“Your
homework due for next week is as follows,” everyone groans as Miss Harrell
addresses the class, “write an essay on where you see yourself in twenty years’
time.” I pull a face; how am I meant to know what I’m going to be doing twenty
years from now? “Cara George, what do you mean by that rude gesture?” Oh dear,
I’ve been caught out, again. “Sorry Miss, I was just itching my nose,” I try it
on as a new ploy to avoid being lectured. Miss Harrell shakes her head and with
irritation in her voice, says, “I’m fed up with your feeble excuses Miss
George, see me after school.” I can’t believe I’ve got another detention; I’ve
had plenty this term already. For the last few minutes of the lesson, I mull
over what I’m going to do when my mum finds out I’m in trouble yet again. I
could just say I was doing my homework for Miss Harrell. A little white lie
can’t do much harm.
After scurrying
to the English classroom for my detention so as not to be late, I knock rapidly
on the door. “Come in,” I hear her voice and it makes me shudder. I go inside
and wait to be told what to do next. “Well, are you going to sit down or just
stand there like a lemon?” Miss Harrell’s voice cuts through me like a knife.
Wounded, I sit down. “Frankly, Cara, I’ve had enough of your tricks and I want
this detention to be a lesson that lying gets you nowhere in life except into
trouble.” There’s a long pause as I shuffle uncomfortably in my seat, pondering
whether to reply or not. “Sorry Miss,” I mumble whilst staring at the faux wood
table. She appears to be unsatisfied and forces me to apologise again, “With
meaning this time.”
After
possibly the most awkward fifteen minutes of my life, I’m released like a bird
from a cage and I rush home to recount the sorry tale to my mum, disregarding
my previous resolution to fib. Not that Miss Harrell’s right about lying, but I
feel like I deserve a bit of compassion.
As soon as I
got home, I spilled out the whole tale of my detention to mum who didn’t seem
to have much sympathy and merely asked if I needed to get on with my homework.
“Probably not,” I replied but she was clearly in a bad mood, “It was a
rhetorical question Cara, go and do your homework.” I didn’t budge. “NOW!” I
recoiled and hurried up to my room for some peace and quiet.
An hour
later, I heard a soft knock on my door, “What?” I asked crossly. “It’s only
me,” I could perceive my mum’s apologetic tone. I spoke softly to show I was
sorry too, “I’m doing my homework like you asked.”
“That’s good
darling,” she pushed open my door, “what’s it about?”
“Oh, just
some stupid thing about where we see ourselves in twenty years’ time.”
“Doesn’t
sound stupid to me,” my mum is clearly trying quite hard so I give in, “I’ve
tried loads of different things but none of them feel right, I know they’re not
true. Can you help?”
“Well, the
only way to know for sure is to go and see for yourself.” I am really confused
now, “How could I ever see for myself?” I ask incredulously. “Time travel of
course!” My mum seems excited but surely she’s only trying to cheer me up by
playing around. She appears to see my doubt and attempts to reassure me, “I’m
serious Cara; I’ll give you the instructions and you need to read them
carefully. But, when you get there, even if you forget everything they say, the
one thing you mustn’t do is change your future. Who knows what might happen if
you do?” I have no idea what she’s talking about but if it’s going to please Miss
Harrell, I’m all for it after today’s events.
A few minutes
later, I’m standing outside in our overgrown garden, ready to see my future. I
clasp the clean, white paper mum gave me in my hands as I begin to follow the commands.
‘Clench your fists,’ it reads, ‘then imagine an older version of yourself,’ in
that moment, I couldn’t think of anyone but my mum, ‘now focus on that older
self and close your eyes as tightly as you can.’ I focus on the darkness and
the tightness of my hand, then picture my mum and I think it works.
The strangest
sensation begins to envelop me as I feel as if I’m rolling down an infinite
hill into a dark valley. I can see blades of grass all around me and hear
rushing water in the distance. I’m not sure whether it’s a river or a waterfall,
but either way, I don’t want to land in it. I try to slow down but I only end
up rolling faster and faster. Eventually, I give up trying to stop myself from
rolling and let my body fall over the land. Oddly, this seems to have the
opposite effect and I stop unexpectedly with a hard ‘thud’ on what at first appears
to be a grassy bank. However, it suddenly disappears and I feel very enclosed as
if I’m in some kind of box, specially designed for human bodies. It’s as if I’m
lying down and, feeling around, I touch cold, unforgiving wood at my sides. I
have no idea where I am or what I’m inside but I don’t like it.
Panic begins
to rise in my stomach as I get the impression that the box I’m in is being
picked up and carried towards something. I then hear what I recognise to be the
‘Funeral March’. It finally dawns on me. I’m in a coffin. This is my funeral;
twenty years from my fourteenth birthday, I’m going to be dead. I don’t know
what to do. If I scream and try to get out, my future changes and that’s the
one thing my mum told me not to do. Her words echo through my head, “The one
thing you mustn’t do is change your future. Who knows what might happen if you
do?” But if I don’t, I’m going to be killed. Straining my ears, I listen for
clues as to where I am exactly. I can just make out some shoes click-clacking
across the floor and I know I’m inside. It’s a crematorium. I’m going to be
burnt alive if I don’t get out of here.
I can’t think
of a way to escape without changing my future but I’m going to have to ignore
my mum’s advice. I try to comfort myself by thinking about all the times I
haven’t listened to her and everything’s been fine. I begin to scream, “AAAAAAH!
GET ME OUT OF HERE!” I start pounding my fists against the side of the coffin
and realise they’re still tightly wrapped around my mum’s instructions.
Reminded of her order not to under any circumstances change my future, I shout,
“Sorry mum, I don’t know what else to do.”
What feels
like hours later, I detect a scrabbling sound at the coffin and light begins to
pour in. “Oh my goodness! She’s alive!” I squint and see my auntie standing
over me, her face as pale as a ghost. “Auntie!” I exclaim, “I thought I was
going to be burnt alive.”
“But … we
thought you were … gone.” She is clearly bewildered by my appearance but I
don’t have time for explanations. I’ve seen enough of my future to write an
essay worth A*, even from Miss Harrell, I think it’s time I went home. But hang
on a minute, how am I going to get back? Mum never gave me those instructions.
I read the book My Name is Mina quite a few years ago and really loved it. So I recently decided to read it again because I'd forgotten what happens and I want to read its sequel, Skellig soon.
"Why is there anything? Why is there something rather than nothing? ... And before there was something was there just nothing? And did that nothing turn into something? And if that nothing turned into something how did it do it, and why? Why? Why? Why?"
