My life flashed right before my eyes, right as I was within the last few metres to my apartment when it hit out of nowhere. I knew I’d never be able to completely overcome the pain and the trauma, but once again, I found myself reliving that disastrous scene over and over. The next thing I remember is my mind clearing and my senses returning as I stop sweating and begin crying into the cushion by my head.

The only thing after it happened was a handwritten note on my table reminding me to relive what I just went through in a journal. Oh yeah, I was probably found by my nearby neighbours who knew of my condition. I don’t know who it was that helped me into my apartment, but I find the gesture grateful as I sat down and began writing out my episode.

Noticing the digital clock on the desk, stating it was just gone half four in the afternoon, I had been in what felt like a frozen bubble of nothing for just over half an hour. It was less powerful and a bit longer than the previous one, just like the one before that, but I’m still left numb to the world during it. I opened to a clear page and started writing:

Dear Diary: It happened again... 24/7/2028
Episode Length: About 34 min.

My first memories during the panic attack were from when I was around seven years old. It was a very sad memory, as it was the only memory I have of my never-to-be sister, who’d died prematurely. Later on, when I turned thirteen, the first thing I remember was when it was revealed on the news that a study showed there was a very unique, genetic anomaly in humans.

They enclosed to everyone that if a human fetus grew successfully rather than dying prematurely, according to rough calculations and simulations, the babies wouldn’t have normal human ears. Instead they grew with the ears of an animal, including the tail. If I remember correctly, I think it took scientists a few months to figure out how and what the animalistic appearances were going to be after getting a new simulation unit installed.

 It was to later be given the scientific genecode of “An1-b3/x”, or more commonly known as “Ani-Beast Mutation”. ABM for short. Since they discovered the genetic issue, it was also revealed that this mutation was no longer being treated as a disease. The reason? Simulations showed up to ninety five percent healthy births with no defects. From what I can remember, if I’m correct, any other weird symptoms would likely just be things akin to autism or other disabilities. This was around the time when people started opening up about being one of the rare surviving births. 

It was three years later when I decided to study genetics. The idea of my sister being one of the numerous casualties inspired me to look into it. The subject was really hard to follow, but I did my darndest to keep up with the workload alongside my other three subjects. I remember my dad giving me the document that contained the details of my sister’s genetics, as part of a case study. I was hoping to disprove a theory that was being spread around campus as a rumour. Turns out, I was along the right tracks and doing the right thing, but I was focusing in the wrong direction.

Going back earlier, I can remember the news reporting the case of twenty unreported babies surviving back when the mutation was not known at all, because it had just been found in the first reported fifteen thousand cases of premature deaths recorded with it. And that twenty was from this fifteen thousand who’d been diagnosed with a wrongly titled “disease”. If I recall, I think my dad mentioned that he remembered rewatching the reports over and over when I was eight as there was "horrible, political nonsense" being aired. His words, not mine. They were the first recorded numbers of the babies actually making it past birth. 

In the present, I’m twenty three years old and writing into my therapy diary as I look back on my life. The apartment I’m in was bought by my parents when I was young. It contains a large open room overlooking the majority of the local area that I call the lounge. There are three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and an open kitchen and dining area connected directly to the lounge area.

Off to the west of my building are a few large shops, an outdoor spa pool is to the east of my building and to the north is a large shopping centre with three stories of shops and cafés. Between them and me is a large park with a pond full of wildlife. I’m glad I’m facing out this way, as in the other direction there are just rows of boring apartments and lots of dark alleys that some people wouldn’t like to be living near. 

For the past five years, I’ve been living alone in my apartment. I barely go out unless I’m gathering food and drinks. It was only a month into my university courses when it happened. I still find it hard to live alone when it always makes me think back to the death of my parents. The image of the totaled car being almost torn in two... while I survived, my parents … well, you get the picture; they weren’t as fortunate. 

I remember the absurdly strong feeling of falling into an extremely anxious and deep depression almost immediately after the trauma of the crash went away. The family car had been plowed into and ripped apart by a stolen semi, plus trailer and cargo. Luckily, I was in the part of the car that was furthest from the point of impact, but I was still covered in bruises and deep cuts. It had hit us while travelling at ninety miles an hour. Area of impact? The driver’s section. 

The way time slowed down when it hit scared me the most, as I watched it slowly tear the front half of the car away from the back seats. Luckily, the guy who did the hit and run got arrested and some friends helped to get me life, money and insurance compensation while I was in hospital. Up until the accident, I had been the result of many styles of bullying, one of which to the point that I couldn’t reach out for help. Those lasted six years prior to the accident. 

Some of the bullies eventually came forward when they learnt about the time I was taking in hospital, during my trauma period. That was while I was constantly fluttering in and out of normal trauma shock, and my almost permanent fight or flight feedback loop. Because of this, I was unaware of the injuries I had until the doctors were able to lower my unusually extreme amounts of adrenaline and anxiety coursing through me enough that I was able to finally feel the pain from them.

Not having many friends prior to the loss of my parents, due to consistent bullying, I’d gotten some friends while I’d been stuck in my own room for seven weeks. In fact, during the last five weeks there, I was visited by a number of girls who were worried about me. Turns out two of them were exes of the bullies who’d come forward. The visits had been allowed when I was finally stable enough to not be under any anaesthetics. Safe to say, I don’t want to be stuck in another event like that. Ever. Again.

Surprisingly, half of the bullies who’d admitted had had a chance to catch up with me while distracting me with videos of students doing dumb stuff and getting permission to play videogames with me. Some games had been restricted, which they were all fine with, not because of age but because they could trigger me. I’m honestly glad I was blessed with the friendship of most of these people. 

But even though they were good at keeping me distanced and occupied from the thoughts of the crash, looking back on what has changed in my life, there will always be this unfillable hole where my entire family should be. Turns out my condition landed me in the newspaper for a month after I was allowed to leave, or in the words of my favourite doctor, “released back into the wild known as human society”. 

My biggest surprise from this was the way the guys who’d visited had seen the state I was in and had helped with not only cheering me up by bringing me school work I’d completely missed out on, but helping out other teens with their work too. A few of them were surprisingly smart to the point of not behaving like a bully at all. Heck, even the tutors were astonished at how their grades went from poor grades like D’s and E’s, to B’s and C’s with a few A’s. I think they got berated by their parents.

As part of my weekly therapy, which started after my first panic attack during my second term back and ended a year after my course ended, I’d been tasked with recording all my thoughts and feelings into a four year diary. Designed specifically for my sake, which is amazing if you ask me. 

Looking over my latest entry, I flow back and forth to proofread and add or change anything I notice that’s either written wrong, or there’s something new to add that previously slipped my mind. That’s just how I think, though. Back and forth, trying to solve a problem from both ends.

Getting my latest entry off my mind, writing out memories that I seem to reminisce on a lot, it’s still mind-blowing how much it actually helps with keeping my anxiety down. Especially when I need to avoid panic attacks and keep any outbursts of anger in check. After my final therapy session, I still continue to this day to record some of my entries to their therapy cloud service, but keep most things to myself in a private and personal diary.

Being able to look back on previous entries of mine helps me to recognise when anything bad is going to happen when I experience anything that comes close to, or is one of these issues. I’ve no longer had anger issues, but I do still get very small panic attacks and emotional blank-outs. Finishing and saving the final entry, I proceed to look out of the large window from my lounge area. I have a desk near it so I can look down at the park while working on my own things.

Paying more attention, the park is vibrant with the noises of children playing loudly, noisy and busy cars driving by, the birds chirping and singing away to each other just outside of my little pocket of the world I call my home. I barely paid attention to the cop cars driving past, but the deep reverberation of a gunshot once they’ve gone makes me jump and the park go quiet. It takes a few more minutes for the park to regain some of its previous white noise, but there is a noticeable air that screams “something happened and I don’t want to be here anymore”. 

Ignoring that, I sit there, with no work to focus on for my freelance jobs, thinking about what the next boring thing to do is for about ten minutes, before I hear a thump outside my apartment. I close down my laptop and head over to the door.

‘What was that?’

Living beside the stairs and roughly opposite to the lifts, my apartment sits perfectly in the corner of the first floor. It faces the park perfectly, with an engraved plaque saying “Room C137”. Instead of ignoring it, I find myself heading down the little hall to my door, I peek out of the eyepiece, which is so blurry I can barely make out two young girls outside my door through it. 

Feeling frustrated that I’ve never got that looked at, I open the door to two young girls who’ve probably jumped from my actions. The girls and I just stare between each other, before loud voices start to filter up the open stairwell. 

As I’m considering my choices to take them into the apartment, a deep, male voice makes an extremely disgusting comment about the two girls that I barely register, some along the lines of “pesky girls getting away” from him. and just let them rush into my apartment. Remember when I mentioned that genetics stuff about my past? Well, after I instinctively knew the voice of a guy with the wolf Ani-Beast Mutation, due to a few past experiences, angrily discussing with his “buddies” their plans as his voice drifted loudly up the stairs. 

While they were momentarily halted, I did the stupidest and dumbest thing and that’s to spray my almost finished deodorant up and down the hallway, before chucking it against the slightly open door to an empty room as it finally emptied. 

The smell was strong enough to begin burning my nose, so I quickly grabbed the two girls by their hands firmly but gently and ushered them quietly into my apartment and into the spare bedroom furthest from the door before it could affect them. 

My unusual behaviour leads to an unexpected success, as the moment I hear their footsteps reach my floor, I hear muffled voices become clear shouts of satisfying shock and surprise as the strong smells hit their noses. Hearing one of them point out the can, I hear them run down the hall into the empty room I threw the can towards, most likely searching like crazy before I hear them filing out of the room after a few minutes. 

I released a breath I didn’t know I was holding after they scanned up and down the hall for other rooms. It looked like they assumed the girls must have made some kind of escape. These guys were known for being really bad, but at least they were respecting the other apartments that were likely being occupied. 

After their footsteps headed back downstairs, I finally spent the time to look at the two girls before me. Taking more notice of their appearance, I realise what the reason was for them being chased.

‘They’re both kitsune girls.’ I thought, honestly shocked as I took in the appearance of their ears and tails.

I’m frozen to my spot as we just focus entirely on each other, me while looking with incredulity, them with looks of fear being mostly replaced with confusion. After a long number of seconds, I bring up the courage to step past them and head for the lounging area. 

I noticed that the girls both move away and close their eyes out of fear of what they thought I would do, but I simply had no interest and walked past them. Just one train of thought crossed my mind as I slowly made my way over to sit down on the couch.

‘What did I just get myself into?!’