It was Tuesday.
The storm towered over me with rage.
It was all my fault.
Everyone I knew had fled, so I sat alone.
Staring at my watch, I wish that I never did what I had.
My name is River Rose.
And I can rewrite my past.

24 hours before the storm.
I’m sitting in class, talking to my friends.
The smiles of those around me warm my heart.
I look at my watch, it was only 2:35pm.
I tightened the band around my wrist.

23 hours before the storm.
Life goes on as usual.
I’m sitting on the couch, watching TV.
I twist the knob on my watch, as it seemed a little behind.
My vision gets slightly blurred, as I blink and try to regain it.

22 hours before the storm.
I discover something I never had before, as my mind spins out of control.
The watch sits on my wrist and the hands turn swiftly without my doing.
I concentrate on the outdoors.
The time of day keeps on changing in single moments.
I do not know how.

21 hours before the storm.
I begin to understand what everything means.
Although I doubt it, I cannot deny that I am capable of altering time.
I see the sun rise and fall in reverse as I twist the watch’s stud.
I think I am able to shift the past, present, and future.

20 hours before the storm.
My watch has taken me back to the previous morning.
With a simple touch of my hand, I am able to change myself.
I am able to change those around me.
I am able to change time.

19 hours before the storm.
My vision becomes hazy once more.
I’ve seen the night sky rise and the sunset fall in only one moment.
I become unclear of where I am, and who I may be.
Yet, I continue to pull at my watch.

18 hours before the storm.
I do not know where my parents are.
I’ve seen days come and go, without them even existing.
I’ve caused seasons to change and years to go.
Although they really haven’t passed at all.

17 hours before the storm.
The watch is something extraordinary.
As I become clear again of where I am,
I can play through the day however I please.
I’m able to fix what I have never been able to.

16 hours before the storm.
I look in the mirror.
My nose is bleeding.
I shrug and continue on.
The watch keeps on spinning,
My mind does as well.

15 hours before the storm.
I understand what I haven't been able to.
I have time’s hourglass under my control.
And I absolutely love it.

14 hours before the storm.
The people around me fade away.
I don't know what I've done.
I don't know if they know what I’ve done,
Or if they ever will.

13 hours before the storm.
I've played, reversed, and fast-forwarded my life as if it were a movie.
I don't know if the world has given this power to me as a gift.
Or as a lesson.
Despite my thoughts, I continue to use the watch.

12 hours before the storm.
I’ve gotten exceptional grades ever since the incident.
I am able to reverse time to study what I do not know.
I always use the watch.
The watch always uses me.

11 hours before the storm.
Is life passing me by?
I cannot tell.
Everything seems the same.
To me, at least.

10 hours before the storm.
I’m feeling ill.
My head hurts, and I can barely see.
I peer into the mirror again.
I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve slept.

9 hours before the storm.
I throw a frustrated fist at my reflection.
My mirror is shattered.
I can’t even look into my own eyes.
The watch continues to accelerate.
I begin to regret my decisions.

8 hours before the storm.
The sky gets dark, as it has not been in ages.
Or what seems to be ages.
I’ve seen days pass, all carbon copies of one another.
The pain is causing me suffering.
Is it still Monday?

7 hours before the storm.
The sky is mourning, so am I.
I pace back and forth, my eyes laid bitter on the watch.
The distressed glass displays my broken reflection.
I’ve taken advantage of what I’ve been given.
And I know I have.

6 hours before the storm.
What have I done?
I swear it’s been the same time forever.
But what is forever?
Forever doesn’t seem that long.

5 hours before the storm.
I’ve gone to school 17 times today.
I keep thinking it’s a new sunrise.
I can’t stop turning the watch.
I keep messing up– over and over again.
And I keep going back.

4 hours before the storm.
The rain is louder than it’s ever been.
There’s nobody in the streets.
There’s no one in this house but me.
I think I’m alone.
I’m scared.

3 hours before the storm.
The watch is staring back at me.
I can almost hear its laughs.
Haunting me, watching me, menacingly.
The thunderclouds are massive.
I’m so sorry for what I’ve done.
I regret it all.

2 hours before the storm.
I’m hugging my knees.
The watch says that it is 11pm.
I don’t know if I can trust it.
I just need Monday to be over.

1 hour before the storm.
It’s 12am.
I believe.
It’s Tuesday.
The downpour is too loud.
I cannot hear myself think.

The storm has begun.
The lightning blazes and branches from the trees sway.
I struggle to find my way outside.
I can’t keep my bearings, as the wind strikes me.
The horizon is horrifying.
There’s a twister out there, headed straight for me.

The storm goes on.
It’s headed for my town, and people who I’m not sure even exist anymore.
Nature is falling apart at my fingertips.
I can’t see far; my perspective is disintegrating.
Pieces of the earth begin to dissolve at my feet.

The watch turns and my knotted hair cascades down my shoulder.
My arms and legs are weak, as they hit the ground.
I’m staring into the eyes of a world that is long gone.
I can’t do anything about it.
Everyone is gone.
How can I have any more faith?

My tears fall faster than the rain.
I look up.
How could I let this happen?
I don’t even know what time it is.
I’m not strong enough to do this on my own.

I glance down at my wrist as the tornado gets closer.
My world begins to crumble rapidly.
The watch remains on my arm, and suddenly I realize.
I’ve reversed my problems for my own sake all this time.
How can I be so selfish as to not save the world?

I take off the watch, placing it in the palm of my hand.
I tremble, my doubts and fears buried underneath the glass.
This is what has been killing me all along.
The rage explodes within me.
The tornado is just a few feet in front of me.
I throw the watch on the ground.

It shatters like my mirror had yesterday.
The pieces break off in a crystallized spectrum of illuminating light.
The earth closes in as the glass slows down, approaching my body.
It makes contact, and suddenly the twister disintegrates.
Time becomes healed, after all of the agony I’ve put it through.

I pick up the glass as it dissolves in my palm.
I close my eyes.
I feel free.
Everything has changed.

It’s been a week since the ethereal visions of the storm.
At least everyone promises that they were visions.
Those I’ve missed are now with me again.
Yet they’ve been with me all along.
I look at my wrists, and nothing is there.
I have nothing to worry about.

The days go on.
And I can’t control it.
But I have never wanted anything more.
My name is River Rose.
And I don’t need to rewrite my past.