Doomed To Repeat

It was supposed to be harmless college experiment. She had told her study mates what to do if something seemed off. Hypnotic induced sleep was supposed to be for the weak minded but through several days of straightforward research it was possible if it was voluntary,almost a meditation type of hypnosis. It started as a bet between the friends,wether or not past lives existed. This led to arguments about genetic data,picked over so thoroughly in the way only nerds could accomplish,and then they asked their one of their professors-a dna analyst-if there was any proof of past memories being somehow trapped into genetic sequencing. We’re not talking about spirts being transported from body to body. That’s a fairy tale. We’re talking about primal instincts and evolution. The hair on our arms works almost as early warning triggers,when we notice that odd tickle on your arm and you look to notice a spider the size of a half dollar. Why we unconsciously sleep with our heads away from our door so if we wake up we can immediately scan the room for any danger. Flight or fight response. There were stories of wise men in India that could meditate for so long they claimed they could see visions of a past life their “old spirit”. Or perhaps an ancestor? The professor told us that there wasn’t much solid research in that particular area and,being curious, recommended we build up enough evidence and bring it up to the rest of the class. So after several cosmetic tweaks to one of the empty classrooms,now filled with cushions and blankets,dim lights and for some reason a small bowl with a goldfish frolicking in the waters. Apparently it was supposed to be a mini koi pond? Because she was supposedly the “Philosopher” of the group it was decided she would be the one to meditate and “Channel her inner Buddha”in the wise words of her roomie. Her head buzzed with questions but eventually,sitting still for so long,trying to convince herself to clear her mind,she fell asleep. When she woke up she was still sitting upright in her meditative position “cris-cross applesauce” and she didn’t feel the slightest bit rested. Of course,falling asleep while in the middle of a project. Her team was going to be mad at her. Mad wouldn’t even be the right word. It’s fine though,they had another three years to figure it out. She picked up her watch from where it had been sitting on a pillow and had a sense of deja vu. She ignored it until all of a sudden she realized it wasn’t a watch. It was an old timepiece. A bronze timepiece connected to a chain. Startled she blinked and when she looked back it was her watch again. Her cheap little black digital watch set with dozens of little alarms for her classes. If she set them on her phone she knew she would just ignore them. Turning them off on her watch was too much effort for her to ignore. Snatching up her satchel...purse. Her purse. Anyway the girl opened the door and put her shoes back on as her study group bombarded her with questions.

So what was it like?

One boy asked. He was painfully thin an only came up to her shoulder despite him being a year older than her.



He was sure he’d misheard her. He placed money on this experiment.

Nothing. I sat and a got bored. And when I “came to” it was time for algebra. Excuse me...

She told them as she squeezed through the crowd. She was already late as is. It wouldn’t hurt to stop by the cafeteria,right? Her throat was parched! As she stepped up to the cafeteria doors she noticed two cops standing there speaking to the dean.

There she is now.

Pointing at her. The two officers stepped forward.

Polaris Mainwaring?

She nodded mutely,a strong sense of deja vu and dread settling in her gut as they assumed funeral faces. And then they explained. The accident. The fire. Their dog,Bear,was still inside. Her father ran inside,her mother on the lawn. The fire reached the gas lines. They weren’t up to code. The house blew. Her mother was in the hospital with severe burns. It was all so familiar! The girl struggled to process the news,bothered by her buzzing head. And then it stopped. They stopped talking. Her head stopped spinning. This happened before. In another time. Another city. Another life. Every life. A fire. And she was always safe. September of ‘65... January of 1847... they always died. And she was left standing...alone...not knowing what to do next...

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