Sixty years back from the future. If someone asked Jericho how amazing that must have been, time traveling never occurred to his mind. It wasn't in his long laundry list of events planned out for 2022 now that quarantine restrictions were lifted and entertainment centers started opening for the summer. Heck, he bet none considered as fictional as time traveling to happen to them at some point in their lives. All in our minds were vacation plans – beaches, hiking, sightseeing and visiting some famous cities in the world. Mine involved a lot of sleeping, catching up on the much needed rest because my graduating class would be interning in a few months.

But oh no… Someone had other plans. The Big Guy upstairs waved his powerful hand and whoosh!

1962.

As someone who grew up with doctors as parents, Jericho knew time traveling was impossible even with the advent of improved space technology, the human race just wasn't that capable going back in the past. There wasn't a Tony Stark from where he belonged. And if there was someone who could nearly match Ironman's intellect, then that individual has yet to be famous. Also, geniuses back on earth were more interested in money-making technologies like rocket ships while scientists fighting for climate control were disregarded and ignored. Maybe that was my mother's reason for interfering with my college application. Guess, I would never know about it. It wasn't like I could just ring her up as easily as that.

First, there weren't any smartphones. Oh, how I loathe the fact that I couldn't search solutions for my problems in google anymore. Second, those bulky antique phones were already invented but not one was present in Richard's house. There were payphones, however, the thought of exploring outside made me recall those men and their weapons, out there, no doubt looking for me. Briefly, a memory surfaced of another man ordering his goons not to let me escape.

I shivered. 'Trouble' in large red, all capital letters flashed before my eyes and I slapped my cheeks.

Ouch.

"I can't go out and try to dial mom's phone number, Jericho!"

Bad news. Three likely reasons for my absurd situation were what I was contemplating since yesterday. Aside from time travel, I considered both hallucinations and coma. To be frank, I was leaning more towards the latter. A few articles mentioned extreme fatigue as one cause of sudden coma, and the last thing I remembered was napping. Few cases have been studied that state that days without sleep disturb brain function which severely limits consciousness, and that prolonged unconsciousness was somehow related to vivid dreaming… So yeah, this could all be dreams that I made up. It sounded plausible. Dreams that were so real that it tricked my mind. The stabbing pain from my descend was just a part of it. However, the more I dwell on it, the heavier my stomach gets. If coma was the case, then…

When will I wake up? For real this time. And what could rouse me from sleep?

Another bad news I discovered was when Richard left.

"I'll be back late tonight. Don't even try to open the stove and play with fire, kid. I need ma' home intact. If you're hungry, there are biscuits in the cupboard." He said.

Kid. That is what I currently am. A freaking child! A four feet tall, fifty pounds person! The moment I entered that cramped and smelly bathroom, I stared at a familiar face – round face, blonde hair, gray eyes, and that irritating mole I inherited from my mom was still on my lower lip. I knew this face all too well. It was the photo atop our fireplace, framed in gold and white.

Me.

Whatever angle I tried, the same face stared back from the other side of the mirror. Same stormy gray eyes that restrained the building frustration down from hitting a wall as I grit my teeth instead. My mole even decreased in size back before I manually excised it.

Jericho as a child was a menace and my mother never failed to include stories of my brash childishness during holidays.

I wanted to scream, bang my head on the table, punch someone and it was annoying how close I was to giving in. So close throwing a tantrum and the only thought that held me back was a potential injury. Yesterday, when I landed on a solid object, it left me paralyzed and with a stabbing sensation upon moving – dream or not, the pain felt real and until today my back stayed sore. I wasn't about to harm myself again, not when hospitals looked suspicious. I was beginning to have trust issues. Damn.

Did I miss being free from responsibilities and unbothered by deadlines so much that my subconscious depicted myself as a child? If only my brain could conceive a better setting instead of 1962… I'd take an alien invasion anytime. At least allow me to still have a smartphone and internet.

I sighed, immediately losing whatever appetite I mustered as I swirled the contents of this soup. Richard, the good samaritan I met yesterday, was kind enough to offer me food seeing that I rejected his dinner yesterday. Today, he was in a hurry for work. Canned soup was the easiest to serve and he wasn't about to let a child alone and starving in his home. Kudos to you Richard.

One good thing about this situation was him and I kinda felt bad associating him with tuberculosis. Despite his gangly frame, he carried me miles away, safe and sound in his dilapidated home. He provided me with his smallest shirt that was too large for my tiny frame. It went down to my knees and could pass as a dress. Not that I was complaining, but Richard doesn't have any small underwear and shorts in his suitcase. Or foot wear might I add.

Night came. With nothing else to do, tidying up this place was the only activity that kept my mind occupied. It wasn't hard sweeping the floor and wiping dust from every surface. What posed a challenge was the neighbor – an old woman with warts on her face and neck. She called herself "Joy". Honestly, I would have given her the name Helga seeing as her perpetual frown created deep wrinkles.

"Joy" was apparently Richard's cousin and took upon herself to visit me when he left her a note. An abandoned child in this area was not uncommon but she wanted to make sure I wasn't some thief. After surveying the room, Joy decided that all of her cousin's belongings remained at their same position and not one was missing.

"Help me cook." She spoke while clearing her throat. It seemed to me that people of this period and place were chronic smokers. The smell of tobacco clung on her.

Preparing dinner was a quiet affair. Joy didn't speak anymore but her coughing and constant throat clearing made me offer her water more than I could count. Nonetheless, I stayed silent and played the part of a good child. Joy handed over beans that needed to be peeled and cleaned while she chopped vegetables.

Some time has passed and the stew was ready when Richard arrived. And he didn't look pleased.

"There were people looking for you, Jericho." He said in a low voice, walking towards where Joy and I sat, "People who you don't want to mess with were asking for a lost boy."

Richard stood over my side. He appeared to be observing my facial expression as he described my appearance. I could feel Joy's gaze landing on myself as well, scrutinizing me. Sweat formed behind my neck. What should I say? Would they believe the whole story, that a six year old found his way in some hospital-slash-prison facility and was left in the morgue to die?

Puh-leese. So instead I explained, "The military doesn't want me to escape." Devious con men from TV did say that the best lies were based on truth. Offer as little information as you can, and people will start filling in the gaps. Hehe~

Richard did not move, "Why… What does the military want from you?"

I shrugged, "Dunno." Now that's an honest answer. Thankfully, he relaxed and took a seat. That seemed to be the signal for Joy to place bowls of stew before us.

"Did you tell them about me?"

"Tsk." He shook his head and slurped the soup noisily. I would have grimaced if his cousin of a hag wasn't discreet in her attempts to watch me. "No."

Dammit Richard! It was supposed to be me who gives as little information as possible, not the other way around. How do I fish for information then? Should I just straight up ask him why? I have been told to be more mindful of my words, being an insensitive and tactless little shit, apparently drove people away. And I wasn't the best at making conversations.

However, the need to know reign supreme. After all, my wellbeing was on line. If Richard told them, then perhaps I only have a few minutes to leave and he was buying them time. I couldn't stomach this anymore. The image of being tased and blacking out almost had me tasting bile.

"Why didn't you tell them?"

"Do you want me to tell them?"

Richard, you're making this hard for me. But the way he answered my question with another question further cemented the thought that he ratted me out! This was it! I need to run.

I instantly stood up. The chair I was sitting on fell with a hard thump and the two looked at me.

"Relax kid." He huffed, somewhat amused that I was shaking, pale, and with eyes wide open. "I told them nothing."

Clearing her throat, Joy added "It's wise not to involve ourselves with government officials like those military men after you."

"One couldn't care less about them anyway." Richard gestured to pick up my chair before explaining, "To tell you the truth, I did consider it. You looked like someone who was picked on and left in that garbage dump for fun."

Now, I was rolling my eyes in exasperation at the thought of bullies. If Richard indeed told the truth, then what changed his mind? His words weren't enough to calm my nerves. My heart was still pounding and at the back of my head, someone was cautioning me to say alert. "I told you, that wasn't the case."

"And you're right." Huh. "That canning factory is big alright, but I only see a few workers coming in and out of that place. It makes one a skeptic. Not to mention that delivery trucks have one soldier each inside accompanying the driver. What is even inside those trucks? Diamond?

"Or drugs." Joy commented.

What?

"Um...canning factory?"

Richard gaped. For a moment, he was inspecting me once more from head to toe before coughing. Great, he forgot to cover his mouth and now germs were in my stew.

"The dumpster I found you in, it belonged to a factory that places salty sardines inside a can." He tried to describe it slowly, as if I was an idiot who had no idea what a canning factory was. "Are you alright kid? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Peachy."

Richard just shrugged.

After my sarcastic answer, the two continued on with their dinner. No one said anything and we were off on our own. My mind was reeling from the fact that I've been running away from a shady government organization that put up a pitiful facade as a freaking canning factory. Whoever believes that had a brain as tiny as the bean painstakingly peeled. Jesus, scientists were in that building and some were ready to throw their nasty syringes at me. Syringe with a kind of medication, probably illegal too like what Joy implied, that slowed down brain activity.

I helped Joy wash the dishes, she told me it was the least I, an ungrateful brat, could do after her brother offered me great assistance. Excuse me Joy, I cleaned the house before you came over.

Gritting my teeth and carefully analyzing how to leave this city brought me immense grief. I was certain they wouldn't stop looking for me and the words from yesterday rang back.

I'm not letting another one escape.

Briefly, I wondered who and how another one like me got away. Was he or she struggling too?

Thankfully Joy wasn't speaking and telling me how to properly clean the dishes despite the unnerving look she was giving me, because I don't think I can tolerate any more stressors. The last thing I needed on my plate was to be hunted down like a rabbit.

I was a person of interest. The wolves wouldn't rest until the rabbit was captured.

I stared at the window where stars normally would shine above, were once again covered by smog.

.

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Jericho: where are my smartphones?!