Part One: A Second Chance

I don't envy babies anymore. To be honest, I envied the little poop factories when I was living in my trailer with my older brother, Matthew’s family. The joy of just sitting in a crib, minding your own business, and having giants slave over keeping you clean and fed. They had nothing to worry about. Babies had everything, man. Free food, free lodging, and no worries except for when they had to go to bed. All they needed to do in order to get what they wanted was to just scream about it, and no way were they getting in trouble for it either because hey, it’s a baby. It’s what they do.

Yeah no. Not any longer. Though I doubt most babies have the consciousness of an adult like I do now. Could you imagine that? Like I know I don’t, but like if all babies were like me and could already just go. Like bam! You shoot out of your Mom and turn to her and say, “Mother, thank you for birthing me I am ready for whatever this world needs of me.” Just picture how much the Human race could’ve accomplished if we came out sprinting on day one.

What the hell am I talking about? Oh yeah, this is my life now. If you’re wondering why I’m having such bizarre thoughts. My point is being a baby sucks. This little body of mine feels like a prison. My muscles ache with every shift of my body or attempted lift of my head, and my eyesight is atrocious.

Now you might be wondering. Why the hell am I a baby? To which I’ll happily answer by saying, “I don’t know, and that scares me.” My original assumption was that I was in the hospital high off of some pain sedative or maybe I was in a medically induced coma.

Some part of me still thinks I may be in some coma. Though it’s been ages now and I haven’t awoken. For now, I’m just going along with whatever is happening. I don’t like thinking about that stuff anyway. It puts me in a sour mood. So let's focus on the present.

Being a baby sucks. I have been through it once already, though, of course, I don’t remember being one, but that doesn’t mean I want to experience it again. My caretakers, the Elven woman and man are always bringing their faces so close to mine that it's unnerving, to say the least.

At least when the man does it, the woman at least seems pretty and harmless, but the man, now resembling a grizzled geezer since he grew out his hair, is a bit off-putting, to say the least… I should probably also mention again the fact that, once again, my caretakers are two elves. I’ll repeat it once again. Elves. You know the fantasy race? The human-looking people with pointy ears? I’m just being an ass. Of course, you would know.

The man, who I’ll be nominating the title of Bonehead, who is also probably my father–why am I giving my possibly new parent a mean nickname? Oh well, that’s easy. He’s an asshole. The guy probably has little to no experience with kids. The dude treats me like a football, and I’m talking about a real football, not that round football we call soccer you heathens always confuse.

I swear, if he throws me in the air one more time, I'll aim my vomit at him.

I have no idea how much time has passed. I've slept so much, it's hard to tell. If I am in a coma, when I sleep, am I like dreaming in a dream? Because, when I sleep now I dream of stuff back then. That’s some weird inception shit to think about. Again, the shit I think about while being a baby.

There have been moments that have broken up the monotony. Such as the fact I'd been repositioned at least a dozen times. Yet even then, it's done little to keep my sanity in check. Like seriously, think about it, Imagine being trapped in your thoughts for hours and days on end. Trapped in the same tiny room being unable to move and at the mercy of your caretakers. Sometimes the giants will come and take you away, but your horrible baby vision stops you from actually seeing anything. Eventually, you’ll be stuffed back into that tiny room and crib and tucked tightly in your blankets, but sometimes those blankets are too tight and it gets really hot. So you cry and cry, hoping you can get them to come just so they can pick you up and try to figure out what’s wrong. While you only want them to put you back in and fix your covers so you won’t get too hot though they don’t know that’s what you want. So in a moment of unsure panic, Bonehead thinks you’re hungry, so he carries you all the way down into the kitchen where he gets some kind of bottle of lukewarm milk. But I’m not hungry so I spit it out, and out of frustration I try to scream at him to take me back to bed and now also starts to cry and panic. Now everyone is screaming and the giant elf woman, who I’ll nominate the title of boss, comes rushing down the steps demanding in her language’s equivalent of WTF is going on?! Eventually after some squabbling between the couple they drag you all the way back upstairs and stuff you into your crib. Only to then tighten the bedding too much once again and you're stuck having to sleep in a slightly too warm bed!

Being a baby fucking sucks. Moments like that are few and far between. Many of your days and nights when being a baby again are filled with nothing but silence, and your breathing of course. It’s boring. Like, really boring. If I had to make a tier list of what’s the most boring thing to do in the world. I would put being a baby on the lowest possible tier beneath watching paint dry. Because ninety percent of the time that’s exactly what you’re doing. The problem is, the paint dries faster than being a goddamn baby, because a baby you’re forced to watch multiple sets dry.

It’s honestly so bad. It reminds me of that horror story I read about a US soldier during the Pacific War. He was a prisoner of the Japanese who had kept him confined to a cell for years on end. Robert Shumaker was his name if I recall. As a way to keep himself sane, he had mentally built a house in his mind. Essentially all he did was daydreaming.

A strategy that I found myself doing, and shit, it’s all I could do. For what felt like hours in my cell, which was my crib, I would imagine things in my head. Thinking back on it, my ADHD brain did this often, especially back in school. Hey, if… if I did get reincarnated. Hypothetically speaking, would I still have ADHD? Cause, that’s like a brain thing, right? I’m no doctor if my lack of intelligence hasn’t already made that clear. I never went to college or anything didn’t want to get myself into debt. Which honestly, turned out pretty well for me anyway. My IT job paid somewhat okay and such, so really. Dodging college was something I did not regret in the slightest.

Anyways, back to what I was saying. I was always an imaginative kid, and my parents were always amazed at how I could keep myself entertained without toys. However, in my adult years, this was a habit I dropped, especially when D&D became a thing in my life. Or well, I guess it didn’t go away. I just redirected it at the game. God, I miss D&D. I miss my friends… Part of me wonders how everyone else reacted–No. No. Don’t think about that.

Let's talk about cool stuff. Like how weird this place is. Like if there are elves in this world I wonder if there's magic here? I've seen my fair share of animes and such, in isekais the place the main character always goes to is a cool magical world with hot babes, demons, and if you’re lucky, no little kids who say they’re thousands of years old. Because I hate that shit, except for Beatrice, she was cool.

Once again, because I’m a little baby. I can’t really explore. The only time I’m ever able to sortie out on a recon mission is when either Bonehead or Boss comes to get me Despite my poor, pitiful baby eyes, the few times I've been carried out of prison, I’ve collected some intel on my whereabouts. For starters, I appeared to be in a small, two-story home in what I assumed to be the countryside. How do I know it’s the countryside? Easy… Okay no it isn’t easy. Honestly, I’m guessing. The few times I've been outside I hadn’t noticed any other nearby homes, and I could hear what sounded like disant bulls. At least I think they’re bulls. The sounds were deep and guttural and I’ll admit it was quite frightening.

Aside from that, I also noticed it's been rather warm, and I’ve seen melting snow. So if I had to guess it was early spring. Another neat thing is that there seems to be some form of electricity, judging by the lighting situation inside. Such that whenever Bonehead or the boss entered the room at night, the room would suddenly become lit.

Oh hell, I forgot something. If only not mentioning this guy would make him go away. Eh, that’s cruel to say.

What am I talking about?

Well, I also learned that I may have a sibling–I know, I was shocked too when I learned this.

He’s an older brother of sorts, but only by what seems to be a year or two. The kid is already running around and performing stunts. I hate him. I hate him so much. Okay, okay. I don’t really hate him, but I hate that seeing him running around doing toddler things is… is tortuous. God please, lord, if you exist. Which, really you might know that I think about it if you did bring me to life again. Please, please let me start moving soon. Can you like to turn up the dial that’ll make me grow faster? No? Fine, asshole.

As time drifted by day in and day out. Everything just sort of became a blur. Consciousness drifted in and out and during the bouts of wakefulness, I mainly tried to practice meditation and daydreaming. Occasionally I would try little exercises but my little baby body said no to any of that. However, during these periods there was one other thing I learned during my bouts of meditation and self-discovery in prison—something a bit drastic that I wasn't ready for.

I wasn’t a guy anymore. That was something I was not ready for during one of my changing sessions. You’d think I would’ve learned after the first, but I was still going through the initial shock of where I was. Learning this was a severe shock. Either my brain is sending my signals in this comatose dream. Or It appears that my reincarnation has rolled the dice and Johnson packed up his two balls and moved on.

If this truly was a second chance at life and not some drug-induced dream. I couldn’t help but wonder how my life is going to turn out now. While the situation was shocking, it wasn’t infuriating. I also wasn’t indifferent either. I don’t know how to describe it but I felt amused. Like I said, I don’t know how to describe it. Had always wondered what it'd be like to be a woman. Would I have enjoyed life more, or would I have still been in the same situation I was before?

I was in no position to answer my question. As a guy, I knew nothing about women. Not saying that as a joke either. I knew nothing. All I knew, is that I was attracted to them, I respected them, and I was deeply terrified of them. I had a few friends who were girls, and all of them scared me. Also part of that fear stemmed from my mother. In my household, you never wanted Mom to be the one who dished out the punishments.

I don’t know what this world is like. All I could hope for was that it was something like Earth. I would hate for this place to be like there, before modern times, if women here I gonna be treated second class I am not looking forward to that. Girls went through some tough shit back then, and I don’t know if I had the strength to go through that stuff like they had.

Let's talk about something that won’t make my anxiety worse. For instance learned from moving my pudgy arms around that I also share a similar trait with the Boss and Bonehead. No, it’s not that I’m also a bonehead! It’s that that I too have pointed ears. Making me an elf too!

Shouldn’t I have known that by seeing that the Boss and Bonehead are also elves?

Hey, I never said I was smart. Again, I’m not a doctor. I couldn’t be sure they were my parents until I checked myself. That’s my story.

As time continued my little body grew stronger. My imagination was having a harder time keeping me entertained. So I decided to start exploring my surroundings with my limited vision while reaching out with my pudgy arms. Examining my prison, which was my crib proved to be a nice distraction in between my imaginative adventures. It wasn’t bad, if I had to guess it was maybe about four foot by two foot which was very spacious. The bedding was firm, but not too firm and the blankets were extravagant. First off, the baby blanket had dragons. Or at least some kind of lizard monster. It had wings and two arms, or legs, I couldn’t tell. It was awesome, and not only that it was fighting heroes.

So you have two things. Blue, and big lizard monster. I’m a huge Godzilla fan so already, if I were giving this crib a review on Yelp we’re at a solid four and a half stars. Why only four and a half and not five? Easy, there’s no bathroom. I hate my life. Being a baby sucks. God how humiliating—no wonder the little bastards cry.

I’ve tried to keep my dignity. To fight on, yet it was a losing battle. A war of attrition I could not keep fighting. Like the three hundred Spartans during the battle of Thermopylae, I tried. I so tried to hold back the Persians. Yet I couldn’t. It was too much. Laying in a crib of my filth has shown me that no matter how strong-willed I thought I was, even I broke down and screamed for my new parents to come and take care of me.

While that in itself is humiliating, what also troubled me were my thoughts. As aforementioned, being the infant that I am now with the mind of an adult, I find myself lying here stewing between bouts of imagination. After reflecting on my predicament and how I ended up here for as long as I lay in my crib, I haven't gotten to any conclusions. In my prior life, I was an agnostic, not knowing if there was a higher power out there or not. Well, let's say I'm a believer now. Though not in the sense one would think. Something might be out there, yes, but I don't think Jesus Christ decided to pluck me out of that stretcher and stick me here. And if he did, I would seriously want to ask him a few questions, but I digress.

I also couldn't help but think about home. My brother Matthew and his family, my parents, or even my eldest sibling, who I rarely see anymore or will ever again if this isn’t some coma. I wasn't on the best of terms with them. Not to the point of hatred or the like, but... reclusive. I hardly paid much attention to them. After I got out of the hell hole that was high school and found a job capable of gaining a basic living wage, I got the opportunity to shack up with my middle brother and his girlfriend at the time. Owning or renting your place at the time was borderline unheard of, and this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to get away from my verbally abusive mother, or so I felt.

My prior life was... okay. It wasn't terrible, my mother was interesting. One day she’s the nicest person in the world and you love her, the next day she’s the goddamn devil. That woman would go from saying the nicest shit to downright despicable at the drop of a hat. My father meanwhile would just sit by, having lived with her for nearly fifty years he was used to it I guess.

My mother wasn’t always like that. I’m no doctor as I mentioned before, though Matthew and I knew my mother was on some medication which helped keep her mood in heck. Some sort of BPD treatment, again I don’t know the specifics. All I knew was that after my grandmother, her mother, passed away my mom stopped taking them.

The point is I didn’t want to stick around her house anymore. Some days I got some nasty shit said to me, other days she’d treat me like nothing happened. I just wanted out of it. Shit wasn’t that bad, to say the least; people have experienced far worse stuff than me. I was, or still am, just some fat, scruffy loner with a handful of internet friends. I kept to myself because I knew that whatever issues I had were all ones I could handle myself, and besides, they weren't anything to cry over. Most of my problems stem from plenty of anxiety issues, and one too many people who pretended to be my friends, only to backstab me, and a mother’s driving herself insane–

Sorry… I shouldn’t talk about or dwell on this sort of stuff. Fucking hell, being a baby sucks! I just wanna grow up… To think I’d ever say that phrase again. Guess on the bright side, that clerk at the Seven-Eleven, I wonder if he made it… Stop it. Let's not think about that stuff.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

I'm only going to make myself depressed and nobody likes a crying baby. As much as Bonehead and the Boss get on my nerves, I don't want to disturb these new people. All we can do now is focus on the task at hand. Which is... sit-ups! I need to strengthen this baby's body. I'm just going to lift my arms. Like this, now lift!

To say my exercise regime lasted more than a minute would be a lie.

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More time has passed by, and what I could vaguely recall from my time living with Matthew and his family is that he told me babies can start to see better towards the midway point of the second month, about six weeks or so. At least for human babies, that is. Though now I could see clearly up to about a foot and a half away from me, for instance, now I can see the other end of my crib, and behind and above me looked to be a lamp of sorts, thus confirming my suspicion about electricity existing in this world. Though the light was different from anything back home, it was like an LED—a blue light. Yet when powered on, it worked like gas.

It wasn't instant but gradual like the light was being slowly pushed out of it when either Bonehead or Boss came to check on me. Speaking of my caretakers, now that I could see more clearly, I finally got a proper look at the two, or, well, three really. The first is what I assume to be my mother in this world, Boss. She was stunning—a tall, toned, and curvy elf with long, pointed ears that protruded at least six inches on either side of her head. Her short black hair appeared to have blue streaks in it, and her eyes were a dark shade of blue that rivaled the night sky. I got a very tomboyish impression of her from all the anime and video games I have played over the years.

At the time my horribly degenerate mind couldn’t help but immediately think of the worst possible thing. She was my type. Immediately alarm bells began to ring in my mind, as my subconscious screamed for the police, and I came to the horrible realization that I had just found my mother to be attractive. My new mother I mean. The amount of shame I felt upon having that thought made me want to die.

Anyway, as for the man of the house, Bonehead, he was just as handsome as the woman. No, I did not think he was my type thank you for asking! Like Boss, Bonehead was an elf, though his ears did not protrude quite as far as my mother's did. In addition to having dirty brown hair, his stubble has also grown somewhat since our initial encounter. His eyes were quite small, pointed, and a strikingly vivid shade of green, almost identical to the color of freshly cut grass. I could picture him in a leading role in a Hollywood action film, thanks to his broad shoulders and trim waist.

Last but not least, there was the boy I guessed was my older brother. It appeared that he was between two and three years old. It was enough that he was able to walk around and hold at least a basic conversation with the adults. A cute kid, I suppose. He inherited the best qualities of his parents. Although shorter than his mother, he possessed long ears, and his hair was an extremely dark brown hue, bordering on black. However, what stood out the most were his eyes. His left eye is an ocean blue hue, whereas his right eye is a grass green hue. He possessed both blue and green eyes. I am sure I saw this somewhere online, but I couldn’t recall. Heterochromia? I think that's what that is.

Ahha, shit, that’s cool. I wonder if my eyes are like that. Next time I get near a window or mirror I need to look and see.

Anyway, the boy was enraptured with me, always poking his snot-nosed face into my crib and making silly faces at me. I know it's ironic to say this, but... I despise children. I never got along with them. I have never been outwardly mean to them, like I could tolerate their presence. Yet having lived with two of them for three years. My sanity waned.

Yet now. Here I am. Unable to fortify myself in my room, unable to cover my ears to shield myself from the crying. I am defenseless against this boy. Many times, he has tried to pick me up, and many times I've watched as my two supermodel parents admonished the boy to put me down. Yet the brat just wouldn't learn.

While physically I am unable to defend myself against this child, I can at least do one thing. Psychological warfare. As mentioned before, the kid loves to stick his head into my crib. He makes silly, annoying faces at me all the time. Sometimes he does get me; he makes some stupid face, which I can't help but grin at. But when I do, it only encourages him. So what is my secret psyop technique? Well, let me tell you, I stare. I make my straightest poker face, and I peer into this child's soul. At first, this didn't faze him, and I expected as much. Yet as time went on, days went by. I could see the uneasiness settle in, and eventually, he stopped pressuring me as much, and soon… silence returned, and I was at peace.

Me: 1

Small Child: 0

God, I'm a fucking asshole.

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The best times of the day are snack times. I'm still too young for proper food, so my mother would always sit me down at the kitchen table and nurse me, and... well, I would be a filthy liar if I said I didn't enjoy the view or the treat, though partially that's just due to me being a degenerate… Again, my subconscious tries to call the police, and I feel awful. I just, my brain, my brain is still stuck thinking that I am me. I mean mean the other me, the one before I got shoved into this small body. I know I’m just digging a deeper hole. I’ll shut up.

Anyway, aside from that, that’s not what made me enjoy snack time. What really made me enjoy this bit was how much more I got to see the house. Being so close to my mother also allowed me to take her in more–not like that, you freak. What I mean is more detail about her, such as the smell of the pomegranate perfume on her clothes as well as the smoothness of her skin. Not to mention how she looked in general, led me to believe that an elf of all things was nursing me. To think she's an elf at all! Even now, nearly two months after I woke up here in this world–at least I think it’s been that long–I'm still struggling with unraveling everything around me.

Another thing I've learned from all this regards the clothes we’re all wearing. For myself, I'm wearing a typical cotton onesie, or at least what I think is cotton. Yet everyone else... if I had to compare it to a time period, I'd say the early 19th century. For instance, when Bonehead is home he typically wears what appears to be denim jeans and suspenders with what appears to be a polo shirt made of white or alabaster fabric. He always wears a jacket and a hat when venturing outside, while the Boss alternates between long skirts, sundresses, shorts, and a polo. She occasionally steals and dons the man's hat; the two of them frequently engage in playful altercations over it before, uh, undressing and... wrestling.

I'll leave that there, just know they do this a lot… maybe too much.

During my nursing periods, the Boss would sometimes take me to other rooms of the house where I'd learn more. The house is small, for an adult at least. I've seen a small dining room, a kitchen, and a living room. The living room has a staircase that leads to the upper portions of the house. Here I saw what looked to be a bathroom with actual plumbing, a study room where I've seen the man come entering and leaving a couple of times, as well as my bedroom. Which I share with the boy I've been staring at. Beside our room is what I presume to be the master bedroom.

A place I have grown to despise. This is because the walls in this house are extremely thin. Over the past few weeks, I have lost countless hours of sleep to the sounds of my parents laboring to get me and the boy a third sibling. Don’t they know that we know that we can hear them? Like, the Boss isn’t quiet at all, and sounds like she’s being murdered by Bonehead. Honestly, if there’s one thing I feel bad for it’s that bed. My god, that thing is screaming for them to stop with how loud it’s creaking.

Aside from that, however, my favorite periods of nursing time are actually when the Boss takes me outside. When I was born, it was around the end of winter, at least based on the bits of melting snow I saw. I don't know how seasons work in this world. Even now, it is still quite warm. Maybe we were nearing the equivalent of March? If I assume I came here in late December or February at least.

It was warm out, with little to no humidity. The sky was a bright blue with very few clouds, and a gentle breeze wafted over the landscape, counteracting the warm air. My eyesight was getting drastically better; perhaps elven babies improve in that aspect faster than humans, and I could already see a bit further out. About six feet out or so, my vision gets somewhat blurry, yet I can make out distant shapes and landscapes way better than I could months prior.

One morning, the Boss brought me out to the backyard for some lunch. She nursed me privately and noticed midway through my meal I had stopped suckling. You see, I was gazing out at possibly one of the most gorgeous scenes I could ever imagine. Our house was on a hill, a big hill, and from this hill, I could see a sprawling valley of rolling grasslands and woodland trees. Yet they were not ordinary trees; they were a multi-hued array of trees. Reds, yellows, and even pink trees. All scattered amongst the greenery, highlighting it in all its magnificent ways. Like a painting come to life, it sprawled on forever till the horizon was met with gargantuan mountains that loomed over the valley. It was breathtaking. Even though my vision was blurred, I could make out the shapes of multicolored trees blending into one another. I couldn’t wait to see it again once my eyes were fully developed.

Burning this my mother said something to me, and I felt her tuck her breast back into her shirt and button it up as she lifted me and placed me gently on her hip. She spoke to me softly, her voice tender and warm, which sent tingles through me. She gently stroked the small bits of hair that rested on my head. I still had no idea what she was saying, yet I was catching onto something. A word she only said when looking at me.

Verbally, in English, it sounded like "Roona". Perhaps this was my name? It seemed to be as though when I heard her say it, I used all the strength in my little neck to look up at the woman, and her warm smile widened even more, and she giggled before saying something cheerfully and tapping my nose, which made me giggle.

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About a year has passed since I first awoke in this world, and my daily workout routine of trying to lift my head and rolling onto my stomach and panicking has seemed to have paid off. For now, I have mastered the art of crawling. My vision has fully adapted to this new little body, and I can see now. Incredibly, my ancient prediction about the 19th century turned out to be remarkably spot-on. All in all, the house was in pretty good shape, especially the kitchen, the large water heater in the basement, and the lighting. It was like I'd been transported back to the 1800s, with a fantasy twist. Unfortunately, this world most likely didn't have the internet or video games.

It was also by this point I had given up on the notion of me being in a medically induced coma. A full year has gone by now. I had seen trees outside die and the snow blanket the landscape, only to melt and for the trees to come back to life. No way in hell could one have a coherent dream last that long. That’d be like what, three hundred and sixty-some days? Or maybe longer, I hadn’t been keeping track of the days in this world. Hell, it could’ve been shorter… No, no way. It had to have been equivalent or a little longer. I haven’t been keeping track dammit. Why didn’t I keep track? Fuck, I should’ve counted the days.

Why am I not smart?

Anyway, I think my second theory of reincarnation is true. Or at least, I want it to be, because honestly, it’s better than being dead. While being in a coma is also not being dead, I’d hate to say it but I’m kind of committed to this new life thing now. Like come on, look at me, I’m crawling now. New technology unlocked, baby, we’re slowly going up the tree.

With my new-found mobility, the Boss and Bonehead practically let me run loose as long as I stayed far away from the front or back doors, as they feared me going outside. That doesn’t mean I didn’t try though. Sometimes when they look away, I purposefully dash for the doors to see how far I can get. I was also restricted from going into some pantries and cabinets. Which again, that didn't stop me when they weren't looking, my main obstacles were doors and stairs. I cannot reach doorknobs because I am too short, and I cannot use stairs because my legs are too weak to carry me up.

At first, they thought I was being cute, but I think now they’ve noticed my deliberate intentions to test their patience.

As I continue up the infant tech tree, I'm confident I can master walking easily; it just comes down to working out, and boy, I hate leg day. So much. Now, seeing as it's mandatory, this is going to suck. But it hasn't stopped me. On one particular morning, while the family was in the dining room, Bonehead was reading what looked to be some form of newspaper while sipping on his coffee. He looked ridiculous with his face scrunched up in an intense expression. Lately, he has adopted a new appearance. When I first met him, he was clean-shaven, but as time went on, he developed a beard and mustache. Now he is back to shaving clean, save for the mustache that has grown out on his upper lip. Anyway, his attention was so focused on this newspaper while Ma was cooking breakfast and bringing it out for everyone, and my brother was in his booster seat, pounding away at the table with the silverware.

I, the little speedster, as I came to call myself, was in their little play area. They quartered off a small corner of the dining room, where they laid out all these plush toys and a couple of blocks for me to play with. Some of these toys were pretty neat too. I don't know how it works, but the blocks have these symbols on them. I don't know if they're numbers or not, but if you trace them, they emit a colorful glow, which is pretty mesmerizing. Something akin to magic, though I have never given the idea much thought and have never seen evidence that magic exists. I have not witnessed a dragon flying overhead or Gandalf casting a spell. Truly, I have not come across a single human being. Huh… Do, humans exist in this world?

But that's beside the point; as cool as these little magic blocks were, I had fun with them, and honestly, I'm trying to speed-run my way through infancy. So, to do that, I've been focusing the past few weeks on standing. You see, the little play area I mentioned has a baby gate—a little wooden gate about two feet up, way taller than me, but perfect for balancing against. While the folks were preparing the table, I knew I had about a couple minutes before Mother would come and snatch me out of the playpen to sit with everyone around the table. So now was the time to act.

So far, every attempt at standing has ended with pain-filled baby legs and me plopping on my ass. But today was the day. If I cannot keep it together this time, I am going to have to resort to crying like a baby. So, with that in mind, I placed my stuffed bunny and glowing block down and crawled towards the gate.

I landed on my stomach and got into a push-up position, then used my tiny arms to lift myself off the ground and onto my knees. Already, I could feel the muscles in my little legs tiring as I reached out and grabbed the pen's bars. With a lot of effort, I firmly rooted my feet and propelled myself upward, and yes!

Yes, I did it! I'm standing! I shrieked in delight, drawing Bonehead’s attention; he looked up from his newspaper just as my body gave out from its excitement, causing me to fall back and hit my head on the floor.

"Roona!" My vision was blurry and hazy, but I heard Mother yell as she and my father rushed towards me. I could hear them arguing as my mom walked into the pen and knelt to pick me up.

Ouch, that hurt... I thought to myself, I think I rose too fast, and my fat head sent me over. I felt Mother touch the back of my head and wince. Her voice once more echoed my name with a hint of alarm.

Pa expressed his frustration in a statement and made a gesture toward the table and his paper. In response, Mother seemed to retort, causing Pa to retreat and sigh.

I think he's being scolded for not watching me, poor dude. I sighed softly now feeling bad that I referred to him by such a mean nickname. It honestly doesn't hurt that bad. Wait, babies cry when they're hurt? Maybe she's concerned that I'm not crying?

Ma hurriedly escorted me into the kitchen, where she placed me delicately on the counter. She retrieved a damp washcloth and wiped it under the sink before placing it on my head. It was icy and cold. I winced once more and gasped. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her pull the cloth away, and I saw what looked like blood.

Holy shit! I watched her rinse the blood-stained cloth with wide eyes. The fall didn't feel that bad! As she reversed direction towards the ice box, Mother uttered a word and gestured for me to remain still. Above it was a satchel hanging on the wall with a red snake-like symbol on it. As soon as she removed and reopened it, I realized that it was, in essence, a first aid kit. But the items she removed were neither bandages nor medication. It was a rolled-up piece of parchment. A scroll.

She approached me, and the sound of my name being spoken drew my attention. She smiled warmly and once again held a hand up to suggest I stay put. She then broke a seal on the scroll and unrolled it. She turned to it and began to read, and I could tell that something momentous was happening as she did so.

A dim green aura emanated from her hands as the illumination in the room dimmed and the scroll in her hands started to shimmer. This earthy odor permeated the room as Mother, with one hand, released the scroll and placed it on the back of my head, causing particles of green energy to emanate from the aurora.

"Hel'Nora," A surge of warmth emanated from her hand and penetrated the abrasion on my head as she finished her chant. The agony in my mind vanished suddenly, and within seconds, I returned to my previous state of being without noticing any change. This happened just as my mother's scroll began to break up into dust-like fragments before dissipating.

When the dust finally settled, Mother kneeled in front of me, a grin on her face. "Roona?" She said it to me in a curious tone as she cocked her head to the side. I forced myself out of my stupor and smiled at her, then gave her my best, exaggeratedly cute cheer and laughed happily as she picked me up and carried me off to breakfast. Even so, I could not help but glance over the counter as I clung to her shoulder, and she carried me.

So, there is magic in this world after all. I thought about it and would continue to think about it for the rest of the day.