Room of Regrets

Shelly hesitated, her hand on the doorknob. Did she really want to go through this again? She stared at her hand, wrinkled and veiny, in front of her. Without answering herself, she turned the knob and walked in, closing the door behind her.

Did everyone have a room like this, she wondered. Hers was a long, narrow room, not much bigger than a hallway. At the other end of the room was a wall, and on that wall hung a clock. It was a very special clock because it had never told the time. It ran backwards. And she kept the clock running backward, just to see which regrets would return first.

She felt the pull first in her naval area, then throughout her body. She was pulled and moved without her own volition, down to the end of the room, to stand in front of the clock. Its second hand swept steadily counterclockwise. She grew dizzy and closed her eyes just as the first vision hit. What would it be this time?

She was standing in a doctor’s office and looked to see her mother at her side. She knew her mother had cancer, and they were in the treating doctor’s office. The doctor came in and said in a voice that sounded like it was underwater, but steadily became clearer and more real, “We have the results. Your cancer is not curable, but it is treatable. It will extend your life, Margaret.”

Her mother took it in, bravely, then asked, “What does that mean? How much time have I got?”

“I cannot tell you. But considering your age and your health, I would guess you could live at least 6 months and perhaps as much as two, maybe even three years or so,” the doctor said and Shelly’s heart hardened in anger. How could he say something like that with so little emotion? The doctor said, “Of course, there are clinical trials you could qualify for. There are major breakthroughs in cancer treatment every year. I could sign you up for a trial in Texas.”

“Texas? How could I go to Texas?” her mother exclaimed.

“Your insurance might pay for some of your hotel expenses. And you could come back here between treatments. It would probably only be for 6 months.”

“If I only have a short time to live, I want to live right here, in my own home. I don’t want to do a trial. No thank you,” Margaret said and Shelly put her arm around her mother’s shoulders.

“But, Mom, I will help you. I can arrange everything. And I can come and stay with you on the weekends. Maybe your sister could also stay with you part of the time.”

“There’s no guarantee the clinical trial will cure me, is there?” she asked the doctor and he shook his head.

“No, but it could extend your life, maybe even put you in remission for a time.”

“And then I’d die anyway,” she said, looking at the ground. Then Margaret stood up, “No, no trials for me. Tell your nurse to bring my treatment schedule out to the waiting room. That’s where I’m going to be,” and she walked out of the room. Shelly stood quickly, gathering their things.

“I’m sorry,” she said to the doctor, “but this is a great shock. You have to give us time to process this.”

“Of course, but please do talk to your mother about the clinical trial. There is only so much we can do here with the treatments we have.”

“Of course,” Shelly murmured, and ran to find her mother.

She had tried to talk her mother into doing the trial. But could she have tried harder? Would it have given her mother precious years of life if she had succeeded in persuading her? Shelly felt tears on her cheeks and a trembling begin in her shoulders. A wave of nausea rolled over her.

“Stop!” she cried out loud and she was suddenly back at the other end of the room. Quickly, she opened the door and left the room, shutting the door behind her hard, making sure it was closed. She lay down on the couch and waited for the nausea to pass. Why did she do this to herself? She knew the room wasn’t real, it was all in her mind. Yet she visited it more than she should, punishing herself for every wrong choice, every wrong word, every lost opportunity. Her room of regrets, she called it. And she knew if she went in every day for the rest of her life, she would never run out of visions to replay, decisions to regret.

PROMPT #393

She kept the clock running backward, just to see which regrets would return first.

Use the above line as a theme, or somewhere in your story/poem/non-fiction.

I’m adding an AI-generated image based on the above theme, just to give an added impetus. It is a part of the same prompt.

Reena’s Xploration Challenge #393