Victoria was woken up by a splitting headache.

She let out a mild groan and sat up in her

bed, slowly opening her eyes. The blurry light of her alarm clock was the first thing to catch her

attention. The digital numbers on the clock gradually coming into focus revealed the time. 8:13

am. ‘Tylenol’ was the only word her pained brain could come up with. Making her way out of

bed and over to her bathroom, she noticed that her headache dissipated. ‘That’s odd,’ she

thought to herself, ‘I don’t think I drank ​that​ much last night.' Looking back into her bedroom,

she saw the empty bottle of wine and six beer cans that kept her company last night littered

across the floor.

She moved into her small, one-room apartment only a week ago. Having only recently

graduated, she landed a job at a law firm and has been saving just enough to afford an apartment

located close to her work. Although the location was prime, the actual quality of the apartment

was sub-par. The thinly-painted white walls had flashes of smoked-in yellow, the carpet had an

uncountable amount of mysterious stains, and the view was almost non-existent, being only a

brick wall eight stories up from an alley. Victoria looked at the boxes below the window that

were still needing to be unpacked.

‘I should probably get to that at some point.’ Her mind started to trail off on the thought

of what still needed to be finished. Her dresser had not arrived yet, so unpacking was put on

hold. She was also still waiting on her internet service provider to come out and set up the

internet.

As she was standing at the bathroom door, running through her mental checklist, she was

suddenly attacked by another migrain. Stumbling over to the medicine cabinet, she opened the

mirrored door and grabbed a large bottle of pills. Victoria dumped out two white ovals onto the

palm of her hand, shoveled them into her mouth, put her mouth under the faucet, and twisted the
right knob. The first couple gulps of water were ice cold, but as she continued to mindlessly

chug, the water quickly turned to scalding. She wretched away from the sink and shot the

near-boiling water out of her mouth. ‘The fuck?' She reached her hand through the steam now

emitting from the sink and turned off the faucet. Twisting the left handel and sticking her hand

under, the water ran warm for a second, then slowly shifted to cold. ‘I’ll never get used to that.’

Putting the medicine back, she closed the cabinet and looked at her reflection. Victoria

thought of herself as a relatively average looking person, although today she was looking a little

less than stellar. Her long, brown hair was knotted and sticking out in multiple directions and

her eyes had bags so deep they looked like they could smuggle a turkey dinner into a movie

theater. She rubbed her eyes, hoping the tiredness could just be wiped away. Looking again at

her bright amber eyes, she remembered how her old highschool friends would tell her how

jealous they were of her eyes. She also remembered how that was the only positive thing they

ever said to her. ‘God, teenagers are mean.' Victoria put her hand over her mouth and smelled

her breath. She gagged. ‘Yep. Death.’

After brushing her teeth, she went back into her room and grabbed her phone off the

charger. She pressed the power button and the screen lit up, showing the time and date. Sunday,

September 27th. Up in the top, right hand corner, she noticed that her data had run out, the

culprit most likely being all the true crime documentaries she streamed for the past week before

bed.

Victoria had been working non-stop for the past few weeks. Being the newest one in the

office, most of her superiors dump the busy work they don’t want to do onto her. Today was her

first real day off since she started working, and she planned on doing absolutely nothing, going

so far as to tell everyone she knew not to bother her. Today was for her.
 Her living room was just outside of her bedroom, although she had not done much living

in it recently. The kitchenette was along the wall to the right of the bedroom door, just below the

window with the incredible view. The walls in the room were the same

smokey-yellow-covered-in-white as her bedroom and the carpet had the same uncountable stain

pattern as well. The vinyl in the kitchen, however, looked new. Not nice, but new. Apart from

the small collection of goodwill paintings hanging on the wall and the hand-me-down couch she

got from a friend, the room was quite featureless.

‘I probably shouldn't have splurged so much on the paintings,’ she thought, staring at the

singular wall which held all of the art, ‘or I could have at least spread them out.’

Victoria took one of her three porcelain bowls from the cabinet above the kitchen sink

and walked over to her fridge. On top, she grabbed a half-empty box of cornflakes and poured it

into the bowl. She opened the fridge and pulled out the half-full gallon of milk, placed the bowl

on the counter, and drenched the cereal in it. Looking at the jug, Victoria noticed the expiration

date on the milk was tomorrow. She lifted it to her nose and smelled.

‘It’s still got a few days left in it.’

She walked over to her couch and planted herself in the middle, thinking of all the

nothing she’ll get done today. Her cereal was bland, but she liked bland. Bland seemed to

comfort her. Victoria eventually lost herself in the nothing that was her cereal.

‘This must be what zen monks devote their lives to achieve.’

The only thing that snapped her out of the meditative state was the spoonful of milk she

dumped in her mouth. Looking down at the bowl, she lifted it up to her lips and drank what was

left, got up from her spot, placed the empty bowl in the sink, and proceeded into her room.
 Lying on her bed, Victoria turned on the television on the other side of the room.

Although she had no cable, she still had an old DVD player and some movies. The TV flickered

on and the DVD player booted up. Next to the player was an open case to the movie ​As Good As

It Gets​.

‘Must have thrown this on before bed. I guess I’ll rewatch it. Not like I remember it.’

As the movie played, she began to regret not saving up her data for the one day she

needed it.

‘DVD’s are pretty archaic now, at least compared to Netflix.’

Her mind began to wonder. She remembered how companies like Netflix used to deliver

DVDs directly through the mail.

‘Did I grab my mail yesterday?'

She paused the movie and sat up, thinking carefully about the last time she checked her

mail. ‘I should probably check it, just to be safe.' Victoria got up from her bed, threw on her

slippers, and grabbed her keys off the bedside table. She made her way over to the front door,

turned the latch, and opened the door. As she opened it, she was greeted with the sickly sweet

smell of the hallway and a faint, distant aroma of her neighbors’ breakfasts. Taking a single

breath, she stepped out into the hallway.

Victoria was woken up by a splitting headache. She let out a mild groan and sat up in her

bed, slowly opening her eyes. The blurry light of her alarm clock was the first thing to catch her

attention. The digital numbers on the clock gradually coming into focus revealed the time. 8:13

am.
 She looked curiously around her room, still somewhat half-asleep. Pulling her phone off

the charger, she turned it on. Sunday, September 27th. ‘Oh,’ she thought, ‘what a bizarrely

specific dream.' Getting out of bed, Victoria looked at the oddly familiar sight of a lone bottle

and six cans that littered her floor.

‘Found the perpetrators.’

Walking in the bathroom, she noticed her dream seemed to overplay how hungover she

actually felt. In fact, she felt almost fine. She looked in the mirror. Hair: knotty. Eyes: baggy.

Breath? She lifted her hand to her face. ‘Smells fine, not super death-y.' She grabbed her

toothbrush and started to reach for the faucet’s right knob before she stopped herself. She

twisted the left knob. The water came out ice cold at first, and after a few seconds of waiting,

the water was still cold.

‘Whoa, Deja vu.’

After brushing her teeth, she went back into her room, grabbed her phone, and headed

into the kitchen for breakfast. She filled her bowl with cornflakes, and as she was pouring the

milk, she saw the expiration date. She lifted the milk to her nose, smelling an oddly familiar

scent. ‘Guess I’m just psychic.’

Victoria began walking over to her couch, but caught herself.

‘That would just be too weird.’

She decided not to follow her dream to a tee. She entered her bedroom and sat down on

her bed. She turned on the TV and hit play on the DVD player. The film ​As Good As It Gets

started to play, and Victoria’s mind began to trail off in a very familiar way.

‘Did I grab my mail?’

 She put her bowl on her bedside table and began to think about this somehow impossible

question.

‘Wait, hold on.’

She opened the top drawer of her bedside table, and in it was a small stack of envelopes

all addressed to her.

‘There it is.’

She closed the drawer, picked up her cereal again, and continued to watch the film. At

some point in the movie, Victoria dozed off. While sleeping, she dropped her half eaten bowl of

cornflakes onto the floor, landing on top of an empty bottle of wine and shattering. The loud

noise shocked Victoria awake. She looked over the edge of her bed and saw the soggy cornflake

and porcelain shard mash. She hopped out of bed and grabbed some paper towels, quickly

cleaning up the large chunks of mash. While wiping up a particularly large pile, a shard of

porcelain stabbed through the paper towel and sliced Victoria’s right hand. “Shit!” she

exclaimed. She quickly pulled her hand to her face and examined the wound. The gash was

small, maybe about an inch across her palm. It wasn’t too deep, but it quickly began to fill with

blood.

After tending to her hand and dealing with the clutter on her floor, Victoria spent the rest

of her day watching movies and eating whatever she could find. By the end of the day, she

showered, set her alarm, and got into bed. Victoria considered today to be very successful.

Victoria was woken up by a splitting headache. She let out a mild groan and sat up in her

bed, slowly opening her eyes. The blurry light of her alarm clock was the first thing to catch her
attention. The digital numbers on the clock gradually coming into focus revealed the time. 8:13

am.

Her eyes widened in horror. She was late for work.

She shot out of bed and darted to the bathroom, almost tripping on empty cans. As fast as

she could, she washed her face, brushed her teeth, and snached up her makeup bag.

‘I’ll do it in the car.’

She threw on her most convenient work clothes and started toward the front door.

‘Wait. Phone.’

She ran back into her bedroom and snached her phone off the charger and, through force

of habit, pressed the power button.

Sunday, September 27th.

She paused.

‘That can’t be right.’

She opened her phone and looked at her calendar.

Sunday, September 27th. Today’s date.

‘Then what was yesterday? Did I dream an entire day?’

In her state of confusion she looked around the room. Six empty cans. One empty wine

bottle. An empty ​As Good As It Gets​ case sitting next to the DVD player. Everything seemed to

confirm that today was in fact Sunday, September 27th.

Victoria looked back at her phone. ‘Then I guess I dreamed a whole day.' A smile began

to creep onto her face as she realized she still had a whole day of nothing ahead of her. All until

something caught her eye.

 A small bead of crimson rolled down her wrist, leaving behind a trail of red. Victoria put

her phone down and slowly twisted her palm toward her. In the middle of her palm was a small

gash, about an inch long, that had begun pooling blood.

She could almost feel her heart stop. She knew where she got this wound, but it didn’t

seem possible. Quickly, she ran over to the kitchen and looked in the cabinet above the sink.

Three porcelain bowls. All in perfect condition.

She looked at her palm again, still bleeding. She didn’t notice it earlier in her rush to get

to work, and looking at it closer, it was torn back open.

Grabbing her coat, she decided to go and ask her friend Don for help.

Don is one of Victoria’s closest friends, in terms of proximity. Although, if that

proximity were to be a thousand miles, he would still be the closest. They had both been friends

since they were kids, mostly because Victoria found Don more useful than the other kids. Useful

for things like taking blame, moving heavy objects, and giving stuff, like an old couch.

“Hello? Vic?”

“Don, something’s wrong.”

“I thought you didn’t want to be bothered today?”

“That was yesterday.”

“I thought you said Sunday?”

“Yeah, it has something to do with that.”

“... What?”

“I don’t know, I’m headed over now and hopefully I can explain.”

“You’re coming over? Now? You can’t, I’m getting my hair cut in half an hour.”

“Don, this is important.”

 Victoria twisted the latch on her front door and smelled the familiar stench of sweet and

breakfast mix as she stepped out into the hall.

Victoria was woken up by a splitting headache. She shot out of bed and looked around

the room, terror slowly creeping its way up her back and into her mind. She frantically bolted

for the door and with a single motion twisted the latch and threw open the door. Before she

could even smell the sickly sweet or the distant breakfast, she was already halfway out the door

when she was overcome with an intense migraine and awoke back in her room. She tried again,

rushing for the door and entering the hallway, only to wake up with another migraine.

Starting for the door once again, Victoria stopped herself. She had already undone the

latch and her hand was squeezing the doorknob. Her hand loosened its grip and she eventually

pulled away, she knew that there was no point in trying. She slumped down to the base of the

door and put her back against it. Sitting there, she pondered her situation. ‘What the hell is

going on,’ she thought. She brought her palm to her face and examined her wound again. At

this point, it had stopped bleeding and turned a dark red.

She entered her bedroom and took her phone off the charger. The screen lit up when her

finger pressed the power button. Sunday, September 27th. For once, she ignored the date and

directly called Don.

“Hello? Vic?”

“Don, I need help.”

“I thought you didn’t want to be bothered today?”

“Change of plans, I need you to come over.”

“Can it wait until later.”

 “Oh, right, you’re getting your hair cut in a half hour.”

“Yeah, so can it wait until after?”

Victoria waited for her words to hit Don, but they never seemed to make contact.

“Aren’t you curious how I know you’re getting your hair cut?”

“Didn’t I tell you that yesterday? It was in the same phone call where you told me not to

bother you.”

Her heart felt as if it skipped a beat and sank down a pit. The realization that no matter

what she said to him, there was no way she could convince him of something so surreal.

“Vic? Are you still there?”

“Yeah, just come over later. Okay?”

“Alright, I’ll be over.”

After Don hung up, Victoria stood up from the ground and began to pace. Her mind was

racing with questions. ‘How did this happen? Why me of all people? And why did it have to be

on a day like today?' She eventually tried brainstorming ideas on how she was going to prove

anything to Don without making herself seem absolutely insane.

It took what felt like an hour of pacing, but she finally came to the conclusion that there

was no reasonable way for her to convince Don of the scenario that was being played out in

Victoria’s small apartment. Soon, there was a knock at the door. Opening it, she saw Don on

the other side. Among the familiar smells of the hallway was the strong smell of pomade and a

scent Victoria only knew as “Don”.

“Okay, I know I’m going to sound crazy, but you're just going to have to believe me.”

“So you don’t like the hair?”

“What? Oh, it looks fine, whatever. I’ve got a bigger problem here.”
 “What’s such a big problem that you needed someone over?”

“I’m… stuck.”

Don looked around the room, then back at Victoria. “Where?”

“Not literally ‘stuck’. I’m more stuck in ‘today’.”

Don looked at Victoria in a mixture of confusion and worry.

“What?”

“I know, it sounds crazy, but you’re going to have to just take my word for it.”

The two stood in the sparse living room, a long silence overcame them while Don tried to

understand the intentions of her words. After some time of failed contemplation, Don attempted

to change the subject.

"So… how's the couch holding up?"

"Don, I'm serious. I can't leave my apartment or I'll just wake up back in my bed."

Slowly, Don began to understand the predicament Victoria was in. He's known her ever

since they were kids, so he knew she wasn't one to lie for no reason, or lie at all because of how

bad of a liar she was. He walked over and put his hands on her shoulders.

"Look, you've been working a lot recently and it's a good thing that you're taking a free

day, but maybe you shouldn't have planned on having so little to do. It's obvious that the

boredom is getting to you. Why don't we go out for lunch?"

Victoria looked him in the eyes. He didn't understand the situation at all.

"No, you don't get it. I can't leave."

"I know it feels like that. You just need some fresh air to clear your mind."

He started leading her toward the front door of her apartment.

 "No." Victoria swatted his hands away and began to raise her voice. "Are you not

listening? I physically cannot leave or I'll be… reset. Here, look!"

She lifted her palm toward him and showed him her wound.

"Jesus, what happened?"

"I got cut yesterday while cleaning up the shards of a broken bowl."

Victoria moved briskly to the kitchen sink and opened the cabinet above. In it were three

porcelain bowls. She reached out and clutched the bowl she had used most recently. Turning

around and shoving the bowl in Don's face, Victoria felt her heart start to race as she became

more and more panicked.

"This bowl shattered and sliced my hand, and when I woke up the bowl was fine and my

hand was still bleeding."

Don was frozen. He finally understood what was happening. Slowly, he backed up

toward the door, putting his hands in front of him trying to calm down his friend.

"Victoria, I think you should get some rest. You seem to be a little confused right now,

so I'll just go."

Victoria saw his movements and began to close the distance between them.

"Don, please." she said, her voice losing the confidence it normally had. "You don't

understand, I need your help."

"I'll come back tomorrow, you just need to relax for a bit."

Don's back was already to the door. He opened it and backed out into the hallway.

"Don, wait!" Victoria shouted at Don, who was turning around and picking up his pace.

She attempted to grab his coat tail and lunged out into the hallway.
 Victoria was woken up by a splitting headache.

Don was woken up by his alarm clock. He set it the night prior to wake up early enough

to get ready for his barber's appointment. Reaching out to it, he pressed the small “off” button

behind the snooze. He rose from his bed, walked down the upstairs hall of his townhouse, and

into the bathroom. In the mirror, he noticed his shaggy hair that almost entirely covered his ears.

‘Goodbye long hair,’ he thought to himself, ‘I’ll see you again in a few months.' He brushed his

teeth and hopped in the shower. While in the shower, Don washed his hair despite knowing that

his barber was going to wash his hair later. He didn’t want to make any kind of bad impression.

His friend, Victoria, would often make fun of his strange habits. He began to recall the

conversation he had with her over the phone the night prior.

“Ya know… I kinda like long hair Don." Victoria was stumbling over her words.

“Well, I don’t. How much have you drank anyway?”

“Jus’ some wine." There was the distinctive hissing crack over the phone.

“Are you having beer too?”

“What? It’s not like I’m doin’ anythin’ tomorrow. I’m gonna have a lazy Sunday, so

don’t bother me, ‘kay?”

Ever since they were kids, Victoria had been close to Don. Even though she was quite

pushy, he never really fought against it. Over the years, however, their relationship seemed to

grow less one sided and more normal. Don got out of the shower and checked his phone, where

there was an email notification reminding him of his haircut. He swiped to dismiss it. All that

was on his lockscreen now was the time and date. Sunday, September 27th, 8:13 am.
 After drying off and getting dressed, Don left his townhouse and font into his car when

his phone started to ring. He pulled it out of his pocket and saw who was calling. It was

Victoria.

“Hello? Vic?”

On the other end of the phone, Don could hear heavy breathing.

“Now you’ll believe me…" Victoria sounded rough, almost like she had lost her voice.

“What?”

“Haircut. Come over after the haircut." The breathing continued.

“Vic? Are you alright?”

Before he could get an answer, Victoria hung up.

‘That was odd.’

Don drove off to his local cafe to grab a quick cup of coffee, then headed over to the

barber. His haircut was quick, the barber seemingly just chopping off large clumps of hair and

somehow making it look good. Don drove over to Victoria’s apartment building, parked across

the street, and made his way up to her apartment, which was at the end of a long hallway. Seeing

that her door had been left open, Don let himself in.

“Vic?" Don called out to her. On the other side of the room, the bedroom door began to

open, the sight on the other side horrified him.

Victoria stood there, her left eye swollen shut and colored a deep reddish purple. A

stream of blood poured down her cheek and stained her shirt. Her right hand was clenched into a

fist against her chest. Don, barely able to move, let out a reactionary “Oh my God.”

“I had an eye yesterday, right?" Victoria slowly walked toward Don.

 “Soon, it’ll be like I never had an eye to begin with." A smile crept it’s way onto her

mangled face.

“Then you’ll have to believe me.”

As she approached, Don saw the numerous scars on her arms in the shape of tallies.

Some seemed infected, few seemed fresh, and one on the back of her clenched hand was

dripping down to her elbow. Shaking his head to regain focus, Don walked over to Victoria and

grabbed her wrist.

“You need to get to the hospital." He dragged her over to the front door, Victoria

protesting and trying to pull herself out of his grip.

“No! I can’t leave. Let go of me!” she yelled, her raspy voice echoing down the halls.

As the two started to enter the hallway, Don felt Victoria’s hand seemingly slip out of his.

The only noise that came from behind him was an extremely soft thud, then an eerie silence.

Don whipped around, expecting to see his friend lying on the floor behind him, but

instead there was nothing but an empty doorway to a sparsely decorated apartment.

“Victoria?” Don called out, but there was no answer. Panicked, he ran back into the

living room and frantically searched for where his friend could have gone. He checked the

bedroom, then the closet, still nothing. He checked the bathroom. On the counter was a kitchen

knife with a spot of dark red on the tip. In the sink was a spoon resting in a small pool of blood.

“Victoria?” He called out again, his voice considerably weaker. The only response he heard was

the same silence that had suddenly fallen on him. He could feel the blood on his hand begin to

dry as he walked out of the bedroom and looked out the front door. In the hallway, a small, pink

and white sphere with a bright amber circle stared into Victoria’s empty living room.
 Writer’s Letter:

My idea for this story stemmed from the thought of “what if the movie

groundhog’s day happened on a day where nothing happened?” and I really wanted to explore

the mechanics of a time loop within a story. I was originally deciding between whether I wanted

Victoria’s ‘mind’ to be sent back in the loop, or her ‘body’. I eventually ended up going with the

whole body because I feel it added a bit more tension to the story.

I decided to end the story on a more horror-ish note because I feel it fit the concept.

While writing, I saw a few more ways the story could end. One of them having a somber tone,

where the character crawls into bed and dies from starvation or despair or something similar and

the ending scene is an excerpt from her obituary. I felt this ending would have made the story a

lot shorter, but would have been much more boring. Another ending I had in mind would have

been more bittersweet, having Victoria fall in love with Don, but being unable to grow a

relationship with him, eventually growing old and dying beside her confused friend. This ending

probably would have a greater emotional response, but it would require a lot more character

development that I wouldn’t be able to fit in the 15 page limit.

My biggest struggle in writing was using language that didn’t feel repetitive and using

varying sentence structures. Is there any section that feels like it drags on too long or one that

needs more development?