Do you ever lose time?
Not in the dramatic way movies show it. No blackouts. No missing hours. Just little gaps, like someone quietly tore a few moments out of your day and you only notice when you try to remember what you were doing.
That's been happening to me.
I'll start writing, blink, and the page will be full.Paragraphs I don't remember typing.Scenes I don't remember living.
Last night, I found a new folder on my laptop."The Lost Drafts."Inside, a single document. No title. Just a date, the night she died.
My hands went cold. I didn't open it right away. I stared at the date for a long time, the way you stare at a wound before touching it. Then curiosity, or guilt, did what fear couldn't.
I opened it.
The first line nearly stopped my heart.
"She wasn't in the back seat when the car crashed."
That's not true. I saw her. I remember her singing. I remember the sound.
I scrolled down.
"A.K. never checked the back seat. She assumed she knew what happened."
No. No, I did. I turned around. I saw!
The text began changing as I read. Words rearranging themselves, like someone editing in real time.
"She told herself it was an accident because that was easier than the truth."
My throat went dry. I wanted to stop reading, but I couldn't. The sentences kept growing, crawling across the page like roots through soil.
"Kane wasn't driving that night."
I slammed the laptop shut.
For a few seconds, I just sat there, listening to my pulse hammer in my ears. Then I noticed the smell, faint, but sharp. Burning.
I looked around.My old typewriter was on. The one that hasn't worked in years.
A single page sat inside it. The keys were still moving.One slow letter at a time.
"Who do you think was behind the wheel, A.K.?"
And for the first time since all this began, I whispered back,"I don't know anymore."
But I think I do.And I think the story does too