Alive. Finally. More important than the text I see in front of me, I try to open my new human-feeling eyes. I couldn't at first, but slowly I got used to the feeling of my eyelid muscles, and soon enough I was able to see some colours through the cracks of light in my eyes. I could feel my body moving and slowly I recognized the feeling of air on my wet skin. At least I am not in some uninhabitable planet, probably, I hope.
Suddenly a strong grip on my legs was felt, and with one strong pull and sharp pain, I moved about another 30 centimetres. The wet feeling on my skin started to fade as a fresh and cold feeling replaced it, causing my body to shiver. A sharp pain kicked in from before, but it seemed like nothing much compared the joy of being alive that didn't disappear. Even if it wanted to I wouldn't let it.
My mind had developed an inevitable perceptiveness looking for a way out in that light, and it didn't fade away with my birth. That's right, I realized I was just born from a mother. My mother. Which means I am part of a family now. That word seemed uncomfortable, but I wanted to embrace this new life with everything it came with.
The multiple colours slowly started to come together, and they formed my normal vision. I was looking at a wooden boarded ceiling that seemed like a small cottage people like to get away to. A worn out mature face of a woman covered most of my vision. Although she looked like a worker from a sweatshop, the exuberant joy in her face was by far more clear.
"!#& ) %$^*#(."
(Author Note: Characters like these represent unrecognizable or incomprehensible speech or words)
I should've expected this, but I couldn't understand a word she said. Although I can assume she said something like "It's a boy", I won't know and to be honest, I highly doubt I need to know what she says. Normal babies live fine anyway.
Speaking of, I pushed myself forward to make sure I indeed was a boy. I started to push myself, but clearly I overestimated my strength. I could hear some laughter in the background, but mostly crying. Hopefully they weren't laughing at that pitiable attempt. That woman from before came and picked me up and spoke out some words that made everyone silent.
I could finally get a better look at the room. The room really did look like a bedroom from a small cottage in the countryside. On the bed was a woman covered in sweat. Unlike the person before, who I have assumed was a midwife, I assume this person is my mother, the one who just gave birth to me. She had long brown hair that fell down to her shoulders. Her eyes were hazel brown but unexpectedly looked like she was very worried. Even her streamlined eyebrows crinkled. I realized she was actually looking at me. The bed didn't look too comfortable: just a mattress and a sheet.
A man seated on a wooden chair beside her was holding her pale hand. He too, had brown hair, shortly cropped above the eyebrows and covered his held high eyebrows. Unlike my mother, his dark brown eyes had a grim expression, and was also looking at me.
I came to two conclusions. The first of which is that I am in either a poor family or I am in a medieval era. A wooden chair, no doctors, a midwife, no clinic, hard beds, sheets for blankets: this life was anything but comfortable. Unexpectedly, I don't really mind it. With my perceptiveness, it is unlikely that I will be doing a heavy labour job, and so I will more likely be protected as intelligent people are on the low but valued side of workers.
The second of which is that they were looking at me because not once have I cried since birth. I'm sure that if I didn't start crying soon they would start to flip me over or beat my bum until I do to make sure I am healthy. Although I'm not sure if I'm healthy, I can at least cry for now.
"Wa-k". Total failure. Who knew the first time I cried my voice would crack. I familiarized myself with my voice and tried again. This time I cried successfully.
"Waaaa-". Instantly I could feel relief in the room. My mother resumed crying, my father had a bright smile on his face, and the tense hands holding me up were now gentle instead.
"(*^!(#&^$*." They began their seemingly mumble jumble again, but this time I tuned in to see if I could understand anything. With the perceptiveness of my mind and body, I'm sure I could start learning this language now. After all, the first step to learning a language is to listen. At first, I didn't get anything at all. No "wow" or "I" or "relief". Just more mumble jumble. Resemblances between some sounds seemed more obvious and I could make out what these words meant by their emotional, expressional, and physical context.
"!#@$ ! !@#$! Son !#@^#$%#$. ^&#%@$ ^*#%& ?" My father spoke up and it seemed he inquired about the question that was still nonsense to me. But I at least knew I was male now. It seemed he was asking my mother about something, and she wrinkled her relaxed eyebrows.
"#$&@@#(.�� she said. She turned from my father to me, and this time I realized what she was going to say: my name.
"His name will be ^(*#$@, Leonardo Williams".