On the Wrong Side

The following story is inspired by @theinkwell's weekly prompt. Sorry though, I can't stick to the full rules. I'm going to riff off of it. So I guess I won't qualify or whatever.

This isn't about someone I know and it isn't necessarily the way you might think of getting up on the wrong side of the bed.

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On the Wrong Side

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The city wasn't usually this warm. It was a stifling humid night that seemed to stick in your lungs and to your skin. It didn't help that Margaret's AC was out. She hadn't needed to run it for months, the weather had been so nice.

When the heat wave started she turned on her AC only to hear a rattling and clicking noise before it fell silent. All the repairmen seemed to be booked for days. So she just had to tough it out.

A lot easier said than done. The weather was sweltering and everything was sticking to her skin. Opening the windows only seemed to make things worse. Even as the wind blew, it only brought in more humid stifling air.

Margaret laid in her bed, just trying to sleep, but it felt like the room was spinning as the heat and humidity pressed down on her. She felt like she was falling. Falling through something. Floating. No, falling? What was this? Where was she? What was this fog all around her? Had it trapped her? Was she dreaming?

She fell with a bang onto her bed, followed by the squeaking of the springs. Wait, fell? How? And why was it so cold? Did her AC start working?

She got up, rubbing her arms, and pressed the off button on her AC. Nothing happened. She still couldn't see straight and rubbed her eyes. It was still off. Then why was it so cold?

She went over and closed the windows, blocking the cold air from outside. How did it get so cold after it was so hot last night? There must have been a cold front. Whatever, she needed to wash the sweat from the night off of her, and get into something warmer.

She walked into the bathroom. Did she always have this toothbrush? She could have sworn it was another color. Whatever. She must have forgotten. "What's this toothpaste? This isn't my brand." She used it anyway. It was alright. Something she would have chosen anyway. Not too minty. Seemed to work pretty well. She spit out into the sink, then turned on the shower, got undressed, then got in.

At least one thing didn't change. Same cold shower that took too long to warm up. She put her hands under the water and splashed herself with a bit of the water, getting herself wet. Then she reached for the soap and shampoo. What are these? These aren't just not her brands, they're brands she's never heard of. Where did they come from? She felt so confused, but she still had to wash herself.

She tried the soap, then the shampoo. Both were pleasant. Things she might have bought. Maybe she just forgot? It was starting to really worry her. The conditioner was even better, exactly the type for her hair, and seemed to work even better than the brand she usually used. What is this?

She got out of the shower after a little while and reached for the towels. They were all wrong. They weren't her towels. Was she going crazy?

She walked over to her closet, suddenly noticing her apartment looked all wrong. It was like she had decorated it, but everything was different. She opened the closet to find it full of clothes she didn't recognize, all in her size. She picked something out and put it on.

Everything was starting to get to her. Why didn't anything feel right? This was clearly her apartment, but everything was wrong.

She went over to her bed and sat down as she dried her hair. She picked up the phone on her night stand. This wasn't hers. Was it? She tried to unlock it. It unlocked with her fingerprint.

The contacts were full of names she didn't recognize. Some of them were quite strange. Like they were from an entirely different culture. She scrolled down until she saw "Mom" and clicked it.

ring ring "Hello?"

"Hello? Mom? Something's strange. I went to bed in the sweltering heat last night and then I wake up and it's cold and nothing feels right. It's like I woke up in someone else's apartment."

"Sherry? What are you talking about? It's been cold for days."

"Sherry? Why are you calling me Sherry? It's Margaret. Your daughter. Who's Sherry?"

"What are you talking about? Sherry, I recognize your voice. Is this some kind of practical joke?"

"Mom? Your voice sounds different..." Margaret didn't even finish the thought. Everything was wrong. She just took the phone down from her ear and clicked the little red phone icon.

She put down the phone and walked out the door, even as the phone started to ring behind her. She took the keys by the door, which she didn't recognize, but they seemed to work in the lock, and she walked to the elevator, down the hall which was just a bit different. Different carpet. Different wallpaper. Down to the lobby with different plants and a different style of decor. Out the front door of "her" building.

There, she saw an entirely different world. All the streetlights were of a different style, modeled after old street lights rather than the more modern ones that used to be there. The street names were all different. Everyone was dressed in warm clothes of a completely different style than she was used to. Everything was just different.

Somehow, she had woken up on the wrong side of some kind of looking glass she had fallen through in the night. She didn't know if she would ever be able to find her way home, or if this was to be her new home.

A thought crossed her mind then. If she was here, where was the Sherry that owned the apartment she woke up in? Was she in her life now?