Brittney surveyed the room from her place on the chair. An ancient layer of dust weighed everything down with age, as if it were time’s own signature. The chair’s metallic legs groaned under the sudden strain of Brittney’s weight.

Her mind raced with panic and confusion. There was no question this was her room. On the desk, she saw her Marketing text book, still open to chapter seven. Her green highlighter lay next to it, dried out and useless.

She stood and turned toward the door, the echoes of her heels on the birch floors penetrating the complete silence of the world. Just as she reached for the door, the floor underfoot splintered and gave way. Brittney fell through the floor and her body broke as it struck the solid mass of the main floor.

She lay there, dying, surrounded by the bones of some long-dead young woman who, at the end of her life, was wearing the same red heels and black skirt Brittney wore now.

You’ll see your future. she remembered the the man say, as her life slipped from her.