“I remember reading books that did this thing where they began each chapter with a quote to add some interesting context to the chapter or even just author commentary. I always found it quite charming.”
~Unknown
The specifics of my rebirth were largely lost to me. Between the shock, bodily discomfort, and existential crisis, I wasn’t exactly taking comprehensive notes. After the fact, I couldn’t help but compare my experience to some of the reincarnation stories I’d read during my first life. Protagonists would pop out of the womb then start pointing out fine details about their environment and having rational thoughts. Fuck. That. My eyes were glazed with blood, gunk, and God knows what else. I could barely tell up from down and newborn brains aren’t exactly well suited to Holmes-esque deductions.
If my existence in The Nothing as a maybe-soul was the software, then my baby brain was the hardware. It was like running a next-gen video game on a toaster. Sure, you might get a flicker of performance but the whole thing shuts down before any meaningful progress is made. I existed in brief windows of pseudo-sapience before returning to the fugue. My early life primarily consisted of uncomfortable emotions, uncontrollable body functions and instinctively suckling the occasional nipple. Even if I did notice things, it was difficult to commit them to memory.
An accurate recount of my coping mechanisms at the time also escapes recollection. I suspect I didn't cope. It was probably a marathon panic attack now safely quarantined in the forbidden back rooms of my mind behind the Big Black Door marked 'repressed as fuck'. All I know is that I came out the other side of those early weeks and months ready to… not accept, but at least entertain the details of my new reality.
All the evidence I had suggested I was still human, but I couldn’t be certain. If reincarnation was real it meant I needed to keep an open mind. I might have been a platypus-person or something else equally fantastical for all I knew. It’s not like I had a mirror in my crib.
The people I assumed were my parents appeared human to my barely functioning baby eyes, which helped. Making out even scant details through the fog of my memories at the time was tricky, but it was enough to stave off the impending identity crisis. Their general proportions seemed about right when viewed as a blurry silhouette. There were no signs of additional limbs or horn-like growths on their heads. I felt the usual number of fingers when I was picked up and their skin didn’t feel unnaturally rough, scaly or slimy.
When they spoke to me it sounded familiar even if I didn't understand any of the words. They weren't speaking English or any language I recognized but it sounded vaguely South American. It wasn’t Spanish, but the cadence reminded me of it. It was all very human… hopefully.
I had questions, but until I was able to support the weight of my own head I concluded that my options were limited. Eventually, I was able to remain cognizant for more than 10 minutes at a time which was a big moment for me. I tried to pump my fist in celebration but my half baked nervous system decided I should jerk my leg and soil myself instead. Small victories, I guess. Those little milestones broke up the monotony of my days and I grew to eagerly anticipate them. Most of my time was spent swaddled in a crib made of dark wood. It was about as cozy as one might expect given my lack of mobility.
I might complain a lot so in fairness being a baby also had its benefits. I was able to stay swaddled in one position for hours at a time without the burgeoning lower back discomfort I’d been growing used to. Before dying if I had the audacity to sleep wrong I'd have to write off my weekend and consume a cocktail of pain relief medication. Returning to the squishy flexibility of a baby removed all those aches and pains. It didn't quite make up for the boredom though.
There was no music playing in the background, no sounds of television filtering in from another room, and since I couldn’t conjure my smartphone from across the aether I was left with precious few options to pass the time. I had a rotating cast of three greyish-white crocheted animals to keep me company. Crocheted, not knit. My fiancée made sure to educate me on the nuance of her crafting hobbies and it was paying dividends in the strangest way possible. There was a dog, a sheep, and something I didn’t recognize. It looked like someone slapped the stumpy legs of a rhino onto the stumpier body of a grumpy toad. Cuddly as they were, crocheted animals didn't exactly make for vigorous conversation partners.
The lack of stimulation left me alone with thoughts I didn't want to have, so I did the mature thing and ignored them. Instead, I tried putting the time to good use. What were my goals? What were my plans? These were all questions I asked myself. Ultimately, what I wanted most of all was to find a way back home.
If my soul was sent here, then maybe… I let the thought trail off.
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It was hard to convince myself I had any real shot at going back. Whatever had happened to me felt like it bordered on unique and was beyond anything I knew to be possible. It was like magic. Magic.
I wonder…
That inconsequential, little thought latched its claws into me. In my experience, stories that dealt with fantastical reincarnation presented magic one of two ways. The first was nebulous, infinitely varied and most likely impossible for me to test for until I was old enough to ask questions. I didn't even know where to begin, so it became Plan B. As for the second type… I could test for it straight away.
This was a test I was familiar with since I'd performed it in front of my fiancée more than once, much to her amusement. Not that I ever truly expected it to work, but I once jokingly argued with her that if I never tried then I would never know for sure. That same spark of hopeful optimism reignited as I stared intently into the middle-distance.
Status, I thought.
System Initiated
Time Until Core Skill Selection
63:13:24:16
To my literal pant-shitting surprise, a faintly transparent blue screen flickered into existence just in front of me. As I watched in stunned silence the 16 ticked down with each passing second. Organized thoughts to commemorate the discovery were beyond my grasp, but I tried my best.
Well. Fuck.
Not my finest work, but it summed up the broad strokes of how I was feeling. Things had just gotten a lot more complicated.
***
Pre-occupied as I was by the presence of a System screen, I failed to notice the pair of hands reaching into my crib until they hoisted me into the air. I was positioned with my head resting gently on what I had come to recognize as my mother's shoulder. She smelled familiar. Baby brains are weird. I felt the gentle rumble in her chest as she hummed a lullaby to me.
Did I need soothing?
I probably made some kind of shocked baby-noise when the screen appeared, meaning she was trying to disarm a potential baby bomb. I'd thought I'd gotten better at moderating those involuntary outbursts but sometimes instinct took over. The worst was when my response to stomach cramps was to wail like a tiny banshee. Please refer to my earlier comment on baby brains.
I could still see the System Notification floating just in front of me, seemingly unnoticed by my mother. A curl of her chestnut hair tickled my scalp as she gently walked around the room. Either infants calling up their status screens was normal enough to merit such an underreaction or she was oblivious to it. Either way, it seemed to be a non-issue.
Unless it was some kind of hallucination. Honestly, I probably accepted the reality of the situation far sooner than I should have. I was right to, but it was the most reckless choice I made in those early days. It probably had something to do with how I was feeling.
Twin emotions warred in me at the discovery of a System, like metaphorical wolves from an urban housewife's social media post. My situation had officially entered the realm of fantasy fiction, reincarnation aside. I wasn’t even sure if I was on Earth anymore. Sure, it was possible I was on Earth in the far future. Maybe the System was just the natural evolution of mobile device addiction after it burst from its weirdly throbbing, crowd-funded cocoon. It didn't really matter.
The world I knew was lost to me, probably forever. Spurred by desperation, I tucked a seed of hope deep inside myself. Magic was real, and if magic was real…
There still might be a way to get back home.
Until I learned more about my new world, I wasn't going to rule it out. I couldn't. The sorrow I'd kept tight under lock and key began to rear its head, urging me to grieve for what I refused to accept was truly gone. At the same time, I couldn't help but feel excited. This was magic. It wasn't flashy magic, but still, the part of me that used to spend weekends devouring web novels couldn't wait to explore what the System had to offer. I loathed myself for it.
Close.
I tried pushing the thought at the System window by scrunching up my baby face and willing it so. While it would be unwise to assume that my experiences with System fantasy fiction would give me an innate understanding of how this whole thing worked, I could at least draw on it to give me ideas. It may have been the word I thought or simply the desire behind it, but the screen vanished just as suddenly as it appeared. I could experiment later.
A tiny yawn squeaked its way out of my mouth. My mother's gentle rocking and lullaby were doing their job. Big feelings were exhausting work for a baby. I was surprised I hadn't devolved into a snot-bubbling mess but evidently the shock and conflicting emotions had pushed me full circle. It wasn't that I was at ease with the situation- far from it.
FAR from it.
I was just numb to it, at least temporarily. That type of repression probably wasn't healthy for my developing brain. Then again, if having the memories of a guy in his 30's cosmically shoehorned in there didn't turn my grey matter to mush, I suspected I'd probably be fine.
And then my mother changed me. In all the excitement I'd forgotten about all the excrement. I won't regale you with the details. You're welcome. Just know that my mental escape at the time was the realization that, if my math was correct, I'd have to choose a Core Skill in a little over 63 days. What's a Core Skill? I was asking myself the same question. I didn't have an answer.