I was stranded in the middle of nowhere. It looked like the in-between, not that I have seen it before I have only heard of it. But looking at this place now it perfectly fitted the picture I had painted in my head of what the in-between would look like, I could see people by my right and my left. They stood still, their faces were blurred like a dream.
I screamed, hoping someone would help me escape. But none of them moved. And then:
A little girl stepped forward. Her face was blurred too.
"Smile. Pretty. Perfect."
Her familiar voice drifted through the in-between, slow and quiet, like she didn't want to be noticed.
"Breathe... breathe... It's all in your head, Aria," I told myself.
She stepped back. A woman took her place.
"You. should. be. happy."
Her voice was familiar too, louder, sharper, cutting through the quiet.
"Maybe if I close my eyes, it will all go away... And I'll be back home."
But it didn't.
It got worse.
"Smile." "Pretty." "Perfect."
"We love you! Aria!"
"You should be happy."
"But be careful."
The same words, over and over.
Different familiar voices taking turns, fast, in sync - like perfection.
It started getting loud. Too loud.
SMILE. PRETTY. PERFECT.
WE LOVE YOU, ARIA.
YOU SHOULD BE HAPPY.
BUT BE CAREFUL.
Until the words weren't words anymore.
Just noise.
Just pressure.
Just pain.
I covered my ears but it only got louder.
SMILE!!! PRETTY!!! PERFECT!!!
WE LOVE YOU, ARIA!!!
YOU SHOULD BE HAPPY!!!!!
BUT BE CAREFUL!!!!
Their voices weren't just loud - they were inside me, taking over, pulling me apart.
And then I realized. I wasn't just in a strange, empty space.
I was stuck.
Trapped in my own history.
Every word I had ever heard pressed against me at once.
My past had become a prison, my own mistakes and pressures forming the bars.
And then I found myself saying them, too - repeating the words that had taken root in my mind.
"Smile." "Pretty." "Perfect."
"We love you! Aria!"
"You should be happy."
"But be careful."
Suddenly as if my voice was the key- it cracked open.
Memories didn't just return.
They collided, overlapped, crushed one another, racing so fast I couldn't breathe.
I trembled. Shook. Cried.
My mind ran wild.
I could see the faces of the people watching me - at least the ones on my right.
I felt the intensity in their eyes.
Sometimes they called out my name
smiling, like everything was fine because they had no idea how broken I really was.
Then it hit me. They couldn't see the real me.
They were blinded by a face that was always perfect... just like I was.
And then-
a sudden halt.
Everything stood still.
I could see myself trembling, crying, heart pounding, as I watched myself from minutes ago watch every memory that I had once lived crash in at once.
I watched it all like I was someone else, outside my own body.
Every smile. Every scream.
Every choice I thought I had forgotten.
Then-
it all reversed.
Back to the day.
The very day that started it all.
Eleven-year-old me.
I saw her-me-watching and studying the history of my favorite celebrity, Evelora Sainthill.
It started as a school assignment-
A simple report about "People Who Changed the World."
But to me, it was more than homework.
It was fascination.
Obsession.
Mom walked into the room.
"Aria, still staring at your role model, eh?" she asked.
"Yes, Mom," young me said, awe written all over her face.
"She's everything I want to be remembered as pretty and perfect."
"I see, my love," she smiled. "But I can't believe that at such a young age you're already this ambitious. I wish your father could see you now. You know what?"
"What, Mom?" Young me asked, curiosity buzzing through her.
"In order for your dreams to come true," she said softly, still smiling,
"you have to work hard, my dear. Everything has a price to pay.
The question is... are you ready to know the price?"
Tears ran down my cheeks as I watched everything unfold, feeling the weight of her words press against my chest.
And the weight of the history waiting for my younger self. She just didn't know it yet.
"Mom, what do you mean?" young me asked, innocent and small.
"My sweet girl," she said, wisdom burning in her eyes,
"you know nothing about the cost of being remembered. But as you grow... you will learn."
"Cost? Mom, I don't understand what you're saying."
Now I do.
"But what I do know is that I'm going to do whatever it takes to make sure my dreams come true," young me said-ignorance clear in her voice.
"Be careful, Aria," she warned, voice suddenly sharp, like she was speaking to a grown woman instead of a child. "Some dreams end up becoming nightmares."
"Not mine, Mom. Not mine," young me said, determined.
I wasn't trapped in the loop anymore.
I was watching.
Watching every choice I'd ever made.
Every mistake. Every memory I couldn't undo.
They didn't repeat - they unfolded, one after another.
Clear. Brutal. Honest.
I closed my eyes.
My hands trembled. My chest ached. My mind screamed for a path that didn't exist.