I'm Not a Regressor, Chapter 1: The Unexpected Reset
The world shimmered, a heat haze distorting the familiar cityscape around me. One moment, I was arguing with my landlord about a leaky faucet – a mundane, utterly frustrating Tuesday – and the next, everything went blurry. Then, silence. A profound, unsettling silence punctuated only by the frantic hammering of my own heart.
When my vision cleared, I was still standing in the same alleyway, but something was…off. The air hummed with a low, almost imperceptible energy. The graffiti on the brick walls seemed sharper, brighter. And the smell…the air held a sharp, metallic tang that wasn't there before. It was subtle, easily dismissed as my imagination if I didn't know better. But I did know better. I knew something fundamentally had changed.
This wasn't just a weird, hallucinatory episode. This was a regression.
Or, at least, that's what everyone else would have said. Everyone else would have panicked, maybe even rejoiced at the chance to fix past mistakes. But not me. See, despite the overwhelming evidence suggesting otherwise, I firmly believe I'm not a regressor.
This wasn't my first time experiencing this…disruption. Several times before, similar shifts had occurred, each time subtly altering my surroundings, my memories, even my own personality, if only slightly. The changes were always minute, almost imperceptible, like a painter subtly adjusting the hue of a canvas. The subtle shifts would manifest in different ways: a missed phone call, an altered conversation, a forgotten appointment. Each time, a tiny piece of my past would be rewritten, replaced by an almost identical, yet slightly different, version of events. These were my resets, my personal quirks. I had learned to manage it.
What is a Regressor?
This is the question everyone seems to have. The term "Regressor" refers to individuals who experience spontaneous temporal shifts, often reliving past moments or even entire periods of their lives. They're often characterized by an awareness of these shifts, a feeling of déjà vu amplified to a terrifying degree. They're often consumed by the desire to alter past events and, generally, spend their lives trying to "fix" mistakes or seek some grand purpose or revelation.
But I'm different. I don't get the obsessive need to change things. The subtle shifts don't bother me. I've adapted. My life is a constantly updating manuscript, not a play waiting for a rewrite. My focus isn't on changing the past, but on adapting to its ever-so-slightly different iterations.
How do I know it's a Regression?
The subtle changes are my tell-tale signs. The metallic tang in the air, a specific crack in the pavement I hadn't noticed before, a different brand of cigarette butt in the gutter. These are the tiny details that scream "reset" to me. It's not a dramatic, cinematic rewind. It's more like a subtle adjustment of reality’s sliders, almost imperceptible to the untrained eye.
Is there a way to stop regressions?
Unfortunately, there's no known method to prevent these temporal shifts. Experts (and there aren't many who even believe in this phenomenon) suggest everything from meditation to extreme stress avoidance. The problem is, my resets seem to be…random. There’s no discernible trigger. Trying to prevent them feels like trying to stop the tide with a teacup.
What are the consequences of Regressions?
The consequences are varied. For others, it could range from mild disorientation to complete psychological breakdown. For me, it's more of an inconvenience. The constant tweaking of my reality means I have to be hyper-aware, constantly recalibrating my expectations, adjusting to the new “normal.” It's exhausting, but it’s my reality. I've learned to live with it. At least, I thought I had. This time felt...different.
The humming in the air intensified. A shiver ran down my spine. This time, something felt significantly…off. It was more than just a subtle adjustment; this felt like a major rewrite. My stomach churned. The leaky faucet, my landlord’s scowling face, all those seemingly insignificant details from just moments ago felt like a distant, fading dream. This reset was different, and I suddenly felt a profound sense of unease I'd never experienced before. This wasn't just a tweak; it was a complete overhaul. And I had no idea what changes awaited me.
