[ WP ] You have the unique ability to travel back in time.You plan to travel 13 years prior to the time where your father murders your mother.Unbeknownst to you , your father foresaw this and is prepared to stop you .

A high-pitched noise. Ringing. ^Ringing. ^^Ringing. White light blurring colours. Gradual focus. Nausea. *I hate these side-effects of time travel. * Breathe in. Breathe out. Stand tall. Where are you? ***Focus***. Where are you?! 
 
 Home. I'm home. Look at the calendar. October 27th, 2015. The day of my mother's murder. I made it. Now look out the window. It's evening. *Tonight is when it happens. * 
 
 I close my eyes and rub my temples with my forefingers. Think back to that day. What happened? *Concentrate, Ellie. * What happened? 
 
 *I was 17. I woke up to the sounds of rhythmic thuds coming from my parents' room. I remember those thuds because that's why I thought, `` ew'' and took a long, hot shower to drown out the sounds. And I remember that shower because I left a puddle with my footsteps as I dashed from the bathroom to my room. And I remember that puddle because when I dressed and came out, my dad slipped on that puddle and fell to the ground. And I remember that slip extra well because the blood covering his body made its way sickeningly across the water, stretching its red tendrils and reaching out to me. Then, he sobbed, `` Elle, I begged you not to. Why did n't you listen?'' And I panicked because I thought I killed my dad with the wet floor but then the slick, red knife in his hand glistened and I saw my mother's bloody feet peeking out from behind the bedroom door and I blacked out. * 
 
 Normally, I try to block out these memories, but today, I latch onto every detail. Anything that could help me stop it. Everything is important. I have some time before mom and dad come back from work and young Ellie comes back from after-school soccer practice. First, I go to young Ellie's room. I change into some of her clothes. They're a little too tight on me. Ugh. They will have to do. I do my hair like I used to do when I was 17. I use the cheap drug-store makeup products on young Ellie's messy desk. I look at myself. The years betray me, hiding in the fine lines of my face. But I look close enough to my 17-year-old self at a glance. And that is good enough of a disguise. Just in case. 
 
 I go to the kitchen. I take all the knives and wrap them carefully in kitchen towels before placing them into my backpack. When I pick the one with the short, black handle and long, curved blade, I shudder. This is what my father used, or will use. I wrap this one thrice and put it in the front pocket. I search the house for any other knives, but I already know my search will be futile. It was the curved knife for sure, and we did n't have any knives anywhere besides the kitchen. However, as a precaution, I take the scissors from my father's study and my old room and toss them into my backpack as well. 
 
 Finally, I hide in my parents' closet with my backpack. Just in case my father wants to strangle my mother to death or something. I wait for a while. Finally, I hear the front door creak and startle. These are heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. I still know these as my father's footsteps. Sweat runs down my forehead. He enters his bedroom and takes off his jacket. He takes a deep breath before saying out loud, `` Elle. I know you're there.'' 
 
 My body tenses up. I'm wondering whether I should just kill him or act like innocent 17-year-old Elle playing a prank. Suddenly, my disguise does n't seem good enough. I'm too old, too different. 
 
 `` I just want to talk to you. I know you're from the future, Elle. My Elle is n't home yet,'' my father calls out. This gets my attention. I survey my father through the crack between the closet doors. He seems nervous, but also sad and resigned and something else. 
 
 I zip open the front pocket of my backpack and unwrap the knife before closing my hands around it. I keep my hand in the backpack as I slowly open the closet door and exit suspiciously. I stand as far away from him as I can. 
 
 `` How do you know?'' I barked, narrowing my eyes at him. 
 
 `` Because future me told me,'' he said almost as if this fact were obvious, `` He paid me a visit at work today. What a shock. He tried to stay, but his own time sucked him back. Or something. I did n't quite understand.'' 
 
 I said nothing. Yes, your molecules do n't belong to this time. They want to return to the time they belong to. 
 
 `` Elle, I need you to hear me out. It's not what you think,'' my father begged desperately. His eyes darted to my hand still inside my backpack, gripping the knife. 
 
 `` I need you to let go of that knife, Elle. That's the one that-'' 
 
 `` KILLS MOM. I know. I'm going to stop you. That's why I have it.'' 
 
 `` No, you do n't understand, I'm not the one that kills - `` 
 
 We are interrupted by my mother bursting through the door. We had been too distracted to hear her light tread. 
 
 `` Hi, honey. Hi, Ellie. I-'' she stops at the sight of our faces. I run to her with the knife in my hand, trying to put myself between her and dad. As soon as my father sees me moving, he moves to stop me. 
 
 `` NO ELLE!'' he yells and pushes me harshly to the ground. The knife slips out of my hand. My mother screams and falls to the ground weakly. I crawl towards the knife but my father grabs my leg and pulls me back. I turn on him. I push his head repeatedly against the dresser. *Bang bang bang*. His head thuds rhythmically. I push him to the ground and spring up. He rubs his head, moaning. I reach the knife and plunge it into my father, except I do n't. My mother stops the knife with her chest. 
 
 Her eyes are wide with fear and they meet mine. I shake my head slightly, mouth agape. I ca n't believe this. I do not believe it. Blood spreads across her pretty, white blouse. Her eyes tear up, not understanding. Father wails and removes the knife from her chest before I can stop him. Her chest gushes with even more blood. Her eyes dart back and forth from me to father, tortured and confused, until they cloud over and look at nothing. 
 
 A high-pitched noise. Ringing. ^Ringing. ^^Ringing. White light blurring colours. Gradual focus. Nausea. So much nausea. Am I time travelling? No. That's not right. I'm still in 2015. I just killed my mother. I run. I run down the stairs to the bathroom and throw up. I hear my father's voice, `` Elle, I begged you not to. Why did n't you listen?'' 
 
 I look up the stairs to see him on the ground, in the puddle in the hall with the knife still in his hand, looking up at 17-year-old me. Asking the wrong Ellie what she had done. I feel my own time tugging at my molecules. I resist, but before I can do anything, I'm pulled back to my time.
