[ WP ] Mother just came home , but she 's been dead for 10 years .

It's 8:53 again. 
 
 In two minutes, my mother will walk through the door. She will be wearing a red skirt and a white shirt. Her jacket is in her hand, stained from Gary B. Oldman spilling his wine on her forty-two minutes prior. She will be annoyed, but glad to see me and the meal I have made for her. Again. 
 
 My mother will complain about Becky for three minutes and fifty-seven seconds after discussing how she was stuck in traffic. Blue car has crashed. Man is deceased, girl in tears. Same old story. 
 
 At the six minute mark, a knock will hit the door. Unmistakable. Two quiet knocks followed by a deafening silence. My mother will answer the door. She will be killed soon. 
 
 Minor lacerations to the arm and ribs. Screams tear apart the house, and echo down the street. Mr. Phillips is outside having a cigarette. Marlboro Red, 100. He rushes over. It will take him sixty-four steps to make hit here, but it's never enough. Never enough time. 
 
 Deep trauma to the stomach, chest, and neck. She will suffer for thirteen seconds. I am left to watch her die before Mr. Phillips arrives and stops the assailant. 
 
 All within a matter of 394 seconds. 
 
 I have lived the last six minutes and thirty-four seconds for ten years now. I do n't know why, or how to stop it, but I keep getting sent back. My warnings are heedless. I have stopped crying. Stopped trying to escape. I am condemned to watch her die for an eternity. 
 
 It's 8:53 again. 

