Déjà Vu

By Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

Loneliness suffused Ron as he stood shivering at the bus stop in the gray drizzle of the morning. Few understood how perplexing and disorienting his ailment could be—experiencing the same moment over and over, never knowing when it would strike. His fellow passengers huddled together beneath the meager pavilion in friendly clusters. He ached to join them. A few glanced his way, but any eyes that met his own quickly darted elsewhere in awkward disinterest. With a despondent sigh, Ron shoved his hands into his pockets. Why did he bother? It was always this way. He never fit in, even in the briefest and most mundane of social encounters. He had undergone MRIs and CAT-scans and seen every doctor he could find, but none could provide any explanation or effective treatment for his frequent episodes of déjà vu.

Psychiatrists had been no help. Apparently, he was just as sane as the next guy. He glanced over at a group of young men, eyeing their trendy clothes and designer backpacks. “Yeah, right.”

Raindrops pelted his head as the drizzle turned into a downpour. Ron grimaced. Why had he left his umbrella at home?

Suddenly, the gray daylight turned sickly green. Ron glanced up, worried a tornado was imminent. A raindrop hit him in the eye and he flinched.

With a wrenching sensation, the world shifted. Ron’s stomach roiled, threatening to return his breakfast. A disturbing stillness followed. Cautiously, he opened his eyes. The sight that greeted him increased his nausea. He sat in a comfortable chair in an unfamiliar room. Immense panels of glass covered the walls, each one of them filled with moving lights and disorienting images. The ceiling above him was low. A sense of desperate claustrophobia gripped him.

“We meet again, Mister Ron.”

The creaking voice startled him. He yanked his attention to the speaker and stared, wide-eyed. The being before him looked like every depiction of an alien he had ever seen. It had a tiny, emaciated body covered in wrinkly gray-green skin. Its long, thin arms ended in bony fingers, and it gazed at him unblinkingly from large dark eyes set widely apart in its oblong-shaped head. In height, it probably only came up to Ron’s hip, had he been standing.

“A… again?” Ron asked, shrinking back into his chair. Terror clawed its way up his throat, and he took short, quick breaths, trying to determine the swiftest escape route.

“Yes, though you do not remember.”

“What?” Ron blinked. The panic subsided, yielding to curiosity, then sudden comprehension. “My déjà vu.”

“You are getting quicker. That is a good sign.”

“Why is that?”

“It means you are adapting well to the metamorphosis.”

“Meta… that thing butterflies do? What are you talking about?”

The creature tapped a button on the flat device in its hand. “I am talking about the death of my race, and how you volunteered to help us be reborn.”

Ron frowned.

The creature tapped another button, his face emotionless. “Hubris reduced my people to a race of homeless scavengers. Your planet would allow us to stop our wandering, if not for its toxic air. However, you humans use a surprisingly small percentage of your brains; enough space is left over that there is plenty of room to host the consciousness of one of our own. You volunteered to be a test host. Do you remember now?”

Ron squeezed his eyes shut and struggled to remember. He managed to summon a few blurry images before pain sliced through his temples. “Sort of, but it’s hazy, like it happened in a dream.”

“That is a normal side-effect of the blending. We are still adjusting. Lie back and look up at the ceiling.”

Ron obeyed. Above him, panels burst to life in a blur of colors and images too fast to process. He felt himself blacking out. His body grew heavy and unwieldy. The creature’s voice sounded far away. Ron tried to lift his hand, but he could not command his body; fear gripped him, and his mind screamed at him to flee, but helplessness consumed him. All the while, a strange conversation filled his ears. He could not turn his head to see who was speaking, but the first voice was that of the creature, while the other sounded strangely like his own.

“Merkan, this is taking too long.”

“Now, now, Qivaaren. Don’t be impatient.”

“He is fighting me. The human won’t let me take control.”

“Don’t worry. It is only a matter of time.”

“Time is the one thing we don’t have.”

“I will solve the problem and figure out a way.”

“Our people need these bodies. You must solve this!”

“The blending has worked. The next step is simply to figure out how to suppress the human consciousness, if not eradicate it. Do not worry, we shall be reborn! You will be a hero among our people.”

“Merkan! I cannot… stay… he is… waking… pushing me… aside…”

Icy fingers pressed against Ron’s temples. Pain exploded within his head and darkness flooded his vision.

Ron pulled the collar of his jacket up around his neck, shivering as a raindrop found its way into his collar and rolled down his back. He met the gaze of a young woman and held it, offering a tentative smile. Her lips curved up and she raised her fingers in a wave. Ron’s heart leapt, until someone bumped into him from behind. His muttered apology died on his lips as the man who had shouldered him aside reached the young woman and embraced her. With a discouraged sigh, Ron shoved his hands into his pockets and wondered why he bothered.

The bus pulled up and ground to a groaning stop; Ron hung back, waiting his turn to climb aboard. His head ached fiercely. Absently, he rubbed his fingers against his temple, trying to lessen the pain, then his lips quirked into a wry grin.

At least it wasn’t déjà vu.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jenelle Leanne Schmidt first fell in love with stories through her father’s voice reading books aloud each night. A relentless opener-of-doors in hopes of someday finding a passage to Narnia, it was only natural that she soon began making up fantastical realms of her own. Jenelle currently resides in the wintry tundra of Wisconsin —which she maintains is almost as good as Narnia — with her knight-in-shining armor and their four hobbits.

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