[ WP ] In a box , there is a button that resets your day . However , every time you push this , you bring a random someone with you .

The day always starts in sadness. The sky betrays its fair blue and everyone disappears, hiding in their houses maybe, and then the call comes. I am home, I always am. The phone rings and I hear the scream in the far off room. 
 
 
 There are birds roosting on our roof. Mom had always listened to them when she was home and bedridden. You could hear them anytime. They dance their panic dance and fly away. It's like momentary rain. I always feel sad that they go. I always think it somehow poetic. 
 
 
 The phone rings and we find out that mom has died. The day becomes a vacuum? What could you do? I had never dealt with anything like this before. Even now, all these days later, I still ca n't. So much time has passed. Never the sadness. Never any progress. 
 
 
 My sister screams til her voice gives but it is dad who gets me every time. He is a quiet man. He is old and reserved and a pacifist from the seventies. I've never heard him shout. Once when I was young, he had a bad cough and I remember how ragged his voice was. Today it is worse. Today a different sickness takes him. 
 
 
 I stare at the phone. It falls from my hand. My heart races, unsure of how to react. It always hits you, you know? All the neighbors have gone. I do n't think it is on purpose. I just believe that at times like these you are truly alone. Perhaps they are where they always are. I do n't see them. Everything goes quiet. Everything is the same. Almost the same. 
 
 
 I relive the day over and over. The how of it is another story. I once believed it was a delivery from God. Now I am not so sure. I relive the day over and over and every time I do it is exactly the same. Except for one thing, one person. On the couch beside me there is always someone else. Someone I know, have heard of, or sometimes it is a complete stranger. I believe it is random. 
 
 
 Today is a young boy and he is frozen with terror. They just appear, out of the corner of your eye, they appear as if they have always been there. The boy freezes at the screams. 
 
 
 I have had a lot of practice with this and so I turn to him and try to calm him. Sometimes that works. One time someone even felt sorry for me and patted my back. The boy is young and deathly afraid. I point to the door. Every emotion inside me burns with an unimaginable pain. 
 
 
 The boy runs out as they often do. I do n't know what they do after that, and time has never progressed far enough for me to find out. I imagine they go to the police and act like mad people. I do n't care. 
 
 
 Every sense I possess turns into a crippling agony. My tongue dries and a foul, bitter taste fill my mouth. I imagine this is how the cancer tastes. If only I could have eaten it away. 
 
 
 I tremble and hear the confused, sad footsteps. My father walks in looking twenty years older. He probably feels that he should be dead as well. He was late for the plane and now he was trying to catch the next one. He looks weak and he staggers. His eyes are red. I begin to cry and my head fills to bursting and I do n't know what to do. Is there anything to really do? 
 
 
 I look down and pray. I ca n't say which God. I look at the button and press it. Before, in the earlier days, I would let the day go on longer. I would console my father. I would drown in my sadness. I am not that strong now. I remember the first day, the very first time it happened. Imagine that surprise! Imagine the unexpected hurt. I think I was close to killing myself that time. Now I was more composed, though I still wish I was dead. 
 
 
 I reset the day and just like the people who appear, the day resets imperceptibly. It just starts again and there is hardly any disorientation. I take deep breaths and steel myself for the fresh onslaught. 
 
 
 Right now, if you have n't already, you're probably wondering what is wrong with me. You want to know why I reset this day over and over. No. I think you know why. You probably wonder why I put myself through this pain again and again. It is pointless no matter how you look at it. Mom will die. No button can change that. 
 
 
 But I always have to. It compels me. I always press and hope and pray and hope and beg. 
 
 
 The morning breaks, same as always and a deceptive light pours in. The first time I had experienced this morning I remember thinking that it would be a good day for mom. Her joints should not hurt as much as it was not as cold as it had been. Now the morning breaks as cold as it can and as isolated as it can. 
 
 
 I awake and rush to the couch. I rush to where all my hopes remain. And as always they are broken. It is not her sitting there. Always someone else. Always someone healthy and alive. 
 
 
 I cry then, even before the call, though the call will come in less than a minute. I hear my sister singing momentarily and then the phone rings. 
 
 
 *Just once. Please God. Please, please, please. * 
 
 
 I say that it is closure, but really I just want to hold her. I want to see her alive once more. Alive and in this house. I want her to kiss me and hug me and tell me goodbye to my face. I want to feel her warmth, the vitality of life and the innocence that a mother brings. Just once. One more time before my world forever freezes. Before the world breaks and can never be put back together. I want her to say goodbye to all of us. Perhaps that is closure. Perhaps I am just weak. 
 
 
 The woman staring at me is of a similar age but she is not my mother. I cry and the phone rings. I press the button without answering.
