Michael woke up with his throat dry, with his head pounding like drums being hit. For a moment he thought it was the usual hangover he experiences from late night watch of the stock market. Then he turned and looked up at the ceiling.
He realized this wasn't the ceiling he had been waking up to for the last eight years, his surroundings had changed, he was no more in his apartment. Just an old room with cracks running through it making it resemble a lightning bolt. A fan that spun while producing some funny noise, wobbling on its mount.
He sat up fast, maybe a little too fast, his momentum carrying him over the small bed. Maybe he thought it was his old bed in his apartment, a king-sized bed. His chest started panting, maybe from the fall or from the confusion, then it hit him, the air tasting faintly of dust and detergent. Anna's detergent, the kind she'd always buy whenever going for grocery shopping and there was a promo going on. She took after mom, maybe a little too much.
Then he stared at the rug he was lying on. Worn, scratchy and rough. It felt too real. Pinched him on his left cheek to wake up from the weird dream, but it didn't work.
Then it came, a flood of information. Flashes of memory, screens on walls blinking with market trends, emails of promises to cut short, friends disappointing him, the dull ache of burnout. His last day ended with him working himself to death.
Michael got up, stretching, then reaching out for his phone on body instincts. His has caught nothing but plastic. An alarm clock displaying the time glowing: 7:15am.
No buzzing, No notifications. Just total silence.
'What the hell…..., What's even going on here? Why does it seem like I'm back in the past? And is that even possible?"
He was still daydreaming when a shout cracked through the hallway.
"Give it back, Lily, you thief!"
Michael thought; "That voice…., I know that voice even in my sleep".
Another voice shot back, this time shrill. "It's mine Mei, and you're the thief!"
A crash followed something hitting the floor. Something metallic.
He blinked, almost in disbelief and opened the door.
The hallway was chaos. Bad chaos. Mei had both hands on a cassette player, Lily had the other end, and both were tugging like there was no tomorrow. Lily's hair was a mess, Mei's face red from all the screaming.
"Always stealing my stuffs!" Mei yelled, still pulling hard.
"And you don't like sharing!" Lily screamed back. It had become a screaming contest.
The cassette player gave a sick crack, like it might break in half.
"Please let go!" Mei shrieked.
"No, you let go first!"
At the far end of the room stood Anna with a spatula raised like a weapon, hair tight neatly like a bun. Her glare would kill if it could.
"If you two don't stop this circus in the next five seconds, I swear I'll smack both of you with this spatula!"
"Why are you always on her side?!" Lily shouted, refusing to let go.
"You took it without asking, it's stealing, you're a thief!" Mei shot back.
Michael leaned on the doorframe, rubbing the side of his temple. Déjà vu slammed into him. It seemed like a scene being played right before him. Hell, he'd seen it dozens of times.
Michael Chen, a Chinese-American, has three sisters: Anna Chen being the eldest and also the second mom, Lily Chen the second; and Mei Chen the youngest. A computer science dropout from NYU, dropped out in his final year due to financial constraints after his dad passed away. His father Chen Meng died after battling cancer for some time, leaving a lot of bills behind due the treatment he underwent. Their mom, Chen Li Hua, kept, kept the family together by doing extra shifts as a nurse. In his past life, she passed away early from all that built-up stress. He thought that if this is a second chance given by God, he would make sure she lived a good life.
Then a smaller voice piped up from near his knees.
"Uncle Mikey, your hair is messy, all crazy."
He looked down. Emily.
Four, maybe five. Too small for school yet, holding a stuffed rabbit by its ear. Her cheeks were puffed, eyes still sleepy, but her grin was sharp. That's his sister's child.
"You look old," she said with complete seriousness. Then she giggled. "Like, old old."
Michael crouched slowly. His throat tight. In his last life, she had this softness, the space to just be, but it eventually faded due to being to grow early. No time for toys or crayons. School wasn't always constant. Smiles became rarer the older she got.
But here she was, sticking out her tongue to him like it was the most natural thing to do in the world.
Anna caught him staring. "Don't just stand there looking useless. Either you break them up or come eat breakfast before it gets cold."
Michael muttered under his breath, "Right…" but his voice came out.
He needed some air. He couldn't do it. Couldn't just step in like nothing has changed.
Emily trailed him a few steps, the stuffed rabbit dragging on the floor. "You walking funny," she said, tilting her a head a little. Saying "like a zombie."
"Go sit with your mom," he told her softly. She blinked twice, then skipped off toward the kitchen.
Michael grabbed his slippers and slipped outside.
The morning air hit him, sharp and cool, the familiar scent of frying oil from street vendors already at work. The street stretched in front of it.
The cars were different. Shapeless, with long antennas bobbing as they drove by. The paint faded on most, bumpers flashing in the sunlight.
Michael felt heavy in his chest. He turned his head. A man on the corner folded a newspaper, and on the front headline in the bold font, a date at him: 1994.
He stopped dead in his track. No. No way.
He stared at the date until his vision blurred. It wasn't just a dream. It wasn't a trick of the mind. He was really here, he was back.
In front of him stretched a world untouched. A future waiting to be built.
Michael laughed, sharp and shaky. He slapped a hand over his mouth, earning a strange look from the newspaper man.
But he didn't care, he was too excited to care.
Last time, he'd chased money like a dog in heat, only to lose it all. But this time…
He whispered it under his breath, like saying it too loud might break the spell.
"I'll build it. My own empire."
A voice then came from the side.
"Empire? Bro, you sound like a broken cartoon villain already."
Michael froze. Slowly, he turned.
Daniel, Daniel Rivera, a half Puerto Rican, a half Irish. His best friend since high, partner in crime.
Standing there with his stupid grin, a shirt three times his size, with a faded comic hero on it, and glasses sliding down his nose. Younger. Thinner. Alive.
Michael stared like he had seen a ghost. Because he had.
Daniel smirked. "What? Don't tell me you've finally lost it. Talking to the lamp posts now?"
Michael opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. His best friend, smiling, untouched by time, like the world hadn't crushed him yet.
"Come on," Daniel said, slapping him hard on the shoulder. "Breakfast is on me. You look like you could use some food."
Michael almost laughed. The world had gone insane. But maybe—just maybe—that was exactly what he needed.