"No... No... this can't be happening..."
I opened my mouth to try to speak, but I couldn't form any words. All I could do was scream. Tears rolled down my newborn face and my throat rang out. I tried so hard to convey my true feelings, but all I could do was cry.
The world gave me what I was owed and so it's now decided to toy with me instead. I see how it is.
I wanted out. I didn't want to be back in this world. This world had so much to offer, yet I was given none of it.
Once my eyes had adjusted to the light, I had a better view of the people around me. I assumed the man standing to my right was my father.
His unkempt brown hair and sunken brown eyes told me that he hasn't slept for quite some time. He looked to be in his early twenties, a little taller than the average male and slightly toned from what I could see through his clothes.
Meanwhile, holding me in her arms while laying tired on a bed was the woman that had most likely just given birth to me.
Her light brown hair flowed across her face and accented her bright emerald irises that gazed at me with a look of relief. I couldn't tell much more about her appearance, but as she held me, I felt oddly soothed. It must be her motherly love. Within her arms, I felt like nothing mattered.
The negative thoughts began to float away. My throat lost the motivation to scream out and my tears dried up on my face. I don't remember much of what happened after as I drifted off into dreamland.
As I dozed, I dreamt of my previous life.
"Another perfect score! I'm so proud of you!"
That was the voice of my mother congratulating me as she patted my head with a bright smile. I remember feeling so proud of myself at that moment. All my hard work had led up to that moment and I couldn't be happier.
That was when I was 7.
As a moved on from year to year, it became apparent to me that this sort of thing came naturally to me. Those around me had begun to use the term 'genius' when describing me. It fueled my dopamine, gave me validation, it even made my day. It felt good to be called a genius.
Another memory played out.
"What did you get this time? Another high grade? Of course, you did, geniuses like you wouldn't settle for any lower!"
This was five years later from a friend of mine. I knew he said it jokingly, but something about it felt off.
While I had to admit, my ability to retain information and put it to use was above average, that didn't change the fact I still had to put in the hours to learn the material taught in class. 'Geniuses' don't just sit around staring at a blank wall and suddenly get smart. They still need to learn so that they can recall the information.
It threw me off. I soon grew to hate that word. Even though I resented it, I couldn't shake the effect it had on me.
It made me feel happy knowing that people thought of me in that way. Despite my negative feelings towards that word, the connotation that had been engraved in my mind meant I still craved that high.
My consciousness had moved on to another memory.
"Hm? This is only a little higher than the class average. Looks like you're losing your touch, heh..."
I remember feeling oddly human at that moment. I had been so used to being treated like I was better than everyone, so knowing I was like everyone else gave me a strange feeling of calmness.
"What is this? I know you're better than this."
A final vision played out through my mind. The words struck me, ringing in my head. A felt uneasy.
Then I suddenly woke up.
This time, I lay in my father's arms. He held me up and noticed I has woken seconds after I opened my eyes.
His arms felt sturdy, like a tree branch that had been growing for decades. His muscles were unusually built. Maybe he was an athlete or had a job relating to manual labour. I could see his wrinkly and calloused hands that matched my theory. Despite it all, he held me with such softness, I felt like I was floating on a cloud. I rested my head on his chest and I could hear the faint noise of his heartbeat humming into my ears. It was a little higher than usual. Perhaps he was nervous.
As I looked to my left, I had a better view of my mother. She lay on a bed, fast asleep while a cloth blanket surrounded her.
When I was first born, I remember seeing the sun shining into the room, however, many hours had passed by now and the day had turned into night.
The moonlight coming from through the windows had reflected off my mother's hair and caused it to shimmer. Compared to my father, my mother's build was a bit smaller. I could see the softness in her gaze. She looked tired from all the work she had put into giving birth.
They were your typical set of parents, but they meant well. From the little time I've spent with the two of them, I could feel their sincerity — their dedication to their new child.
Though I wasn't ready to live another life, I wanted to look towards this opportunity with an open mind.