soon as I had the means to move out, I would. I kept that promise and with the tiny income I had, I rented out a tiny one-bedroom in a deteriorating building at the edge of the city. Though it smelled of old cigarettes and cat urine and though the appliances were failing seemingly all the time, I was proud enough to call that little apartment ‘home.’

At 25, I returned to that very apartment, though its coziness wasn’t present again for me this time around. I stood in the hallway just outside my old door and I set the watch to moments before I knew I would walk out of my apartment in a long, black dress. I plucked another eyelash and placed it on the watch, and I waited just behind where the door would land once it had opened. I heard the door creak and saw stubby high heels step just outside the doorway and I launched myself at my 22-year-old back. I wrapped my arm tightly around my younger throat and held her with my arm while I struggled to replace my elbow that squeezed her jugular with my brown leather belt. I shoved my 22-year-old self to the ground and held her down with my boot firmly between her shoulder blades. I pulled the belt tight around her neck, held it like a leash, and hummed through the sputtering and stammering. Finally, the body went limp and I stepped over it, tripping a little on a leg that landed mangled on the outdated carpet before I travelled briskly to the meeting I did not intend to miss twice.

By 22, my family had already started distancing themselves from me as I had already been growing more stone cold but missing my father’s funeral was the moment that tipped them over the edge and that’s when they cut me off completely. That was the decision that finally left me in the world totally alone, and that’s why that time, in particular, became one of my deepest regrets. When they shut me out, I was angry. I could not explain to them that I technically never missed my father’s funeral. Still, I could not believe they could treat me as if I were dead to them too, just because they thought I had not gone. I decided then that my career should strictly become my focus in life. It was a coping mechanism for my solidarity. I convinced myself I didn’t need a human connection and that love was overrated. I decided then that career growth and wealth must be my purpose in life, and surely, I could accomplish it with the assistance of my reliable watch. That mentality is what ensured I did not undo the terrible thing I had just done.

I took my focus on my career very seriously and when I was 26, I had an idea I was certain would propel the growth of my company. Because I was still very young, my idea was dismissed arrogantly by my employers as they viewed me as underdeveloped and bold. As the years went on, I continued to believe firmly that my idea would work and grew increasingly more frustrated by the slow growth of my company as a result of my idea not being put into practice. At 43, I decided I would try again. I was going to re-propose the idea to them, but I would do it as a 43-year-old woman at the precise moment I intended to back when I was 26. The time had come again for me to abuse the power of my watch.

I waited outside the company’s doors where I expected the cab to drop my 26-year-old self off. When I saw my younger body step out of the taxi, I lunged for her, grabbing her firm by her shoulders and muffling her screams with my free hand as I drug her into the alleyway. Frantically and desperately, she tried to fight me, but I had far more experience than her with this by then. This time would be different, though. This would be the first time I killed myself by loss of blood instead of loss of breath. After all, if Trevor was correct, if spilled blood caused her to die, I should replace her at 43 years old, but the world around me would remain as it was when I was 26. I felt a similar nervousness akin to the one I felt at 16, but I did not allow myself to dwell on it long. I knew very well that it was better for my psyche if I didn’t. I reached into my clutch where I had packed a switchblade and I firmly pierced it between my 26-year-old ribs. I held the knife securely in her side for long moments, but the ticking of the watch was growing deafening and the spattering, gurgling girl in my arms was not dying fast enough. In a desperate rage, I started stabbing at her torso over and over again. Blinded by distress, I must have penetrated the body with the blade well over a hundred times! I had completely lost grip of the world around me and the more I continued to stab, the more pent-up rage was finally released from my soul. The taste of pennies flickered across my tongue and sweat dripped continuously from my brow. I ground my teeth dull and every muscle in my body was hot and spasming in fury! Finally, exhaustion stopped me from continuing and I stepped back and saw in clarity the damage I had just done. I was horrified by the sight and I sobbed a long while over the body swimming in its red soup.

After the tears on my cheeks had dried and my breath became again stable, I reached behind the dumpster for the suitcase I had stashed. In the alleyway, I changed out of my bloody clothes, smoothed out my suit, and slipped inside my company’s massive, marble building. I slunk into the bathroom to straighten out my hair and wash the droplets of blood remaining on my hands and face. I practiced smiling in the mirror until it looked authentic once again. I marveled at the crow’s feet that laced the outer corners of my eyes; I did it. I was still 43, but the world around me was just as it had been when I was 26.

I offered my proposal to my employers and they welcomed my idea with open arms. It was an overwhelming success, and the evidence of it was made clear to me by the growing size of my thick wallet. Still, I did not feel the pride or satisfaction as a result of it, and I had been longing for that tremendously. My soul was depleted of good and I couldn’t reignite the sparkle I once carried in abundance in my spirit. I had waited 17 years, more or less, and after all that time, the horrendous blood bath had been for nothing.

At 76 years old, I had experienced an entire 148 years of life. Sometime early on, I had grown totally consumed by the power of the watch. Unlike anyone else, I had the power to turn back the clock and the opportunity to change anything that happened that I did not like. Over and again, I would go back and fix, and go back and fix, and go back and fix again. The desperation to go back and fix grew greater and heavier the longer I continued to live, and I had gone back to redo and undo countless times. Every single time I tried to fix something, I found myself more defeated and diminished than I had been before. Worst of all, I think, I had no one I could talk about my experiences with. Even if I hadn’t been abandoned by all those who loved me, I would never ever be able to share with anyone my life with the watch, and I believe that tortured me most. Finally, I gave up on hope entirely. My ambition and drive disappeared completely and eventually I lost the job I had worked so very hard for. I tried to fill that new void with material things, and it didn’t take long for my bank account to empty too. By the end of it all, I found myself without family, without money, and without a home. Time and again, I loathed myself. Time and again, I felt an unending emptiness. Still, I had killed myself far more often than I had ever wanted to die.

Over time, and absentmindedly, I suppose, I wandered my way back to my hometown. I created a nest in the alleyway behind the store with all the picture frames in the windows just at the entrance of town. That’s where I slept most of my nights.

At 76 years of age, I realized I wanted to start over. I thought that maybe if I could go back far enough, back before I had ever used the watch at all, I could have a clean slate. I could relive my life, but this time, with purpose. This time, with love and goodness as my most pressing and prominent priority. This time, I would be better. I decided I would use the watch again and promised myself that it would be for the very last time.

I decided that I would pick a version of myself to return to that didn’t yet know about the watch as that would allow me to completely start from scratch. I would kill that version of her, and I would live out my life after that point naturally, without ever again relying on my golden crutch. Just one more time for the purpose of a fresh new start.

I sauntered over to the stone fountain in the middle of my town and decided that would be the perfect place for me to meet myself. I had always loved that fountain and so it seemed most appropriate to be the place for my rebirth. I could drown myself in the water and swiftly take over my spot there.

I remembered that at 13 years old, I was finally permitted to travel alone as far as that very fountain. My 13^th birthday should be the perfect place for me to return, as then I had not yet known about the watch.

I sat gently on the ledge of the fountain and began coordinating the hands of the watch to match the date of my 13^th birthday. I remembered it was a tradition for my family to have lunch at noon, and then I would be permitted to start on my adventure. I set the watch to quarter to one, as that’s when I expected myself to arrive at the fountain.

I placed my eyelash on the watch, and I gazed at the sky, where I watched the sun dip in and out of the horizon about 23,011 times. I pulled some breadcrumbs from my pockets and began to feed the birds to bide the time. Then, I turned my head to the entrance of town and I saw my young, innocent face gazing at the fountain in wonder and awe. This is it, I thought. Here is your do-over.

I beckoned the very young, beautiful Odyla over to me, and with little hesitation, she tip-toed to where I sat. I placed some breadcrumbs into her tiny palm and urged her to feed the birds. She turned her body away from me so that she was facing a pigeon that was perched nearby and she leaned over the edge of the fountain to offer the bird a crumb. I knew this was the perfect opportunity. I imagined grabbing her by the skull and thrusting her head underwater, holding it there until the bubbles stopped. Her body would float for a minute in the fountain before it disappeared and I would watch at my hands as they became again smooth, small, and plump. I readied my hands behind her distracted head, but for the very first time, I found myself unable to complete the task.

Tick, tick, tick…

Her and I were nearly about to both disappear forever. I wasn’t ready for my time to come; I knew it couldn’t end like this. In all the years I had lived, I never found a reason to truly feel alive, and I deserved to, finally. I had to go through with this. I didn’t have another choice.

Tick, tick, tick…

Sweet, virtuous Odyla, she didn’t deserve this. Her eyes still glimmered with hope and with joy, and I couldn’t bear to take that away from her. Tears welled into my eyes. This young girl, she knew nothing about the watch nor her fate. She was the epitome of innocence, gleefully chirping with the birds. When she turned her head towards mine, I saw the most enchanting smile across her face, and I realized that what I truly wanted was to be her. If I took over her place now, sure, I would be 13 once again. I would be able to hug my father again and I would be able to prevent the hostility between myself, my mother, and both my brothers, once Oliver was born, that is. I would be able to choose to never use the watch and instead overcome hardships the way anyone else would do. I could change my entire life, but I still could never be the girl that stood before me. I could not ever recapture her soul and I could never mend my ever-breaking heart. All that would change would be my form, but that’s it. All of my dreadful memories would continue to live on in my head, but she… She doesn’t have those memories yet. She doesn’t know heartache or sorrow and her spirit is still glistening. That’s when a new idea overcame me.

I reached my hand out towards hers once again, holding in my grasp, the watch.

“This should be yours,” I said to her. I uncurled my fingers, revealing to her the peculiar golden watch.

I watched as her eyes filled with wonder and her twinkling soft voice spoke, “This watch has five hands!”

Dedicated to my idea, I placed the watch in her hands. The moment I did, the ticking came to an immediate stop. For the first time in many long years, that absence of ticking gave me hope. I closed her fingers overtop the jewellery, and I squeezed her fist tightly. When I placed the watch in her hand, I felt an overwhelming exhaustion wave through me. My breaths grew shallow and my eyelids became heavy.

“Bring it to the man on 34^th and Sparrow, he’ll tell you all about it.” My voice was barely a whisper and I was losing touch with the world around me. At that moment, I had realized what I had done: I had just killed myself once again. All I could do then was hope that it was for the very last time.

“I can not accept this!” The tiny girl’s voice sounded worried. My eyelids grew too heavy to keep open, but my body was finally calm, and my mind was finally at peace.

With my last ounce of energy, I warned and pleaded with her, “be better with it than I.”