2: The Reckoning

The sun felt warm on her skin, and the air was alive with the excitement of graduation.

She was wearing a clean white shirt and a pair of old, comfortable jeans. Her arms held a stack of books against her chest. Genesis walked across the familiar campus quad, where students lay on the grass. Their laughter and talk made a noise like a song of young energy.

She walked past the old oak tree where she had spent many hours studying. Its low branches offered a comforting shadow. The smell of freshly cut grass and a light scent of coffee from the nearby shop filled her nose, making her feel completely real in this vivid memory.

With every step toward the grand main hall entrance, a flood of strong feelings rushed through her. She was filled with pride and excitement about graduating and finding her place in the world after school. What was once a faraway dream now felt close enough to touch. She also recalled the countless late nights studying with her best friend, Leedya, and the deep sense of triumph that came from finishing her work.

She reached an empty classroom. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, making golden shapes on the floor. She placed her stack of books on the desk where she often sat and picked up her old journal from the top.

Flipping through the pages, she saw her own handwriting. The ink was a little faded, but the words were still easy to read. Every entry was a clear view into her past thoughts, dreams, and hopes.

Later, she walked confidently across the campus parking lot. Her independence was clear: she lived off campus, a choice made possible by the sleek BMW her parents gave her when she started college. This car was her easy way to and from school.

She arrived at her apartment, which was filled with books, notes, and drawings. The walls were decorated with posters of inspiring quotes and art, showing her varied and creative taste. She dropped the journal onto the living room table and relaxed on the sofa. She adjusted her glasses and smiled to herself as she organized her thoughts, getting ready for life after graduation.

She thought about her future, and the memory of her last class played in her mind. It was an engaging lecture where the professor talked about the pros and cons of working for yourself versus corporate stability. Since it was her final lecture, Genesis was deeply invested in absorbing every idea, knowing she was at a pivotal crossroads.

The apartment's quiet peace snapped when her eyes caught a framed photo. It showed a happy, twenty-one-year-old Genesis with her parents, but a small, black ribbon pinned to the frame instantly erased the smile. The sight triggered a sickening wave of grief that ripped through her chest. It was a pain too huge to belong to her, but the doubt was chilling: Was this agony actually hers? Had the 25-year-old version of herself already lived through this loss she had yet to remember. And she, the one who just arrived, simply forgot the trauma? The beautiful future she imagined was instantly dissolved; replaced by the crushing weight of an unknown sorrow.

The grief over the photograph instantly vanished, replaced by a terrifying flash of white light and a metallic scream. Suddenly, she was no longer in the peaceful apartment. She was seeing her fifteen-year-old self, getting into a yellow cab. Then came the screech of metal as a huge truck running a stoplight, slammed into the taxi. Paramedics swarmed the scene in a dizzying blur. The memory was so fresh and horrible that the crash seemed to be happening again, right in front of her. Her body felt the full impact, forcing her to confront the absolute truth: that her life was still hanging in the balance back in that silent hospital room.

With chilling clarity, Genesis realized this dreamscape was not a simple memory, but a bridge. It was a psychological tool, built from her deepest fears and desires, meant to give her the strength to wake up and heal. She was only fifteen, fighting for her life by reliving a past she didn't consciously remember. She was here not to observe, but to learn and survive.

As the final, terrifying realization settled, the phone on the coffee table vibrated violently. The loud, demanding ringing shattered the silence of the apartment. She stared down at the phone, feeling certain it was Leedya.

 **********

The Loud ringing of the phone instantly aborted the psychological regression triggered by the photograph, allowing Genesis to regain her composure and overturn the image on the table. Still, the memory of the profound, unearned grief she had experienced just prior remained a source of deep emotional conflict.

Having emerged into consciousness at age twenty-five, she possessed no autobiographical memory of her life before. As she prepared for graduation, the absence of her parents was an inexplicable void. Instinctively, she understood that the photograph was the focal point of her repressed experience.

A few hours later, as the evening settled, a profound internal urge overwhelmed her discomfort. She retrieved the photograph, and as her gaze focused on the smiling figures, a flow of memory began to form. Forcibly integrating the traumatic data of what happened to her parents.

It was a year earlier, on the eve of her 24th birthday. She was back in her bed sleeping. She had gone to bed early planning to surprise her parents by picking them up at the airport the next morning. Her parents were returning for vacation to celebrate her birthday. That entire year had dissolved into a blur of raw sorrow and sudden, heavy responsibilities. The phone rang in the middle of the night, shattering the peaceful quiet of her sleep. A voice laced with professional sorrow spoke.

“I am sorry to wake you up miss. Are you the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Collins?”

“Yes sir. My name is Genesis Collins. Is there a problem?”

The words that followed instantly destroyed her reality. Returning from their Venetian getaway, their plane had crashed, leaving no survivors. The news ravaged her soul, plunging her into an abyss of unrelenting pain. Sleep abandoned her, replaced by constant torment as grief threatened to annihilate her very existence.

The Burden of Bureaucracy

In the immediate aftermath of the tragedy, Genesis’s every waking moment was consumed by a bewildering entanglement of bureaucratic tasks, legal consultations, and the crushing responsibility of arranging a funeral. As she mechanically went through the motions, her emotions remained frozen, unable to fully register the unfortunate reality of her parents' death.

After long, arduous months of back-and-forth negotiations with the airline company, she found guidance in her brilliant friend, Leedya, who studied corporate law. Leedya's help allowed Genesis to navigate the lengthy, demanding methods of securing compensation.

Genesis sat stiffly in the office of the airline’s legal team. The atmosphere was heavy with the scent of old paper and polished wood, and the walls were lined with rows of thick, leather-bound volumes. The cumulative stress of the past months weighed heavily on her. Her grip on the armrests was tense, her knuckles pale as she struggled to maintain her poise.

The lawyer, a middle-aged man with kind eyes and a sympathetic expression, slid an envelope across the desk toward her. “Miss Collins, we deeply regret the loss of your parents in the tragic accident. This compensation is a token of our responsibility and our deepest condolences. We hope it can provide some support during this tough time.”

**********

Genesis simply stared at the envelope, unmoving. The thick white paper felt obscene, a physical symbol of the irrevocable price paid for her grief. It was too little and too much all at once. Her eyes, magnified behind her glasses, lifted to meet the lawyer's gaze, but they were void of any reaction.

She didn't reach for the envelope. Instead, a single thought, cold and sharp, cut through her numbness: This money can pay for my tuition, pay for the house, pay for the car... but it can’t bring them back.

The lawyer shifted uncomfortably, recognizing the complete detachment in her eyes. "Miss Collins, is there anything else you require today? We hope this brings some finality to the legal process."

Finality, The word echoed hollowly in the quiet room. There was no finality, only an empty apartment and a future she had to build alone. Slowly, deliberately, Genesis extended one thin, powerful hand and placed it on the envelope.

The Transaction

Genesis continued to stare at the envelope, the final number already etched in her mind. It was the sum she had reluctantly agreed upon. Her heart ached at the lawyer's sympathetic words, yet she took a deep, steadying breath and picked up the envelope. Her hands trembled slightly as she carefully opened it, retrieving the compensation check and the formal letter of apology. The monetary figure was staggering, a sharp, material reminder of the immensity of her loss.

After a few tense moments, she gathered her composure and looked up at the lawyer. "Thank you," she managed quietly, her voice surprisingly steady despite the chaos churning inside.

The lawyer nodded, his expression conveying a sincere sense of empathy. "Take care of yourself Miss Collins. And remember, we are here if you require anything."

What a load of bull, she thought with a cold edge of bitterness, but she offered no verbal response. She was acutely aware that without Leedya's skillful negotiation on her behalf, this substantial amount would have remained unattainable. She clutched the envelope tightly as she left the polished office and stepped out into the bright afternoon sunlight. The warmth on her skin felt foreign. For a brief moment, she closed her eyes, allowing herself to take a deep breath.

The compensation was not a replacement; it was simply a means to a new beginning, a chance to build a life that would honor her parents’ memory. she opened her eyes, tucked the check safely into her bag, then automatically reached for her small mirror. Satisfied with the image she presented, a young woman of poise and control. She had to become resilient. Now, more than ever, she was compelled to summon that strength to face her final year at Nova Terra University.

In that terrible instance, as the trauma of the airline crash solidified , Genesis now understood the chilling truth of the black ribbon photograph: her dreamscape parents were dead, she was alone. The pain had been so absolute that the memory of the loss had leaked across the timeline. It dawned on her that both sets of parents carried the same names, David and Sarah Collins, yet looked nothing alike. While saddened by the loss, she was simultaneously hopeful knowing her real parents were waiting for her on the other side of the coma.

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