The One

When the one you’re looking for has been you all along.

The room is packed.

Full of people standing shoulder to shoulder, waiting, unmoving. Some sort of unorganized queue. The air hums with something electric, like a storm caught behind glass.

A red clock blinks across the wall: 00:03:14.

I’m here to find… them.

The one who can fix this.

The one who can hack the system, break the code.

I move fast, pushing through the crowd.

The space is dense with bodies, but no one pushes back. They just stand there. Solid, still, like walls pretending to be people.

Each step forward feels futile, like trying to walk through brick.

But I keep trying.

The leather jacket clings to my skin, tight as armor. There’s no air between us, no room to breathe.

I can feel my pulse against it or maybe its pulse against me.

The thought hits like lightning: I’m being tracked.

I jerk to a stop.

The lining hums faintly, too soft for anyone else to hear.

My heart spikes, my eyes blinking in sync with the clock’s red rhythm.

00:02:14

00:02:13

00:02:12

I yank at the zipper-stuck. Twist. Pull. Nothing.

Panic rises, thick and metallic in my throat.

My fingers claw upward, into my hairline, ready to tear my hair out in frustration…

And then I feel it.

A ridge. Hard, warm, raised just above my forehead.

Instinct takes over.

My fingers hook the edge and pull.

The sound is clean, deliberate. Zip.

From scalp to sternum, to stomach, to knees.

My old self opens, folding at my feet like an unzipped dress.

I step out.

Skin now violet, faintly glowing.

Limbs long, fluid, unburdened.

My face sharpens; my body hums with capability.

There’s no fear left, no hesitation, only clarity.

I look down at the human shell left behind, still warm, eyes half-open.

Fearless now, I crouch and whisper, “Thank you.”

I reach my hand deep into what’s left of me and slowly pull out a blade.

Cold. Familiar. Mine.

00:00:01.

00:00:00.

I rise.

No panic. Just purpose.

I turn toward the far door.

Whoever’s been hunting me? I’m coming.

---

I gasp awake.

The room is dark and still.

My heart is racing — a phantom beat left over from… whatever that was.

I turn toward the clock on my nightstand.

3:14 a.m.

Of course.

I blink, disoriented, eyes tracing the ceiling.

My body feels strange…lighter somehow, like I’ve shed something I can’t yet name.

In the dream, I was searching for someone.

Who, I wonder.

But as the time ran out, I realized, there was no one coming.

Ron’s voice echoes in my head, steady and sure:

“You must be your own mother. Your own father.”

I have to save myself.

I close my eyes, whisper the words back into the dark.

And for a moment, I swear I can feel her. The other me.

Still out there, blade in hand, walking toward whatever comes next.

✨Who or what have you been searching for? And have you considered it might live inside you, too?