A dark void surrounded Morgan. She looked up -- at least, she thought it was up -- and down and all around at the endless darkness. She felt nothing. Gone was the firm grip of those withered hands, as well as her own hands... and body! Did she even have one anymore? It was as if she was falling, yet floating at the same time.
Is this Hell?
When her eyes flashed open, darkness dissipated in an instant. Looking up, she saw...
A white ceiling in dire need of a new paint job?
To her left was a bed that brought back memories.
"What the hell?!" she heard a familiar voice cry from outside her room, downstairs. No, it couldn't be-- Her dad?
Then, as if triggered by something from her past, she spontaneously replied, "Sorry, Dad. Dropped my...book bag." Morgan trailed off in shock and horror. The words themselves were mundane, but the realization was not.
She was back.
Morgan just lay there, staring at the ceiling in disbelief, dressed in worn out pajamas she hadn't worn in 15 years.
This is a dream, she told herself. Her crappy old room, her carpet-cleaning father downstairs... it was a dream. It had to be!
Morgan rationalized the impossible reality of all this. She was the corporate sales director at Hightower Health and Fitness! She made $350,000 a year and lived in a $500,000 River North condo. Her $50,000 dollar car was worth more than this entire house for God's sake!
She rose from the creaky hardwood floors and surveyed the room. Her eyes strayed to the pictures on the wall that now serve as a reminder of who she once was. In every single picture, she was dancing. Her age spanned from four to eighteen, and in a photo with a colorful frame, she saw herself posing with her former best friend, Laura, but if her current situation serves as any indication, she is still her best friend... for now.
Her gaze shifts to another picture - still crooked - with her when she was five, her young instructor standing behind her. Slowly, instinctively, she reached over and straightened it. She looked to the desk. It was not the solid mahogany leviathan from her condo's bedroom; no, this one was much smaller, much plainer, made of particleboard and covered in wood finish laminate.
A book lay on the floor near her. She glanced at it; it was her planner, open to a page about halfway through.
10AM: Young Entrepreneurs Meeting
5PM: Dance Rehearsal
What a dream! Damn that Hightower, pushing her to this! She'd worked so hard lately, had so much stress, her overtired mind had concocted this whole thing to give her some sort of reprieve. Time to wake up; get that marketing proposal in by the eight o'clock deadline.
She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, nothing had changed. The ugly ceiling, the hideous old pajamas...
She set her down on the bed and looked over the room. The more she looked, the less like a dream it felt. Could she really be here, back in her parent's home?
The Apparition, she thought to herself. It really sent her back in time. But... for what purpose?
If there was one thing years of working in a multi-million dollar company under one of the sharpest minds in business had taught her, it was to use the information and knowledge she was given to come up with a rational explanation and course of action... even if the situation she found herself in was anything but rational.
She combed through her memory, searching for a plausible explanation for what was happening. The last thing she remembered was that homeless creep coming up to her at Mickey's Food Mart -- which didn't exist yet, back when she was in high school - he said something-pushing him away like she did fifteen years ago?
