The Missing Hour

Have you ever driven somewhere and realized you don't remember part of the trip? Not because you were sleeping or anything, but because your brain apparently decided that stretch of road wasn't important enough to remember.

I've done that before, and honestly, it's a little disturbing when you think about it.

So naturally, we're going to make it worse.

Imagine you're driving home late at night. You've taken this road hundreds of times, and there's nothing particularly interesting about it. Just fields, trees, and the occasional farmhouse with a porch light still on.

You glance at the clock.

2:13 a.m.

A few minutes later, you look again.

3:13 a.m.

Well, shit.

Somehow you've lost an entire hour.

You don't remember stopping, taking a wrong turn, or doing anything other than driving. The road looks familiar, but something feels off.

Then you notice a gas station ahead.

It's one of those old places that looks like it should have closed twenty years ago. The lights are flickering, and there's not another car in sight.

You pull in because apparently we've decided ignoring every survival instinct is a good idea tonight.

That's when you see the footprints.

They're muddy and lead from the edge of the woods toward your car.

Except you just pulled in.

And the footprints are already there.

You follow them with your eyes until you notice someone standing beneath the trees.

They're wearing your clothes.

Same jacket. Same shoes. Even the little tear in your jeans.

You take a step toward them.

They take a step toward you.

Then your phone rings.

It's your own number.

You answer, and a voice that sounds exactly like yours whispers:

"Whatever you do, don't let me get back in the car."

Now, I don't know about you, but I'd be having a serious conversation with myself about why I didn't just stay home.

So here's today's prompt.

What happened during that missing hour? Who is standing at the edge of the woods? And which version of you actually belongs in the car?

Maybe you lost more than an hour.

Maybe the person standing in the woods is the real you.

Or maybe something has been borrowing your life while you weren't paying attention.

I'll leave that part to you.

But here's one last thing.

What if you check the clock again and realize the missing hour hasn't happened yet?

Happy writing. 🎃