Chapter Text
You can’t see anything.
It’s pitch black everywhere. With every turn you’re met with darkness, with nothing. There’s no sound, at least, not that you can hear.
You can feel, though.
You can feel everything.
It’s like this cacophony of sensations hitting you all at once. It doesn’t hurt, it’s just… there. In the back of your mind, against your skin, it takes root. It ripples around you and settles in your bones. Oddly, it’s comforting.
Like a part of yourself that was long lost finally reunited with you. You embrace it with open arms. Or, you think you do, you’re not sure. It’s hard to tell if your limbs are responding. You can’t find your body, every part of you hidden from your sight. You don’t think you can move, or if you’re already moving. Everything is just… that. You can’t really explain it. You don’t even know if there are words to explain what you’re experiencing right now.
All you know is that this is the most peaceful you’ve been in a while. You don’t remember how you got here, but you remember everything before, and it makes you want to shudder. That box is staying closed for as long as possible, if you could help it. For now, you let yourself be still, for however long you have.
Turns out, you didn’t have long. As soon as you got used to the peace, the silence, you’re roughly pulled back by a force you can’t name. You aren’t able to fight it, only staying pliant as it drags you this way and that. You don’t even have the freedom of mobility to open your mouth on a gasp.
And then, it stops.
You get a moment of reprieve, your disoriented mind racing to figure out just what the hell is going on with you. Is this Hell? Heaven? Some twisted version of both, or an in between? Memories of your death resurface unwanted, and you fight to stay clear of the images appearing in your brain. They come to you anyway.
Suddenly, for the first time since you “woke up” in this weird abyss, you hear something.
Someone.
”Life has been cruel to you, hasn’t it?”
A melodic voice reaches you far before you feel it. A low hum that digs into your system that seems to beat in time with the strangers words. You don’t linger on that, though, too busy wondering who this person is and why you can’t talk back.
”There’s no need to struggle, my dear,” the strange voice reassures, the base offering a calm undertone that you can practically feel over your skin. “I am here to clear some of the confusion running around in that brain of yours.”
The voice becomes louder, and you swear you sense something stopping in front of you, but there’s nothing but darkness. An invisible force bends your neck down in a soft flourish, and you can’t even protest.
”And what a beautiful brain that is,” the stranger continues, carefully caressing around your head and running their long fingers through your hair. “I know I don’t need to tell you what happened. I fear you have been reminded enough.”
The stranger sounds sorrowful, almost regretful in their plight. You’re confused, and scared of what this person is about to do to you, when a small chuckle breaks through your thoughts.
”I am not here to hurt you. I am here to guide, at least right now.”
Hands run down your face and to your shoulders, and suddenly you can feel your body again. You didn’t know how much you’ve missed it until you’re able to feel yourself breathe. “You deserve so much more than what you were dealt, and I’ve decided to see to it that you get a second chance.”
You’re moving now, in what direction, you don’t know. You hope you’re not being led to your doom, and that this person is telling the truth. You still cannot speak, you can’t ask anything, and your mind is running a mile a minute.
The stranger sighs, and it’s a weary sound that’s full of an emotion you can’t quite place. “I hope what I’ve picked for you is suited to your liking. I did not have a lot of options, but I will make sure you are not harmed as long as I am within reach. I will be with you always.”
You stop moving, and your limbs don’t feel like lead anymore. You drape your arms around yourself, grateful for the appendages in a way you never thought you would be. You sigh, and this time when you open your mouth, your words are heard.
”Who are you?”
A moment of silence, then, “Someone who failed you.” And suddenly you are brought into an embrace you could only describe as home. As quickly as it came, the warmth left and retreated back into the darkness.
You don’t have enough time to mourn the loss before you are blinded by light. It’s sudden, and so bright you have to close your eyes. The light can still be seen faintly through your lids, and it’s hot. It presses against your body and suddenly you’re falling.
The voice interrupts your descent, echoing off of surfaces you can’t see and speaking its last words before you black out.
”But I will never fail you again.”
-
You wake up in a hospital.
Or, you assume it’s a hospital, if the people in patient gowns and the various medical tools around you are anything to go by.
Your senses come back to you one by one, and they are all unnaturally sensitive, to say the least. Your sight appears first, the overhead lights nearly burning your retinas by their fury. Sound comes second, with the chatter of nurses and doctors that you don’t entirely comprehend. Touch and smell come after, overloading your head with new information and close to no grasp on your situation.
For now, you can deduct that you are being held by someone. It takes more effort than it should to tilt your head up to identify the person whose arms you are currently perched in. It’s a woman who, unnervingly, looks a little like you. She’s covered in sweat and her eyes hand heavy with exhaustion. She looks haggard, like she’s just run a marathon.
Her mouth parts like she’s saying something, but you don’t understand a word. That’s odd. She gets out a few sentences before she decides to knock out, slumping against the multitude of pillows behind her. You’re confused.
You had an aunt, before this whole, whatever was going on, who you visited in the hospital when you were a child. She had brought a baby boy into the world, and she looked just like this lady afterwards. You suppose the strain of childbirth would weigh on anyone, and you wonder if that’s what this women went through. She would certainly be worse for wear if she just pushed out a-
Wait.
You look back down at yourself, or try to with a magnitude of effort, and just slightly see your tiny body wrapped in what appears to be a bundle of blankets.
Oh.
Oh, no.
This can’t be happening. You must be hallucinating, or maybe you got drugged and are now experiencing a very peculiar high. Maybe this is a dream. Yeah, that’s it. A dream. Anything to explain the fact that you are now a baby.
Was this that strangers doing? The one in that black abyss? The one who knew your death and promised a fresh start? By fresh start, they must’ve meant the very start. This isn’t good, the very opposite of good, in fact. This is bad. You can’t be a baby!
You’re going to die. That’s it, your tiny heart is going to beat out of control and you’re going to have a heart attack. Honestly, you would prefer that to whatever is happening right now. Maybe giving death another shot will get you into wherever you’re supposed to go after life. Or maybe you’ll just fade into oblivion. You don’t know. You just want things to make sense.
In the midst of your panic, another face appears in your field of sight. It’s a man in a white coat, with glasses on his face and a steadily balding head. Through your haze, you guess that this is a doctor. Your doctor. A fresh wave of despair crashes over you. If this was a dream you would’ve woken up by now. You’ve never taken drugs in your life, so you rule that out.
You’re a baby. A newborn, might you add.
Oh god, what was happening to you? What purpose did the stranger have for reverting you back into an infant? You can’t think of anything like this happening back in your life. Nothing even remotely close comes to mind. This is the type of thing to happen in stories. Works of fiction. Things that shouldn’t be possible.
But, you suppose you shouldn’t be dwelling on how impossible this seems. Only moments ago you were talking to a voice with no body in a place with no light while your entire body was numb. Perhaps your reservations should already be chucked out of the metaphorical window while you throw yourself out of the literal window.
It seems your inner musings were more disruptive than you thought because the woman underneath you shifts and rises back into consciousness. It takes a minute to realize that this is your mother, the woman who just gave birth to you, and even though you’re seeing her with your own eyes you still can’t believe it.
This time when she speaks you understand her. “Oh, my baby. You’re beautiful.” You doubt that. You just came out of her, you’re pretty sure you look worse than her. She still smiles at you, and looks at you like you’re her whole world. Weirdly, it fills you with warmth.
You don’t know what’s going on, how you got here, or even where here is. When the woman, your mother, spoke, it was different from the language you were used to, but you still understood her clear as day. From looking at her, you can tell you’re somewhere in East Asia. Thinking back to her words, you realize you recognize the language.
Japanese.
Holy shit, were you in Japan?
The revelation actually eases some of your tension for one delirious moment. You always wanted to visit the country, and now it appears you got your wish, in rather unexpected circumstances, as well. Is this where you live? Where your “mother” lives?
Your thoughts are drowned out by a new voice. “I admit, it’s a little strange that she’s not crying. I’ve never seen newborns this calm after birth.” The voice belongs to the balding doctor, his hand to his chin and his features pulled into a curious expression.
Now that you think about it, why aren’t you crying? To go one step further, why are you conscious? Almost nobody has memories of their childhood this early, and here you are able to decipher a language that you never even mastered. You’re not even crying.
If you think about it, you don’t really feel like a newborn either. Yeah, you’re smaller than you’re used to and it takes almost all your energy to lift your head, but you still feel like yourself before this whole, eh, situation.
You were mostly grown, having graduated a year ago and almost reaching nineteen. You can still vividly remember your life, maybe even more so than you could when you were living it. That’s a puzzle for another day, though. Granted, you have plenty of days left, now. If this is real. You’re starting to think that it is.
Your “mother” finished talking to the doctor and returned her loving gaze to you. You stare at her. Besides looking a little like you, she also bears some resemblance to your own mother, your actual mother. She looks like the old pictures of your mom that she would show you to punctuate her stories. You’re suddenly hit with a wall of heartache. You wonder if she knows about you. Does she know you’re no longer with her?
You quickly block that train of thought. There’s no use fixating on it, it won’t solve anything. You’ve left her with enough to care for herself. She’ll be fine.
As if sensing your sorrow, your “mother” coos and lifts you up to her face with what little strength she has. She rests her forehead against yours, and proceeds to gently rock you back and forth.
It shouldn’t work, but it does. The slow movement halts the disruptive activity in your brain and fills you with a fatigue you hadn’t noticed before now.
Despite that, stray thoughts still fly at you. You don’t know what’s happened to you, or how this is even possible. It’s clearly beyond your control and probably the fault of that stranger with the voice of lullaby. You don’t think there’s a way back to your old life, seeing as it ended. You don’t know anything, which is never a good thing for times like this.
Lips touch the crown of your head, and then arms move to hold you tighter until you are smug against your “mother’s” chest. Her body heat floods into you, and you can’t help but let out a yawn. You mentally sigh. It’s obvious that you’re probably not in danger here, and all this worrying, though for good reason, is crushing you. Maybe you just need some rest, and then you can get back to figuring everything out.
Your eye lids become heavy, until they can no longer be supported. The slow hands of sleep guide you, and the last thing you see is your “mother’s” face, a smile made of pure love aimed directly at you. You think it’s nice to be looked at like that. It makes you think everything is going to be okay.
As you drift off, you think that maybe it will.