The Loop

June 3, 1988, pt 4

Jerome slid out of his bed, and onto the floor. It was the same day as yesterday, but not numerical yesterday, the last day he just lived yesterday. Day ten thousand, eight hundred, and twenty-eight out of an unknown number.

His mother put two bowls of cereal on the table before sitting down herself.

"It's not the fourth yet, is it?" Jerome asked before putting a spoonful of cereal in his mouth.

His mother shook her head. "As far as I can tell, it's still the third," she replied.

"You'll tell me if it changes, right?" Jerome asked, cereal spilling out of his mouth for a moment until he realized his mistake.

"Of course," his mother said, handing him an unnecessary napkin.

Jerome ate the rest of his cereal and went out to the old bus stop to wait for people to talk to him. Susan paused and asked for the day, but she was the only one. Nobody moved from their general path and went on their way like it was the actual third of June.

Jerome noticed something standing out among the crowd, someone he didn't know. Instead of sticking to his schedule (which now consisted of yelling the number of days and running inside to read by himself), he walked over to the person.

"Who are you?" He asked the stranger.

The stranger looked over at him, jumping a bit at the words.

"Colin Phillips," he said, continually moving his eyes around the square.

"Where are you from?" Jerome asked as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

Colin scoffed a bit, leaning against a streetlamp. "Obviously not the past like the rest of you guys," he said as he pulled out a strange handheld object and began to touch it over and over with his fingers. He showed the thing to Jerome. "No bars, or wifi anywhere, it's ridiculous."

Jerome shrugged, he had no idea what was being said, but was still interested in talking, since nobody else seemed interested in talking with him the way they used to.

"Shouldn't you be in school?" Colin asked glancing down at his object in the middle of his sentence.

Jerome shook his head, "Homebound."

"Sounds fun," Colin said, going back to his object.

They stood in silence for a minute, both looking at each other briefly. Jerome did his best to be pleasant but found it difficult to be so with Colin since he was paying attention to something else. Something started to eat away at Jerome's mind, and the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to know what was really going on.

"How long have you been here?" he asked.

Colin shrugged. "Two days," he responded.

"Two days as in numerical yesterday and today, or two days as in twenty-four hours ago?" Jerome asked as he stepped back.

Colin looked up; his face wrinkled slightly as he looked at Jerome. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"Have you been here for the past Ten thousand, eight hundred, twenty-eight days, or the past two?" Jerome clarified.

"Two days," Colin said as he began to walk away.

Jerome followed him, deep in thought, so deep in fact that he ran into several obstacles that he normally would've passed with ease. This person had been in town for two days, as in two literal days. Two days as perceived by everyone in town. That had never happened before. Some people left, but nobody ever came.

"Where are you from?" Jerome asked after nearly stepping in a hole that has been there since he was young.

Colin shrugged, moving his object around and spinning, as if looking for something, but never moving his eyes from his hand. "Next town over," he said.

"What town is that?" Jerome asked. He'd never really paid much attention to the world outside his house, much less the town. So if anyone remembered what surrounded them, it wasn't him.

"Don't know. Moved to Dover when I was seven, never looked back."

Colin kept walking in silence while Jerome followed, not really talking. Something was extremely wrong about this newcomer (besides the fact that he shouldn't be there in the first place!) and he was going to figure it out.

After a while Colin stopped, glancing over his shoulder at Jerome. "Why are you following me?" He asked.

"Because I'm trying to figure you out," Jerome explained. "You shouldn't be here. There's no way you can be here."

Colin turned around fully, eyes raised. "Why exactly is that?" He asked.

"Mr. Davis says it's impossible," he said. "Anything beyond the boundary doesn't exist anymore."

Colin turn forward again and picked up his pace. "Friggin cults," he mumbled.

"I wish it was a cult," Jerome said, jogging lightly to catch up. "Then I could actually leave."

Colin stopped abruptly, right in front of Jerome, which cause him to run directly into the newcomer's back. Both toppled forward and onto the pavement. Jerome jumped up, not even bothering to make sure he was okay.

Colin took more time to recover, and slowly rolled from his stomach to his back. He lay still, panting furiously.

"Besides, I've thrown things through the boundaries and it's never reappeared in the loop, just like Mr. Davis said it would. So I've concluded that he isn't lying."

Colin shook his head, while continuing to pant, slowly getting quieter with time, but still loud.

"What the hell are you even trying to say?" He asked, locking eye-contact with Jerome for the first time.

"The loop. June 3, 1988," Jerome said without so much as a hiccup. "Always Summer but never vacation?"

Colin looked down and grabbed his head. "What did I eat?" He mumbled.

"Hopefully the same thing as yesterday, because if not, you're gone," Jerome teased.

In a sign of friendly interaction, he shoved his hand very quickly against Colin's shoulder in a way he'd seen football players do. The only problem was that he had less grasp on how much force should be applied to things, and ended up knocking Colin back onto the ground.

"Sorry!" He shouted, caught off guard by the sudden change in position.

Colin got up, ignoring Jerome's outstretched and anxious hand. He narrowed his eyes and stepped forward, stretching his neck until he was just barely taller than Jerome.

"Leave me alone," he snapped.

Jerome nodded, and ran down the street alone. He barely paid attention to his mother when he came in. There was nothing new to look at, so why look at all?

He thundered up the stairs and into the attic with his collection of books. His stomach was churning and his throat felt like it was closing in on him while he paced. Tears began to burn his eyes and feelings burst through his arms until he couldn't take it anymore and shoved a table over. Glass shattered across the floor in an endless clatter, smashing left and right, north and south.

He stopped when the feelings stopped pushing him, and he sat down in the middle of the broken glass.

"I didn't want to mess it up," he mumbled while he looked around at the carnage, as if he spoke to it instead of himself. "I wanted him to know he was okay here, and I didn't do that."