One Day, Every Day

Note to Readers:

This story unfolds gradually, revealing the intricacies of Adam’s world and experiences. Allow yourself time to absorb the details and emotions as you read. Your patience will deepen the journey through Adam’s poignant reflections on reality and repetition.

"The end is the beginning, and the beginning is the end"

- Jonas(from the TV series Dark)

In the tranquil suburb of Oakridge in 1991, time moves with deliberate slowness. The houses on Maple Street are a parade of charming, late-20th-century Americana.

Each home is meticulously maintained, their lawns trimmed to perfection, and their flower beds bursting with the summer colors. Towering oak trees form a leafy canopy overhead, filtering the morning sunlight into soft, dappled patterns on the pavement.

In one of these houses, 17-year-old Adam Thompson wakes to the sharp, familiar buzz of his alarm clock. It’s a small, digital model with a red LED display showing 6:30 AM. The sound slices through the quiet of his room, filled with the golden light of dawn. Posters of Nirvana and Pearl Jam adorn the walls, a mark of his teenage obsession with grunge music.

A collection of paperbacks, including Catch-22 and The Catcher in the Rye, sits on a cluttered bookshelf mixed up with his school books. Nearby, a vintage Commodore 64 computer rests on a wooden desk, surrounded by X-Men comics and a half-empty mug of hot chocolate.

The room is a snapshot of Adam’s world—comfortable yet strangely stagnant. As he stretches, the sunlight spills over the floor, illuminating the familiar patterns of his black and white patterned rug. The morning’s warmth offers comfort, but he feels a subtle unease lingering in the back of his mind.

Grudgingly, he drags himself out of bed and heads to the bathroom and takes a quick shower. The mirror, slightly fogged from the steam of his hot shower, reflects his tired and irritated face, framed by tousled hair. The bathroom tiles, an off-white that has seen better days, match the same shade he’s seen every day. As he brushes his teeth, the nature of his morning routine feels oddly comforting, yet there's a hint of something just out of reach.

Stepping down from the stairs, he can hear the noises of his mother busy preparing breakfast. She stands at the stove, stirring a pot of oatmeal, while the smell of Folgers coffee fills the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly toasted slices of Wonder Bread. Her floral apron and the familiar clink of pots and pans are part of the daily soundtrack. Adam’s father, already dressed in his grey suit, reads the morning edition of The Oakridge Gazette. The headlines are the same kind of mundane updates on local politics and sports, providing a backdrop of stability to Adam’s morning.

He goes to the dining table and takes the chair. His eyes roll to the cereal box—a slightly tilted box of Cheerios. It’s weirdly positioned in the exact same spot it was yesterday, and the day before that? he ponders. His mother sets up the table and everyone comes together for their morning meal. The milk, a splash of white in his bowl - each day, every day, the same, he thinks frustratingly.

As his mother and father excitedly talk about the things they have to do, he cannot help but wonder that the conversation with his parents just seems a different but similar version of what he has heard yesterday—his father mentions a meeting at the office with his boss, and his mother talks about a book club meeting she’s attending later where she and her friends are going to discuss anything but books. He tries to shrug it off, though there’s a faint feeling that something about today is slightly off, like a scene he’s seen before but can’t quite place.

Breakfast done, he heads to his room to get dressed and sees his clothes laid out with precision: a Nirvana T-shirt featuring the iconic smiley face logo and a pair of well-worn Levi’s jeans. He is getting late, so he quickly picks up the clothes and starts getting dressed. The process of getting dressed is a ritual he follows without thought.

Packing his school bag, Adam checks off items on his mental list: textbooks, notebooks, and a brown paper bag with his lunch—ham and cheese sandwich, apple, and a bag of chips. The process of packing feels oddly mechanical, he thinks. Also, he needs to tell his Mom that he needs a change in his lunch, not the same thing everyday!

Out of the house, walking to school, Adam passes the same houses on Maple Street, their faces unchanged, and the same rows of oak trees lining the street. As he boards the school bus and takes his usual seat by the window, the view outside—a collage of playgrounds, strip malls, and distant hills—feels like a well-worn path he’s traversed countless times.

The bus hums along its route, and though the familiarity is comforting, a persistent sense of something slightly askew lingers in Adam’s thoughts.

This was the first time Adam felt that subtle, unsettling sense of familiarity, and from that day forward, it would never fully leave him...

---

A year has passed since Adam's peculiar mundane morning at Oakridge High, and now, as a senior, he finds himself navigating the pendulum of high school life.

Oakridge High’s hallways, once vibrant with the echoes of youthful excitement, have become a labyrinth of monotony. Lockers, painted in an array of pastels, line the walls like sentinels of routine, their once bright colors fading under the weight of countless students' hands. Bulletin boards, cluttered with flyers for college fairs, prom tickets, and bake sales, have become a backdrop for Adam's daily existence.

This Monday morning begins with a hum of fluorescent lights and the scent of freshly waxed floors, mingled with the faint aroma of cafeteria breakfast. Adam, now accustomed to this life of his final year, still grapples with a creeping sense of déjà vu that tints his days with an unsettling familiarity. He has a lot to do today, classes and then the dinner date with Emily, he smiles as he thinks about it.

He goes through the first half of this day quickly and runs towards his last class before lunch - History!

In the history class, sitting at the last bench, barely getting through, Mr. Jenkins's voice resonates with a monotone rhythm, droning on about the Treaty of Versailles, and then something snaps...

Adam's heart starts racing as he is sitting in the class, Mr. Jenkins's monotone voice fading into the background. The Treaty of Versailles—he'd heard this before, hadn't he? Not just in a previous class, but exactly like this, down to the way sunlight streamed through the dusty windows and how Sara's pencil tapped rhythmically two rows ahead.

A chill ran down his spine as Mr. Jenkins turned to write on the blackboard. Adam knew, with terrifying certainty, that the chalk would screech on the third letter. It did.

'This isn't normal,' Adam thought, his palms sweating. He glanced around, hoping to see a flicker of recognition on his classmates' faces. Nothing. Just the usual bored expressions and surreptitious note-passing.

The bell rang, its shrill tone matching the panic rising in Adam's chest. As he gathered his books with trembling hands, a thought re-crystallized: something was fundamentally wrong with his world, and he seemed to be the only one who noticed.

Trying to shake off the feeling, he joins his friends for lunch.

During lunch, Adam joins his usual group of friends—Ryan, the typical football jock with a penchant for terrible jokes, and Sara, a sharp-witted girl with an eye for detail.

They settle into their customary table by the cafeteria windows, where the sun casts long shadows across the checkerboard linoleum.

As they discuss the upcoming football game, Adam's ears catch the rhythm of their banter. Ryan’s predictable jokes and Sara’s quick comebacks create a sense of déjà vu for Adam, who feels like he’s heard the same lines and anecdotes countless times before.

The clatter of trays and the sizzling of pizza from the kitchen blend with their conversation, and the scent of cheese and tomato sauce fills the air, heightening his disorientation.

Ryan, cracking another joke about the team's chances, says with a grin, "So, what’s our strategy for the big game? Not to lose, right?" His infectious smile contrasts with Adam’s growing discomfort. He can’t shake the eerie sensation that this exact joke has been told before, perhaps in a dream or a forgotten memory.

Sara, noticing Adam’s distant gaze, nudges him playfully. "Hey, earth to Adam! You’re zoning out. What’s up?"

Adam forces a smile and replies, "Arghh, you know me, just thinking about how much things seem to repeat. Feels like we’ve had this same conversation a million times before."

Sara laughs, brushing off his concerns. "You’re just stressed about college apps. It’ll pass."

Hoping that meeting Emily may help him with the disorientation and stress, Adam gets dressed up for the evening. Their dinner-date unfolds at a quaint Italian restaurant, which with its warm, cozy atmosphere, should feel new and exciting. Yet, as they sit across from each other, Adam can’t shake the feeling that the menu, the choices they make, and even the movie they plan to watch—“A Walk to Remember”—are eerily familiar. The film’s sentimental plot and dialogue, though new to Emily, resonate with an unsettling familiarity for Adam.

The whole day felt so strange. He has had days like this before, but never has he felt it so strongly, he thinks.

In search of distraction, he decided to visits the local bookstore, hoping to find something to divert his thoughts, maybe a new X-Men comic or one of those DC comics. As he peruses the shelves, he picks up the novel 'Of mice and men' by John Steinbeck. The cover features a rugged landscape and the bold title promises a tale of human struggle and redemption. Yet, as he reads the blurb on the back, he’s struck by the haunting familiarity of the story. The novel seems to echo his sense of repetition, leaving him wondering if he’s encountered this book—or its themes—before.

That day, Adam comes back to his room and decides that this is too weird to be normal and he should record these feelings, he begins documenting his experiences in a leather-bound journal. Each entry captures his thoughts, his dreams, and his observations of the strange déjà vu that colors his life. His writing becomes a refuge, a place where he can confront the unsettling sensations that plague him.

Days go on and his concerns grow.

Whenever he tries to share his feelings with friends and family, their responses are consistently reassuring - His parents dismiss his concerns as typical teenage stress, while Ryan and Sara suggest he might be overthinking. Emily, attentive and caring, listens to him but offers little comfort, suggesting that his anxiety is normal for someone facing major life changes.

His journal entries become more introspective, delving into his thoughts and fears. He writes, “The more I try to grasp what’s happening, the more elusive it becomes. I feel like I’m living the same moments over and over, with only slight variations. It’s as if my life is on repeat, and I’m struggling to find the off switch.”

The story of Adam’s senior year unfolds with a growing tension, as he wrestles with the possibility that his entire life might be part of an elaborate simulation.

---

Time passes for Adam with this unease now a part of his life as he moves to University.

As he embarks on his freshman year at Oakridge University, he is met with a bustling campus filled with new faces and opportunities.

The university's sprawling grounds are alive with activity: students dart between classes, groups gather for animated discussions under shady oak trees, and the quad is alive with the clamor of various campus events.

The campus itself is a blend of modern architecture and traditional collegiate charm, with red-brick buildings and manicured lawns.

Adam's dorm room, a small but cozy space, becomes his sanctuary. He adorns the walls with posters of his favorite bands—Nirvana and Pearl Jam—each one bringing a sense of nostalgia. His desk, a cluttered but functional workspace, holds a haphazard stack of textbooks, a few stray papers, and an assortment of gadgets that he’s acquired over the years.

The act of setting up his room, from placing his posters to organizing his gadgets, feels hauntingly familiar, as though he has meticulously arranged this very space before.

The sense of déjà vu becomes stronger with Adam throughout his academic life.

In his Computer Science classes, the lectures, the classroom environment, and even the interaction with professors evoke a sense of eerie repetition. During one of those lectures on algorithms, Professor Mitchell’s explanation of sorting methods feels like a re-run of a lecture he’s attended countless times. The professor’s habitual anecdotes about his early programming days and his familiar jokes about binary trees repeat with a disturbing predictability.

He makes some friends along the way. Adam meets Jake and Laura in the university library, where he’s working on an assignment. Jake, a fellow computer science major with an easygoing demeanor, and Laura, a graphic design student with a keen sense of humor, quickly become part of his new social circle. They bond over shared frustrations about complex assignments and late-night study sessions. Yet, their conversations—whether discussing their latest coding challenges or weekend plans—seem unnervingly repetitive. Jake’s jokes about the “fun” of debugging code and Laura’s witty comments about design trends feel like echoes of past interactions.

One of those days, just before an assignment submission, he sat in the dimly lit computer lab, the soft sound of computers filling the air. His fingers hovered over the keyboard as he stared at the lines of code on the screen. It was 2:17 AM—he knew without checking the clock.

"Hey, Adam, still working on that algorithm?" Jake's voice cut through the silence.

Adam nodded, a sense of unease creeping over him. "Yeah, just can't seem to get it right."

Jake pulled up a chair, the wheels squeaking in a familiar pattern. "Let me take a look."

As Jake leaned in, Adam caught a whiff of coffee and mint—the same scent he'd noticed countless times before. He watched Jake's eyes scan the code, knowing exactly when his friend's brow would furrow.

"There," Jake pointed, "You've got an infinite loop in your recursive function."

Adam's heart raced. He'd known Jake would say that, had been waiting for it. "Jake," he said, his voice barely a whisper, "have we done this before?"

Jake laughed, but Adam saw confusion flicker in his eyes. "What do you mean? We've debugged code together plenty of times."

"No, I mean this exact moment. You saying those exact words, the clock showing 2:19 AM, Laura walking in right... now."

On cue, the lab door opened, and Laura stepped in, her red hoodie a stark contrast to the blue-tinged darkness.

"Hey guys, still at it?" Laura called out, her voice echoing slightly in the quiet room.

Jake turned to Adam, concern etched on his face. "Dude, are you okay? You're freaking me out a little."

Adam stood abruptly, his chair rolling back and hitting the desk behind him with a soft thud. The sound reverberated in his mind, a perfect match to the memory he shouldn't have.

"I... I need some air," he muttered, rushing past a bewildered Laura.

In the cool night air outside, Adam leaned against the brick wall of the computer science building. His mind raced, trying to make sense of what just happened. It wasn't just déjà vu anymore—it was as if he was living through a moment he'd already experienced in exact detail.

As he stood there, heart pounding, a realization dawned on him: his perception of reality was fundamentally different from everyone else's. And for the first time, he truly felt alone in a world that seemed to be stuck on repeat.

This was the first time Adam thought about getting professional help but then, as all teenagers do, deferred it for later.

Having lost touch with Emily as she moved out of the city, Adam's dating life again begins to unfold as he starts dating Rachel, a fellow student he meets at a welcome event. Their relationship progresses through typical milestones: first dates at the local diner, late-night study sessions at the library, and weekend outings to nearby parks. Despite the thrill of discovering each other, the moments they share—first kisses under the moonlight, playful arguments over trivial matters, and tender reconciliations—feel preordained, as though they’re following a script he’s lived through before.

Years go by with assignments, dates, trips, laughter and an undertone of the eerie uneasy feeling and University life is over.

After graduation, Adam secures a position as a software developer at a tech company. The office environment, with its sleek cubicles and open-plan layout, is both modern and impersonal. The daily routine of coding, attending meetings, and collaborating on projects, the office break room, with its familiar snacks and coffee machine becomes a part of his life.

During one of those routine days, Adam experiences a profound sense of repetition. The code he’s working on, the errors he’s debugging, and the solutions he’s devising all feel like echoes from a past he can’t quite place. While listening to a his colleague about a new project, the content, the slides, and even the reactions of his colleagues seem disturbingly familiar. The sense that his career and daily tasks are mere reflections of a repeated past gnaws at him, leaving him questioning the authenticity of his experiences.

Finally deciding that it is too much and that this might be a mental disease, in his increasing discomfort, Adam seeks help from Dr. Patel, a therapist specializing in anxiety and stress. During their sessions, Adam describes his experiences with déjà vu in meticulous detail. Dr. Patel attributes his feelings to the pressures of early adulthood, suggesting that stress and anxiety might be amplifying his perceptions. Despite the professional reassurance, Adam remains troubled, unable to shake the growing sense that his life is on an endless loop.

Desperate for answers, Adam continues his detailed journal. Each entry documents instances of déjà vu and patterns he observes in his daily life. His journal entries become more frenetic as he attempts to untangle the growing sense of inevitability that seems to envelop him. He writes, “Every day feels like a variation of the last. The people, the places, the tasks—they all blend into a repetitive cycle. I’m trying to find the pattern, to understand why my life feels like it’s on repeat.”

His growing sense of repetition becomes a mainstay to his professional and personal experiences.

---

As Adam’s career advanced, the once-exciting challenges of his role as a senior software developer began to blend into a routine that felt all too familiar. His office, decorated with personal touches—photos of his family, mementos from past achievements, and a couple of thriving potted plants—had become a second home.

The vibrant energy of his early days at the tech company had given way to a predictable rhythm of software development cycles and project meetings. Each day seemed to follow the same pattern: coding, debugging, and strategizing with his team.

At home, Adam’s life with Rachel and now their two young children, Sophie and Ethan, unfolded in a familiar routine.

The mornings started with school runs, followed by the bustle of work and the evening rituals of bedtime stories and dinner. Family gatherings, birthday celebrations, and even the simple act of meal preparation seemed like scenes from a repetitive script.

One of those evenings, as Adam and Rachel prepared dinner together, Adam noticed the same quirks in their routine. Rachel was humming the same tune as she chopped vegetables, and the sound of the frying pan sizzling was accompanied by the same old jokes about their first date.

“Remember when you burnt the pasta on our first date?” Rachel laughed, stirring the pot.

Adam chuckled along, but inside, he felt a twinge of discomfort. Haven’t we had this exact conversation before?

During a family outing to the park, Adam sat on a familiar bench under a sprawling oak tree, watching Sophie and Ethan play. As he glanced around, he noticed the same families, the same playground equipment, and the same distant chatter of other parents.

Rachel sat beside him, her voice breaking through his thoughts. “Are you okay, Adam? You’ve been awfully quiet today.”

Adam sighed, forcing a reassuring smile. “Just a bit tired. You know how it is.”

Rachel studied him for a moment, her brow furrowing with concern. “You’ve been saying that a lot lately. Is something bothering you?”

Adam hesitated, then shook his head. “No, nothing I can’t handle. Just need to focus on getting through the week.”

His friendships, too, remained strong but increasingly repetitive. His catch-ups with Jake and Laura, old college friends, were filled with familiar jokes and stories.

Social gatherings, from holiday parties to annual reunions, seemed like reruns of past events. The decorations, the conversations, and even the way people greeted one another felt hauntingly familiar. What once brought joy now added to Adam’s growing sense of living in a perpetual loop.

At one of these gatherings, Laura approached him with a warm smile. “Adam, it’s great to see you! Remember when we all got stuck in that traffic jam on the way to this party last year?”

Adam nodded, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Yeah, it seems like we’ve done this before, doesn’t it?”

Laura laughed lightly. “I guess some things never change.”

As these sensations intensified, Adam began to experience moments of profound recognition. Even spontaneous events, like a chance encounter with an old friend or an unexpected visit from a relative, felt like echoes of previous occurrences.

The growing discomfort began to affect his health, manifesting as sleep disturbances, anxiety, and persistent stress. During another visit to his doctor, Adam tried to describe his experiences.

“Doctor, I feel like I’m stuck in a loop,” Adam said, his voice tinged with frustration. “Everything seems so repetitive.”

Dr. Patel looked concerned but professional. “Adam, what you’re describing could be related to stress and anxiety. It’s not uncommon to feel like life is repetitive when you’re under a lot of pressure.”

Adam left the appointment feeling no closer to answers, his journal growing even more frantic with each entry. He started to document his daily experiences meticulously, noting instances of déjà vu and patterns he observed.

Desperate for relief, Adam explored various ways to break the cycle.

He picked up new hobbies, altered his daily routines, and even considered relocating to a different city, hoping that a change of scenery might offer new perspectives. Yet, every attempt to introduce novelty into his life seemed to reinforce his sense of repetition. Even new experiences appeared to echo past events.

In conversations with Rachel, he tried to explain his growing obsession with his sense of déjà vu. “I think there’s something deeply wrong with my perception of reality,” he confessed.

Rachel’s eyes were filled with concern. “Adam, you’re scaring me. Maybe it’s time to consider another Doctor if Dr. Patel is not working out for you”

Rachel and his close friends became increasingly concerned about Adam’s growing obsession.

---

Things kept on getting worse...

In his later older years, the repetitive nature of his life reached a crescendo. The mundane tasks of daily existence—grocery shopping, social gatherings, and family interactions—felt like scenes from a never-ending loop. Every aisle in the supermarket, every interaction with the cashier, every family dinner seemed to echo past experiences, creating an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.

Family life continued to mirror past experiences. Conversations with Sophie and Ethan, now teenagers, seemed like reruns of previous dialogues. Adam’s health also deteriorated. Chronic fatigue, unexplained aches, and medical tests yielding no significant results compounded his existential distress.

And quietly he accepted and gave up.

His acceptance of his increasingly repetitive life became a quiet resignation, a shift from struggle to an almost meditative stillness. He stopped documenting his experiences, allowing his journal to gather dust. The once fervent entries about the repetitions in his life were replaced by empty pages, mirroring his own growing sense of emptiness. The act of writing had become an exercise in futility, revealing no new insights, only reinforcing the cyclical nature of his existence.

His visits to the doctor became infrequent, not out of denial but from a realization that no medical explanation could unravel the complexity of his experience. The diagnoses of stress and aging, once a source of frustration, now seemed insufficient to address the deeper disquiet he felt. He withdrew from the search for answers, acknowledging that the nature of his condition defied conventional understanding.

Conversations with his family grew sparse and resigned. He no longer articulated his sense of déjà vu or the disorientation that plagued him. Instead, he observed their concerned faces and listened to their well-meaning but ineffective attempts to offer comfort. His silence spoke volumes, a tacit acceptance of his reality that words could no longer capture.

---

And slowly, his life moved on and came to its conclusion...

As Adam lay in his hospital bed, the sterile white walls seemed to dissolve into an overwhelming whiteness. The beeping of the monitors, the smell of antiseptic, and the clinical sounds of the hospital faded, leaving him in a vast, empty space.

In this void, Adam’s thoughts raced through memories, both significant and mundane. The digital counter he saw in his mind began at 1000 and moved towards 1001, its mechanical progression symbolizing the end of one cycle and the potential start of another.

Rachel sat beside him, her hand gripping his. “We’re here with you, Adam. You’re not alone.”

Adam looked at her with a mixture of sorrow and acceptance. “I feel like everything is just repeating. I don’t know if I’ll ever understand why.”

As the counter reached 1001, Adam’s consciousness fluctuated between clarity and confusion. He pondered his entire life, the repetitive patterns, and the nature of his existence. There was a fleeting understanding of the cyclical nature of his experiences, but it was overshadowed by the physical sensations of dying.

Adam’s final breaths were a blend of understanding and uncertainty. The void around him and the digital counter suggested a reset, but it remained ambiguous whether he fully grasped this concept. As the counter continued its inexorable march, Adam faced the end with a sense of poignant resignation.

As his final breaths mingled with the enveloping whiteness, he felt a profound sense of both understanding and uncertainty. The digital counter continued its relentless progression, shifting from 1000 to 1001, marking the end of one cycle and the beginning of another. The soft glow of the counter cast a light on the void, hinting at an endless loop of an experience beyond his grasp.

Suddenly, the whiteness began to dissolve. The harsh buzz of an alarm clock slices through the silence, sharp and familiar. Adam blinks against the golden morning light spilling through his bedroom window. The digital clock on his nightstand reads 6:30 AM. As he slowly comes to, he finds himself once again in his room in Oakridge, 1991. The posters of Nirvana and Pearl Jam adorn the walls, the familiar clutter of his desk and the comfort of his black-and-white rug are all exactly as he remembers. It’s as if he has been transported back to the start of it all, at the age of 17, with the same sense of unsettling déjà vu lingering at the edge of his consciousness.

Grudgingly, he drags himself out of bed and heads to the bathroom and takes a quick shower...