I dreamed of my mom.
We were having a conversation in our old house; the one we had before they divorced.
In the dream, I didn't remember anything about her death. There, I was at peace. I did not remember my father's existence. I did not remember how people treated me.
I awoke, my heart felt like it was being crushed. Tears fell. My heart, my mother. I miss your cookies. And I know you didn't want me to go to boarding school. And I'm sorry for not visiting enough. I was in isolation because of my rebelliousness.
I miss you. Please, please come back.
-
Water droplets fell like slow rainfall from my face. My hand reached out to wipe them. Did I have a dream? I don't quite remember.
Remember… Was I supposed to remember something—? Right! That weirdo God!
My eyes darted all over the place, my face dropped.
This isn't my father's home.
Swiftly, I slipped as I tried to stand. I looked for a mirror. Going through all of the rooms in this small Asian-style house (which isn't a lot), I find my reflection when I go outside, in a puddle.
My face was older, more fine lines and little open pores were obvious. I had a stubble all over my face. My stomach was bulging through my bathrobe. I couldn't believe it, I…
"I-I've turned into a middle aged man!" I accidentally yelled out loud, rubbing and pinching my face.
An old Asian woman walking her dog looked at me like I was insane. I immediately apologize.
"Sorry." Instinctively, I bow.
"Speaking English while wearing Japanese clothing. Who does he think he is?" She walked away.
Eh? What did she just say? Isn't it normal to speak English? Wait, was she even speaking English herself?!
Running back to the house, I looked at myself. My now-long jet black hair irritated me. I pulled my hair as if it would shorten. My eyes were as black as a bat's. Hey… don't I look Asian now?
I was too focused on the fact I was a middle aged man that I just noticed that I'm a different person overall.
"Okay," I said. My face scrunches to confusion. "What the fuck does that mean? Huh, this isn't English, isn't it?"
-
A week had passed since I possessed this body of a Japanese man. The God who I assume is the reason for my transmigration hasn't spoken to me at all.
But I have had multiple discoveries since then.
One of which is that this man whom I now hold of its consciousness, is a shut-in.
He had a lot of pirated manga and novels in his phone— the only electronic device he had. No television, no computer, no anything. I kind of found comfort in this house because it reminded me of my mother's house; mostly empty since we didn't have a lot of money.
The man also seemed to have… a lot of used tissues in his rubbish bin. Which explained the multiple anime girl figurines and stiff pillows.
But I was more concerned about my looks. One thing I've learnt about being isolated, is that people only approach you when you are good looking.
My past self, Anton Escavera, was not that attractive. I had big bone structure, a long face, and bony legs. Though, I had a straight nose and perfect lips and eyebrows but somehow, that wasn't enough to be liked.
Really made me realize that just because you have good features, doesn't make you handsome.
In this body, I was one hundred seventy-six tall but was overweight. Severely unattractive one might say. The body's long hair didn't help his looks. His face definitely had potential though. Perhaps… I could fix myself and use the charm to… earn money, to say.
I grin in front of the bathroom mirror. Straight teeth but incredibly yellow.
As I continued to observe myself, a loud knock could be heard by the front door. Even when I dismissed it, it continued to knock relentlessly.
"Come again another time!" I yelled out. The knocking stopped for a moment but then resumed.
"Yamamoto!" A fierce voice emerged. "I'll knock over the door, ya heard?!"
Jirou Yamamoto was the name of the man I am now. One of the things I discovered about him was that he was dirt poor and that he owed someone money. This guy on the front door sounded like a Yakuza. This Jirou… he didn't owe money to the mafia, right..?
"Yamamoto boy! Move your ass!"
Shit. What should I do?
Why are you acting strange, Jirou?
An incredibly dry voice spoke in my mind. The voice sounded like he was on his deathbed.
"W-What?"
You can see them. You shouldn't be afraid. Say the words.
"What are the w-words?" I asked in a nervous yet curious way.
Clap two times as you say "Abracadabra, farewell grim reaper!"
"That's so stupid! Sounds like a child's tale."
You really are acting strange. Amnesia?
I nod. "Something like that."
The door broke down and a man wearing a white sleeveless shirt who walked groggily came stomping. He walked and spoke like he was drunk.
"Yamamoto! You ain't gonna pay me back? Hora!" He growled at me.
I pressed my forehead to the floor like I've done this many times before and begged for forgiveness.
"I truly am sorry! I do not remember your name nor my credit. It seems I've gotten amnesia, sir!"
"Liar! You've always been a liar!" He groped into his pocket as he spoke, looking for something. "You lied about being a doctor and now you're a lying mental patient!"
He took out something heavy from his pocket. A brass knuckle.
"Shit!" I screeched, jumping out of the floor and taking a step back. "Are you going to hit me with that?"
"Yeah, no shit, dumbass." He said, adjusting the piece of metal into his fingers. "I'll kill you and sell your old man intestines."
That man gave a smile of hostility, the brass knuckle glinting. I had no time to react when his fist connected to my abdomen.
"Agh!" I grunted, blood splurging as I was thrown into a paper wall. Damn the Japanese and their thin walls.
My head hit the rock in my front yard. I think it might have started bleeding
You see it, don't you?
"Huh?" I drowsily said, blood trickling down my forehead and lip. Then I see him walking towards me.
And a really thin, creepy looking gray goblin hanging on his leg.