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    I followed my mother down t he stairs and into the basement . She pointed to some old boxes and left. I attempted to step lightly over the dusty floor but ended up tripping and coming to one knee in front of the chest. It looked bigger in person then I remembered it in grandma’s attic. There in the corner it was, next to a dusty crate filled with all the old books grandma used to keep in her living room. The trunk looked more dusted and cracked then I remember it. I missed grandma terribly, although my mother didn’t let me go to the reading of the will. Grandma left me the key to this trunk. That’s it. Just a key, and a trunk.

    I pulled the key out of my pocket, and went about attempting to open the lock. The key wouldn’t turn once I put it in. I pulled it out and examined it. As I held the key in my hand it started to melt. It was burning me, just turning into liquid in my hand. I dropped what was left of the key and pressed the palms of my hands against the trunk in an effort to pry it open. It was at this point that the trunk sprang to life. I wasn’t sure if I was seeing this for real or if I was dreaming it. The trunk bounced up and down, and finally popped open in front of me. There was a sensation of being swept off my feet. Although I didn’t hit the ground like I thought I might. I was suspended about the floor, as if in a bubble. I’m being swept into a hallway as if by an invisible hand. I tumble but I expect not to be weightless again. I attempt to brace my fall with my hand and still end up hitting the ground face first. Why am I so clumsy? I have landed on pavement, but it’s not the same pavement of the basement at home. I can taste the blood in my mouth. I put my head up a little and everything comes up a little foggy. I’m not sure weather that was from hitting my head, or if it actually was foggy outside.

    I push my self up off the ground, and can barely make objects out around me. All I do see is a very large pair of boots, near my face. A large hand comes down to help me up which I assume is attached to the same body. The man in question seems to be about 6’ 3” maybe taller with clean cut hair, and a easy laid back style. His eyes were very deep. His eyes reminded me of someone I knew. Jack. The guy who’s next to Grandpa in all his war pictures. At least all the ones Grandma has anyway. Grandpa’s best friend in World War II. What is he doing here? Where have I ended up…

    I sit up and get a better look at myself. I am no longer the scrawny boy of 14. I am now a man in his early 20’s dressed in cargo pants. From this view on the ground I can see water, lots of water. I touch my face to make sure I am not dreaming this. I have a wider jaw, and deeper lines in my cheeks and in my forehead, my nose is much the same. I don’t have my braces anymore, they’ve been replaced by large well kept teeth. That’s weird. Who am I? Wordlessly I touch my lip and come away with blood. I run my hand along my jaw in an action that would have made my dad proud for being so manly. I stand up, a little uneasily, at first but have gained serious ground. Standing next to jack he dwarfs my 6’0” frame by several inches, his shoulders a lot broader then mine as well. Jack steady’s me his hand on my shoulder. I must’ve been punched, no wonder I hit the ground so hard.

    “ Riker is gonna pay for that one.” he whispers in my ear as several other officers walks by. I glance in the direction he’s looking and two men stand nearby a shoulder’s length apart smoking and talking. The two men look over and give me Cheshire grins filled with resounding dislike. The taller of the two throws his head back and laughs, deep and exuberant. That must be Riker. Jack scowls and puts his arm around my shoulders and directs me further away. As we turn Jack flips Riker the bird. Riker looks amused , then urns once more to his friend.