Brain Curd #452
Brain Curds are barely-edited fiction, poetry, or just about anything else - drafted in a day or less. Turns out, four-hundred fifty-two is exactly the number of sprinkles below the display case where nobody ever sweeps.
Part 65 of an experiment in progress. Refer to case logs.
“Hmm…”
Dressed in my pajamas and slippers, I pondered the display case. I’d tried every single individual one of these pastries over the course of some countless repeated days, and my favorite by far was the third apple fritter from the back. But maybe I was in the mood for something else.
“Lemme get… that bran muffin.” I pointed to it.
The woman behind the counter approached the muffins with her tongs and picked one up.
“No, no, the one in front of that one. Thank you.”
I made the short walk back home with my prize in a white paper bag. These were no ordinary bran muffins, no, because on the bottom was a layer of candied pecans that by all measures of goodness ought to be on every bran muffin - unless, I guess, the person eating it has a nut allergy. This particular muffin of the dozen baked this morning had roughly ten percent more nuts. That’s why I picked it.
I yawned as I climbed back into bed and began devouring breakfast. Something nobody ever tells you about time loops is that it’s more comfortable than it looks. I always have clean sheets and clean underwear without doing laundry. I can spill a soda on the carpet and it’s gone the next day. And while you might think this sort of life would get stale, I always found ways to keep myself busy.
For example, so long as I remember what page I left off on, I can read books just like anyone in linear time would. The same goes double for catching up on shows I missed back when I had to worry about tomorrow.
My favorite thing, though, was how easy it was to avoid speaking to my Dad. One simple text, well-tested, was plenty to get him off my back for the day: “Feeling sick, not going to school.”
And it wasn’t entirely false. I didn’t remember the last time I went to school. This day in particular was a day just for me. And I was content to live it over and over and over. It was a day without burden, without harm, and sure, it wasn’t the best day of my life or anything, but I was fine. Just fine. It was a place I could take a breath, and if I spent all day just breathing? So be it.
“Oh, honey…” Grandma squeezed my cheek like she always did. “I hope you feel better soon.”
I smiled back at her. “Me too, Grandma. Me too.”
And the truth was, I already did feel better. But I knew that would go away the moment I stepped out of my chronological nest.
I was running out of stuff to watch, though. There was only one thing on Netflix I still wanted to see, but… I’d been watching that with Celeste. I couldn’t finish it without her.
“Celeste?” I called out.
She popped in. “Yes? Is today finally the day?”
I shook my head. “Nope, still resting. Wanna watch Death Note with me?”
“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes. “Trevor, it’s been a month.”
“Are you sure? Because I feel like it’s been longer.” I leaned back and took a sip of canned sweet tea. “It’s doing wonders for my health, though.”
“Yeah, I mean it’s been a month for me. How long you’ve been doing this is between you and the control logs.”
I shrugged. “I guess we’ll never know, then. I stopped counting.”
“Trevor, you do realize what it means to be in a coma this long, right?”
“It’s bad?”
“Yeah, it’s bad!” Celeste’s voice cracked. “Tracey’s brain - your brain - is deteriorating! At this rate, I don’t know if you’ll wake back up.”
“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ve got everything I need right here. And right here, nobody gets hurt, nobody dies, and nobody has to do anything for somebody else who doesn’t appreciate them. I’m safe and the world is safe from me.”
“Oh, please, Trevor. This isn’t real life!”
“Neither was my life before! In case you’ve forgotten, I just finished re-living my childhood. And now you want me to re-re-live a few weeks of high school that just happened! None of it makes any sense, Celeste, why can’t you see that?” I slumped against the headboard. “I’m not getting out of here. I’m not going to wake up. Why go through all that suffering again - why hurt the people around me, just to die trying?”
“Because it’s not going to go like it did last time.” She sat at the foot of my bed and patted my leg. I could almost feel it. “You and I both learned a lot from that mess. It’s time we take what we learned and we use it to bring you back. So you can have a real life.”
I bit the inside of my cheeks and tears came to my eyes. “No. I’m not ready.”
“It is unfortunate, then, that you must be.” The Ferryman stood in the corner, tall and imposing as ever.
I crossed my arms. “I don’t remember inviting you into my room.”
“See, here’s the thing…” Celeste rubbed the back of her neck. “He’s been hounding me about all this for a couple weeks now. Turns out this loop is really screwing up the time stream.”
The Ferryman gritted his teeth. “Your relentless fracking of the plains of time is beginning to form sinkholes. If you do not cease immediately, all life within this time stream is in danger of collapse.” He growled. “I cannot permit that to happen.”
Celeste shrugged. “So, uh, yeah. Tomorrow you’d better plan on making the day count, because it’s gonna stick this time.”
I gripped my sheets. I was beginning to actually feel sick.
Penned 2025.08.04
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