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Câu chuyện MidReal
Reversed: A Second Chance at Sixteen
Bối cảnh:35 year old teacher regresses back to a 16 year old. Noone at her school or recalls her 35 year old self.And her cozy 2 bedroom bungalow comes with a set of parents. Can she adjust to being a teenager again. Where will she fit in,can she handle raging hormones.
Tạo phiên bản của tôi cho câu chuyện này
Emily Hart
the regressed teacher, no significant relationships, petite with curly brown hair, confused and resilient
Mark and Lisa Hart
Emily's parents in her new life, Emily's parents, middleaged and caring, supportive and protective
Sarah Jennings
Emily's best friend at school, friend to Emily, tall with blonde hair, outgoing and skeptical
I wake up to the sound of my alarm clock.
It’s a strange beeping noise I’ve never heard before.
I open my eyes and look around the room.
It’s not my room.
This isn’t my house.
I’m not sure how I know that, but I do.
The walls are painted a pale yellow and there’s a picture of a sunset hanging on the wall.
There’s a small bookshelf filled with books, a desk with a computer, and a bed with pink sheets and a pink comforter.
I sit up and look down at myself.
I’m wearing pink pajama pants and a white tank top.
I don’t own any pink pajamas.
I don’t like pink.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, feeling the soft carpet beneath my feet.
My heart pounds as I stand up and walk to the mirror on the wall.
The reflection staring back at me is not what I expect.
It’s me, but younger—much younger.
I look like I’m sixteen again.
My hands tremble as I touch my face, my hair, my body.
Everything feels real, but it can’t be.
“Emily?” a voice calls from outside the door.
I freeze, my breath catching in my throat.
The door creaks open, and my parents, Mark and Lisa, step into the room.
They look exactly as they did when I was a teenager—no gray hairs, no wrinkles.
“Sweetie, are you okay?” Mom asks, her eyes filled with concern.
Dad stands behind her, his brow furrowed.
“I... I don’t know,” I stammer.
“This isn’t right. This isn’t real.”
Mom walks over and places a hand on my forehead.
“You don’t have a fever,” she says softly.
“Maybe you just had a bad dream.”
“A bad dream?” I repeat, incredulous.
“This is more than a bad dream. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to be sixteen!”
Dad chuckles nervously.
“Teenagers and their vivid imaginations,” he says, trying to lighten the mood.
“No, you don’t understand!” I shout, backing away from them.
“I’m not a teenager. I’m an adult. Something’s wrong!”
Mom and Dad exchange worried glances.
“Honey,” Mom says gently, “maybe you should lie down for a bit. You’ve been under a lot of stress lately with school and everything.”
School? What school?
I haven’t been in school for years.
“Just try to relax,” Dad adds.
“We’re here for you.”
I take a deep breath and force myself to calm down.
Clearly, they don’t believe me—or maybe they can’t understand what’s happening.
“Okay,” I say quietly.
“I’ll lie down for a while.”
Mom smiles and kisses my forehead.
“That’s our girl.”
They leave the room, closing the door behind them.
As soon as they’re gone, I rush to the desk and turn on the computer.
It’s an old model, one I remember using back in high school.
The screen flickers to life, and I quickly search for today’s date.
June 12th, 2005.
My heart skips a beat.
This can’t be happening.
I hear footsteps approaching again and quickly shut off the computer.
The door opens once more, and this time it’s my younger brother, Jake.
“Hey Em,” he says casually.
“You okay? Mom said you were acting weird.”
Jake looks exactly as he did when he was twelve—freckles, messy hair, and all.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
“Just... had a strange dream.”
He shrugs.
“Okay. Well, breakfast is ready if you’re hungry.”
“Thanks,” I reply absently.
Jake leaves the room, and I sit back down on the bed, trying to make sense of everything.
How did this happen?
Why am I here?
And most importantly—how do I get back?
Suddenly, there’s a loud crash from downstairs followed by shouting.
I jump up and rush to the door.
The shouting grows louder as I approach the kitchen.
I push open the door and freeze at the sight before me.
Dad is standing by the counter, holding a broken plate in his hand.
His face is red with anger.
Mom is across from him, tears streaming down her face, her hands shaking uncontrollably.
"How could you be so irresponsible, Mark?" Mom cries out, her voice cracking.
"We can't keep living like this!"
Dad slams the broken plate on the counter, pieces scattering everywhere.
"Don't you think I know that, Lisa?" he shouts back.
"I'm doing everything I can!"
I feel a mix of fear and helplessness wash over me as I watch them argue about money.
The tension in the room is suffocating.
"Everything you can?" Mom sobs, sinking to the floor.
"You're not even trying!"
Dad's eyes flash with anger.
He takes a step toward her but then stops himself.
With a frustrated growl, he storms out of the room, leaving Mom sobbing on the floor.
I hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to do.
Then I kneel beside her, placing a tentative hand on her shoulder.
"Mom," I say softly, "it's going to be okay."
She looks up at me, her eyes red and puffy.
"Oh, Emily," she whispers, her voice trembling.
"I don't know what to do."
I swallow hard, feeling the weight of her despair pressing down on me.
"We'll figure it out," I say, trying to sound reassuring even though I'm not sure how.
Mom leans into me, her sobs quieting but still shaking her body.
I hold her tightly, wishing I could do more to help.
The kitchen feels colder than usual, the pale yellow walls seeming to close in around us.
The broken plate pieces glint in the morning light streaming through the window.
After a few minutes, Mom pulls away slightly and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.
"I'm sorry you had to see that," she says quietly.
"It's okay," I reply, though it's anything but okay.
She takes a deep breath and stands up slowly, using the counter for support.
"I need to clean this up," she murmurs, looking at the shattered plate.
"I'll help," I offer quickly.
Together we start picking up the pieces of the broken plate.
The silence between us is heavy with unspoken words and unresolved tension.
As we work, I can't help but think about how different things were supposed to be.
How did we end up here?
And how am I supposed to navigate not just high school again but also my parents' troubled relationship?
Mom suddenly drops a piece of the plate and it clatters loudly against the floor.
She covers her face with her hands and starts crying again.
I reach out and gently take her hands away from her face.
"Mom," I say firmly but gently, "we're going to get through this."
She looks at me with a mixture of hope and doubt in her eyes.
"I don't know how," she whispers.
No one is there.
A chill runs down my spine, but I shake it off, blaming it on stress.
"Emily, could you pass me the broom?" Mom asks, her voice still shaky.
"Sure," I reply, grabbing the broom from the corner and handing it to her.
We continue cleaning up the kitchen in silence.
The tension between my parents lingers in the air, making me uneasy.
I sweep up the last of the plate shards and dump them into the trash can.
Mom wipes down the counter, her movements slow and deliberate.
"I'm going to school," I say, breaking the silence.
Mom nods without looking up.
"Have a good day," she murmurs.
I grab my backpack from the hallway and head out the door.
The walk to school feels surreal, like I'm moving through a fog.
The familiar sights of my old neighborhood do little to ground me in this bizarre reality.
At school, I spot Sarah Jennings near our lockers.
She waves enthusiastically as I approach.
"Hey, Emily! You look... distracted," she says, tilting her head in concern.
I force a smile. "Just a lot on my mind."
Sarah narrows her eyes. "Come on, spill. What's going on?"
I hesitate, unsure of how to explain everything that's happened.
"It's complicated," I finally say.
Sarah crosses her arms. "Try me."
Taking a deep breath, I glance around to make sure no one else is listening.
"Something really weird is happening," I begin. "I woke up this morning and... it's like I'm sixteen again. But I'm not supposed to be."
Sarah's eyes widen. "What do you mean? Like a dream or something?"
"No," I insist. "It's real. My parents look younger, my brother is twelve again... everything is just like it was back then."
Sarah looks skeptical but concerned. "Are you sure you're not just stressed out? Maybe you're imagining things."
"I thought that too at first," I admit. "But it's too real. The date on the computer said 2005."
Sarah bites her lip, thinking hard. "Okay, let's say you're right. What do we do about it?"
"I don't know," I confess. "That's why I need your help."
Sarah nods slowly. "Alright. We'll figure this out together."
The bell rings, signaling the start of first period.
"We should get to class," Sarah says reluctantly.
"Yeah," I agree, though my mind is far from focused on schoolwork.
As we walk to our classroom, Sarah leans in close and whispers, "We'll talk more at lunch."
I nod gratefully and we take our seats just as Mr. Thompson begins his lecture on American history.
The minutes drag by as I struggle to pay attention.
My thoughts keep drifting back to the strange events of the morning.
Finally, lunchtime arrives and Sarah and I find a quiet corner in the cafeteria.
"Okay," she says, setting her tray down with determination. "Tell me everything."
I recount the morning's events in detail while Sarah listens intently.
When I finish, she sits back and exhales slowly.
"This is insane," she says finally. "But if anyone can figure it out, it's us."
Her confidence bolsters my own resolve.
"Thanks for believing me," I say sincerely.
"Of course," she replies with a reassuring smile. "You're my best friend. We're in this together."
Just then, a loud crash echoes from across the cafeteria.
We both turn to see a group of students gathered around something—or someone—on the floor.
As we push through the crowd, I see Jason, a fellow student, sprawled on the floor surrounded by broken trays and spilled food.
His face is twisted in pain as he tries to sit up.
"Jason, are you okay?" Sarah asks, kneeling beside him.
He winces but nods. "Yeah, just lost my balance."
A teacher, Mrs. Thompson, pushes through the students and gasps when she sees me.
"Emily Hart?" she stammers, her face pale.
I feel a jolt of recognition but can't place her.
"Yes?" I reply cautiously.
Her eyes widen in shock and confusion. "It's really you," she whispers.
My heart races as I struggle to remember why this woman seems so familiar.
The cafeteria buzzes with whispers as more students gather around.
Sarah grabs my arm and pulls me aside. "We need to get out of here before more attention is drawn to us," she urges.
I nod, feeling overwhelmed by the situation.
We quickly make our way out of the cafeteria and into the hallway.
"Who was that?" Sarah asks once we're clear of the crowd.
"I don't know," I admit. "But she seemed to know me."
Sarah frowns. "This just keeps getting weirder."
We find an empty classroom and slip inside, closing the door behind us.
I lean against a desk, trying to catch my breath. "What do we do now?"
Sarah paces back and forth. "First, we need to figure out who Mrs. Thompson is and why she knows you."
I nod in agreement. "Maybe there's something in the school records or yearbooks."
"Good idea," Sarah says. "Let's start with the library."
We head to the library, keeping a low profile to avoid drawing any more attention.
The librarian gives us a curious glance but doesn't say anything as we make our way to the yearbook section.
We pull out several yearbooks from around 2005 and start flipping through them.
"Here," Sarah says, pointing to a picture of Mrs. Thompson in one of the yearbooks. "She was a teacher here back then too."
I study the picture closely, trying to jog my memory. "She looks familiar, but I still can't place her."
Sarah continues flipping through the pages. "Maybe there's something else in here that can help us."
As we search through the yearbooks, I can't shake the feeling that I'm missing something important.
Suddenly, Sarah stops on a page and gasps. "Emily, look at this."
I lean over to see what she's found.
It's a picture of me—well, sixteen-year-old me—standing next to Mrs. Thompson at some school event.
"That's it!" I exclaim. "She was one of my teachers."
Sarah nods slowly. "But why would she be so shocked to see you?"
"I don't know," I say, feeling frustrated. "Maybe because I'm supposed to be older now?"
Sarah closes the yearbook and looks at me seriously. "We need answers, Emily. And I think Mrs. Thompson might have them."
I take a deep breath and nod. "You're right. We need to talk to her."
Just as we're about to leave the library, we hear footsteps approaching.
We duck behind a bookshelf as two teachers walk by, discussing something in hushed tones.
"We can't let anyone find out about this," one of them says urgently.
The other teacher nods in agreement. "If they knew what really happened..."
Their voices fade as they move further away.
Sarah and I exchange worried glances.
"What do you think that was about?" Sarah whispers.
"I don't know," I reply quietly. "But it sounds like there's more going on here than we realized."
We wait until the coast is clear before slipping out of the library and heading back towards Mrs. Thompson's classroom.
My heart pounds with anticipation as we approach her door.
Taking a deep breath, I knock firmly on the door and wait for her response.
The door swings open abruptly and Mrs. Thompson stands there, her expression a mix of surprise and apprehension.
"Emily," she says softly, stepping aside to let us in.
"We need to talk," I say firmly as we enter her classroom.
Mrs. Thompson closes the door behind us and turns to face me.
"I never thought I'd see you again," she says quietly.
"What do you mean?" I ask, my voice trembling slightly.
Mrs. Thompson looks around, her eyes scanning the surroundings. "There's an old safe house not far from here. We can hide there until we figure out our next steps."
"You're not supposed to be here. This isn't your timeline."
Sarah and I exchange a glance, both of us still reeling from the sudden turn of events. "Lead the way," Sarah says, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes.
My heart races, and I feel Sarah's grip tighten on my arm.
We follow Mrs. Thompson through the dimly lit streets, sticking to the shadows to avoid being seen. The air is cool and crisp, and the sound of our footsteps echoes eerily in the quiet night. My mind races with questions, but I know now isn't the time for answers.
"What does she mean?" Sarah whispers urgently.
After what feels like an eternity, we reach a small, unassuming house at the edge of town. Mrs. Thompson unlocks the door and ushers us inside quickly. The interior is sparse but functional, with a few pieces of old furniture and a dusty rug on the floor.
Mrs. Thompson glances around nervously, then motions us inside her classroom.
"Sit down," Mrs. Thompson instructs, motioning to a worn-out couch. "We need to talk."
"Come in, quickly," she says, her voice low and urgent.
We step inside, and she closes the door behind us, locking it.
I collapse onto the couch, my legs feeling like jelly. Sarah sits beside me, her expression a mix of determination and confusion.
She lowers her voice even further.
"Emily, you were never meant to return to 2005. Something went wrong."
I demand answers, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and frustration.
Mrs. Thompson takes a deep breath and begins to explain. "Emily, you were part of a government experiment involving time travel. It was supposed to be a controlled test, but something went wrong, and you were sent back to 2005 by mistake."
I shake my head in disbelief. "But why me? Why was I part of this experiment?"
"What do you mean 'something went wrong'? How am I here?"
Mrs. Thompson takes a deep breath.
"You volunteered," Mrs. Thompson says softly. "You wanted to change something in your past, something important."
My mind races as I try to remember what that could be. Flashes of memories come back—my parents' arguments, my brother's struggles—but nothing concrete.
"There was an experiment—a project involving time travel. You were part of it, but you weren't supposed to come back to this year."
Sarah looks at me with wide eyes.
"We need to get you back to your original timeline," Mrs. Thompson continues. "But it's not going to be easy. Agent Collins is determined to correct the timeline by any means necessary."
Sarah frowns. "Why can't we just explain everything to him? Maybe he can help us."
"Time travel? This is insane!"
Mrs. Thompson shakes her head. "Agent Collins follows orders without question. He won't listen to reason."
Mrs. Thompson nods solemnly.
A sense of hopelessness washes over me as I realize the gravity of our situation. "So what do we do now?"
"I know it sounds unbelievable, but it's true. And now we need to get you out of here before anyone else finds out."
"We need to find a way to access the time travel device again," Mrs. Thompson says firmly. "It's our only chance."
Before I can ask more questions, Mrs. Thompson grabs her bag and ushers us towards the door.
Suddenly, there's a loud bang on the door, followed by Agent Collins' voice shouting from outside. "I know you're in there! Open up!"
"We need to leave the school immediately," she insists.
As we step into the hallway, I spot a shadowy figure watching us from the far end.
A shiver runs down my spine.
"Who's that?" I whisper, pointing towards the figure.
Panic surges through me as I look at Mrs. Thompson for guidance.
"Quickly," she whispers urgently, leading us towards a hidden trapdoor in the floor. "This will take us to an underground tunnel system."
Mrs. Thompson's face pales as she sees the figure too.
We scramble down into the dark tunnel just as Agent Collins bursts through the front door above us.
"No time to explain," she says urgently. "We have to move now."
"Go!" Mrs. Thompson urges, pushing us forward.
We run through the narrow passageway, our footsteps echoing off the damp walls. The tunnel twists and turns, disorienting us as we try to navigate our way through.
Suddenly, we hear footsteps behind us—Agent Collins is gaining on us.
We hurry down the hallway, trying to stay out of sight.
The school's fluorescent lights flicker above us, casting eerie shadows on the walls.
"Faster!" Sarah shouts, grabbing my hand and pulling me along.
I glance back and see the shadowy figure following us at a distance.
We round a corner and see a faint light up ahead—a way out.
Just as we reach the exit, Agent Collins lunges forward and grabs my arm.
"Faster," Mrs. Thompson urges, her voice tense.
We turn a corner and head towards a side exit.
"You're not going anywhere," he growls.
The door is just ahead when suddenly it swings open, revealing another figure blocking our path.
I struggle against his grip, but he's too strong.
Desperation fuels me as I kick out with all my might, catching him off guard and causing him to stumble back.
"Stop right there," the figure commands in a stern voice.
Mrs. Thompson freezes, her face filled with dread.
"Run!" I scream at Sarah and Mrs. Thompson as I break free from his grasp.
"Who are you?" I demand, my voice shaking.
We burst through the exit and into the open air once more.
The figure steps into the light, revealing a man in his forties with sharp features and piercing eyes.
But before we can catch our breath or plan our next move, another shadowy figure steps out from behind a tree—blocking our path once again.
"My name is Agent Collins," he says calmly. "And I'm here to correct a mistake."
He pulls out a device from his pocket that looks like some kind of futuristic gadget.
Mrs. Thompson steps forward protectively.
"Agent Collins, please listen. Emily's presence here was an accident. We can fix this without causing any harm."
Agent Collins shakes his head slowly.
"I'm afraid it's not that simple. Emily's return has already disrupted the timeline. We need to take her back immediately."
Panic rises within me as I look between Mrs. Thompson and Agent Collins.
"No! I don't want to go anywhere until I understand what's happening!"
Agent Collins sighs and raises the device towards me.
"I'm sorry, Emily. But this is for your own good."
Before he can activate the device, Sarah lunges forward and knocks it out of his hand.
It clatters to the floor, and she kicks it away.
"Run!" Sarah yells, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards another hallway.
We sprint down the corridor with Mrs. Thompson close behind us.
Agent Collins curses under his breath and starts chasing after us.
My heart pounds in my chest as we race through the maze-like hallways of the school.
We burst through another set of doors and find ourselves in an empty gymnasium.
"This way!" Mrs. Thompson shouts, leading us towards a storage room at the back of the gym.
We duck inside and slam the door shut behind us, breathing heavily.
"What now?" Sarah asks between gasps for air.
Mrs. Thompson looks around frantically before spotting an old maintenance hatch in the floor.
"We can use this to get out," she says, prying it open.
One by one, we climb down into the dark tunnel below just as we hear Agent Collins pounding on the storage room door above us.
"Hurry!" Mrs. Thompson urges as we crawl through the narrow passageway.
The tunnel is damp and musty, with only faint emergency lights guiding our way.
Finally, we reach another hatch that leads outside behind the school building.
We emerge into the cool evening air and take a moment to catch our breath.
"We can't stay here," Mrs. Thompson says urgently. "We need to find somewhere safe where we can figure out our next move."
I nod in agreement, still trying to process everything that's happened.
