The world was a blur of darkness and noise as I was squeezed and pushed through the narrow passage. I could hear the muffled sounds of a woman's voice and a man's sobs, but I couldn't make out their words. All I knew was that I had to keep fighting, keep pushing forward until I reached the light.
And then, suddenly, I was free. I was lifted up, the cool air rushing over my skin. I opened my eyes, and the world came into focus. But everything was strange and unfamiliar. I saw the woman's face, contorted with pain and joy, and the man's tears as he looked down at me. But I didn't know who they were.
I had a vague sense that I had lived before, that I had a past and a history. But those memories were hazy and indistinct, like shadows on the edge of my consciousness. All I knew was that these people were strangers to me.
But as I listened to their voices, I couldn't help but feel a sense of familiarity. The woman's voice was soft and gentle, like a soothing balm to my troubled soul. The man's voice was rough and unsteady, but there was a warmth and kindness in it that made me feel safe.
The smell of wood smoke and pine filled my nostrils as I looked around the dimly lit cabin. The blankets beneath me felt rough and scratchy against my skin, and the sound of the man's ragged breathing filled the air. I heard the muffled sounds of other people, their voices urgent and strained. But none of it made any sense.
"Who are you?" I wanted to ask, but the words wouldn't come. My throat was raw and my tongue felt heavy. The language they spoke was foreign to me, a jumble of sounds that I couldn't understand, but I could feel the intent behind every sound.
"It's okay, little one," The woman whispered, her voice soft and loving. "You're safe now. You're home."
But I didn't feel safe. I was lost and alone in this strange new world, surrounded by people I didn't know. And as I looked at the woman and man who were supposedly my parents, I couldn't help but feel confused. How could they claim to be my family when I had no memory of them? How could they expect me to trust them, to love them, when I couldn't even understand their words?
I struggled to make sense of my surroundings, to piece together some kind of coherent narrative. I saw the dimly lit cabin, the small bed in the corner, the strange tools and instruments scattered around me. I saw the fire flickering in the hearth, the small windows letting in the faint glow of moonlight. But none of it made any sense.
"We shall name him Adam," The man voiced as he began to gently caress my head. "My son, Adam Sargon"
"What is this place?" I wanted to ask, but again the words wouldn't come. I was trapped in my own head, a prisoner of my own confusion and fear.
My mother must have sensed my distress, because she began to sing to me in a soft, soothing voice. It was a lullaby, a simple melody that I didn't recognize. But the sound of her voice, the gentle cadence of her words, was like a balm to my troubled soul. It was the only thing that made me feel like I wasn't completely alone in this strange new world.
I don't know how long I lay there, listening to my mother's voice, trying to make sense of everything. Time seemed to stretch and warp, the moments blending together in a confusing jumble. I was dimly aware of my father's presence, of the other people in the cabin, of the strange tools and instruments that seemed to be monitoring my every move. But none of it mattered. All that mattered was the sound of my mother's voice, the one constant in this bewildering new world.
And then, slowly, something shifted. The confusion and fear that had gripped me began to ease, replaced by a sense of curiosity and wonder. I started to take in my surroundings, to notice the small details that had escaped me before. I saw the way my mother's face lit up when she saw me, the way my father's eyes shone with tears of joy. I saw the way they looked at me, like I was the most precious thing in the world.
And I realized, with a sudden jolt, that I wasn't alone. I had a family, people who loved me and cared for me. I may not have recognized them, may not have understood their words or their customs. But they were mine, and I was theirs.
And as I lay there, surrounded by the warmth and love of my family, I knew that I was
One year later, I had grown accustomed to my new life in the cabin. I had learned to walk and talk, and I was starting to make sense of the strange world around me. My parents, Aria my mother and Arthur my father, had done their best to teach me about their customs and traditions, and I was starting to understand their language and their way of life.
I had begun to slowly recall the memories from my past life, the snippets and fragments that had haunted me in the early days of my rebirth. I remembered the city, the buildings and the cars, the noise and the chaos. I remembered the people, their faces and their voices, the way they moved and talked.
And as I pieced together these memories, I began to understand that I was different, that I had come from a place that was unlike anything my parents had ever known. I didn't understand how or why, but I knew that I had to find a way back, to reconnect with my past and make sense of my present.
As I sat lost in thought, the wooden door to our house suddenly swung open with a loud creak. A burst of cold air rushed into the room, causing the flames in the fireplace to dance and flicker. I turned to see who had entered, and there she was, my older sister Artemis.
She was a little girl with dirty blonde pigtails flapping around, and although she looked to be around 12 years old, she still had the immaturity of a child half her age. She was the bane of my existence, always causing trouble and making my life miserable.
"Adam, why are you so small?" she exclaimed, a smile on her face as she ran over to me. "Come on, grow up faster so we can play together."
She attempted to lift me from my crude cradle, but I struggled and wriggled myself out of her grasp with all my strength and moved to the other side of my protective fence.
My mother stood in the doorway, her face etched with lines of exhaustion and frustration. She had been working hard all day, tending to the chores and duties that kept our small cabin running smoothly. And now, with Artemis constantly pestering me and causing trouble, she had reached the end of her patience.
"Artemis, how many times do I have to tell you to leave your brother alone?" she said, her voice heavy with weariness. "He's just a baby and doesn't need any more stress. Now come over here and help me with skinning the hog your father brought home from his hunt yesterday."
Artemis pouted, clearly unhappy with being given more work to do. But she knew better than to argue with my mother, and so she grudgingly trudged over to where my mother was standing. Together, they set to work, their hands moving quickly and efficiently as they tackled the task at hand.
I watched them from my crude wooden cradle, feeling a sense of awe and admiration for the strong women who had raised me. Despite the challenges and hardships they faced, they always managed to keep our family together and our home running smoothly. And as I looked at Artemis, I knew that she would grow up to be just as strong and capable as my mother, carrying on the legacy of resilience and determination that had been passed down to her.
As the sun began to set over the small cabin, my mother sat me by her side and spoon-fed me a bowl of mashed beans. As a one year old, I was still unable to chew and swallow solid food, so she had to carefully puree my meals to a soft and smooth consistency. Meanwhile, the rest of my family gathered around the table, devouring slices of succulent hog meat that my father had hunted the other day. The savory aroma of roasting pork filled the air, making my mouth water and my stomach growl with hunger. I watched enviously as my sister Artemis tore into her portion, licking her fingers and smacking her lips with delight. I longed to join them, to taste the rich and flavorful meat, but for now I was content to my beans